Fables: Lost and Found

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I used to write fables. Not the Aesop kind, not at all. He has probably turned a few thousand times in his grave every time Ive referred to one of my flights of fancies in the creative, and occasionally dark moods that brought forth some intense feelings to this blog.

They were funny, sad, reminiscing, pensive, daring and full of chutzpah. I even had a separate space called Cesmots.com – meaning: These words. It was a beautiful home, full of pride and class. I took so much pride in it and the few readers who flocked, they did with loyalty. Each resonated with a different bunch, and it was a joy to see the connection.

Then life happened, and I had to shut it down, coz I wasn’t writing much and the site cost money.

I have most saved I think. One day they will find their way out and outside of this ether, and perhaps they will dance in black and white. Maybe they won’t. One can dream and work hard towards a goal, and all we can be sure is the sweat and the tears and the little victories, but the final goal is always intangible. Yes, of course there is faith, if not the way is painful and ridden with potholes. ..and despite the fact that most of us have varying degrees of masochism in us, most well meant paths are pleasant on hindsight.

Hindsight is 20/20 and every time we decide to quit or reach a dead end, all we have to do is look back and then on turning around, the way is cleared, just a bit more and so we skip on.

That said, despite being a busy day, I dug up the archives and remembered one particular one I had written way back in 2008.

A Suitable Moment. 

Any old timers around, who recognize this one? Most who commented on that piece are still around, in their personal orbs :)

Life suddenly feels like a fable.

It feels like fables must come back. They were a crutch back then, and maybe now, they would prop me up. The familiarity of one’s words and the comfort they offer.

***

One of the hardest things in life is to let go of what we thought was real.

All things heart of course, but in the head and in tangibles too.

It feels like homecoming though. I was meant to write those again. I can already feel my fingers itch with excitement. Joy.

Grappling With Concepts

Day 2I forget who now, but someone wise enough, I must add, mentioned the relation of neurons, thinking and math. I believe it was a conversation that ran between parents and the incredible pressure on the present generation to learn and learn quickly and get ahead and stay in the rat race with respect to school and subjects.

The conversation is quite marked and vivid. It went along the lines of backing off and allowing the natural state of the human body do its thing. I believe when a concept is introduced, no matter the age or state of mind, it triggers a neuron to be born. So this tiny cell with all its bravado and pride sits there in glory. Complete and alive and well, ticking. Doesn’t do beyond being alive, and so it occupies its place in the brain, oblivious to everything else that is growing or dead around it. It sits there, quietly. Waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to grow. For the right environment and for the light to shine on it, and then it will grow and flourish and will bestow its grandness and enlightenment on the brain that’s held on to it through the whole time.

Edited later:

The lines in quotes – I stand corrected. Scroll down for the comment.

I guess I just used my writer’s creative freedom :-) 

***

That’s how languages are learnt apparently.

That’s how a match concept is learnt I believe.

Neurons are born. They just don’t develop unless an age at which the conditions are ripe for its development happens.

Makes sense too when you think about it right?

So I projected that out to relationships and people and society, and I realize that we could probably apply it there too. For a concept to be accepted, internalized and to be acted upon, maybe one does the right environment, and what is right for me, may not be optimum for you, and vice versa. Maybe. Maybe that’s why some things just go beyond comprehension. Maybe that’s why some things will not make sense and why some will be oh so natural to me and not to you.

Its-easy-to-feel-uncared

I agree with most of it. It makes perfect sense, the first part at least, and not necessarily that we are above it all, or them and that we are better, no, not that at all, its about them being buried in sand. Time matters, and how long they are buried and how they change while they are buried and how they are perceived by others from outside matters.

It’s a concept requires some thought and struggle depending on the frame of mind of the person struggling with.

Just like this one. 57f1f4435584826d428b491f3194b0b6

I am being told that there is reality and then there is reality. There is reality as we know it, some time ago, that isnt real anymore. Then there is Maya.

Concepts and why some can and will twist your brain into a knot, despite the wisdom of experience and knowing.

Fascinating, to say the least.

Black Clay from Nicaragua

This.

This is what I got, awkwardly and then with smug shyness as he hugged me back.

This is what my son got for us, with a mere $15 he had in his pocket on his trip to Nicaragua.IMG_3487

The earrings are made of natural black clay, he adds. Two days after he returns and then in his usual nonchalant manner has forgotten that this lay in his backpack.

I hug him tight, overwhelmed and happy with his gesture.

My boy was growing up. He always cared for his sisters, in ways that I wouldn’t think of. To see him think of us and me and bring us back a token of his solo trip out of the country without us, was a sign of the future. When he would go out into the world and experience things and people uniquely his own. To bring back a token of his experience and to remember us while he lives in his moment.

That’s how men are, aren’t they?

Not expressive as a rule, only to break with select ladies in their life, to extend a token on affection as they beam their love, wordlessly.

..and then one day the tokens will stop. All good things do stop, they evolve and they slow down and then they shift and there really isn’t anything one can do, but watch, and hold onto the memories and hope that they are strong enough to last through time.

Like the black clay earrings from Nicaragua.