Waking up Lazarus
While reading the New Testament I stumbled upon on this idiom. When Lazarus died and Mary and Martha his sisters were weeping, Jesus came to the place only after three days. But when Jesus came, he went to the grave of Lazarus and miraculously brought him back to life. Waking up Lazarus as in Idiom means good and fortunate things happening in one’s life. Yes, I want to experience waking up Lazarus.
Rain an Epiphany
Crystals poured from the sky. Thunder was a deafening roar. The clouds were belly bloated. Pink Clothes streaked across the sky. Metaphors lay as puddles on the ground. The earth smelled sweet as a baby’s hair.
I got a letter from a family situated in UAE wanting a tutor of English for their child. They introduced themselves as people of French nationality. Later on I sent my resume to them. Then I had a call from UAE from a person with an Arabic accent speaking English asking me to sign the offer letter. When I opened my mail, to my chagrin they asked me service charges for my visa and tickets. And then I realized it was a hoax. It’s strange that Arabs are also involved as scammers.
Maurice Blanchot is a French philosopher and novelist. He equates the philosophy of Death to writing. What is death in writing is not clear? Every word I strike with the pen is a body being lowered into its grave. Every thought added becomes a resurrection. Another interesting thought of his is a flower in literature has meanings other then what the flower signifies. An example would: I did poetry to her and made her a flower of meanings.
The flourish of the pen—what a phantasmagoria. The pen is semen scattering the fields with fertility. It takes time for it to harvest and blossom. During times of difficulties, the pen is a stoic ornament, a virtuous shield masking the persona of the writer. The pen in meditation is a pen wanting to pounce on the prey. Pen is the architect of the universe of words. The pen is a ritual undertaking in art. Behind the pen lies the philosophical self. The pen crafts philosophical fiction. Ideas are a painting of words. The pen is shelter in the lonely, desert walk of life. The pen has made me walk in green pastures. The pen is a Hellenic Beast. The pen symbolizes the tin drum of Gunter Grass. The pen creates an ideal emotion and feeling. The pen is a carpenter with a chisel who fine tunes wood into furniture. The pen is loyal and obedient to God Jehovah Jesus. The pen has done the ritual of poetic music and has flowered the muse. The pen is a lover of art. Everything the pen does begins with a line and ends in a circle. What is a circle asks the pen? Pen replies to itself: ‘it is a joy of art in writing’. The pen has veil of feeling. The pen absorbs the past, lives in the present with ode of praise for the future. The pen is a weighing balance whose weight the pen does not know. Pen loves the semen wetting the earth. The pen is a sheer voice of eloquent poetry. The pen is a prolific artist of passion. What is written once cannot be taken back. The pen is a joy, a surprise brought out from the musings of the unconscious. The pen is making a curve, a passage of peace and refuge. The pen extracts dialogues from an underground valley. The pen is a hill atop a valley. The pen is a pilgrim in the journey of the desert. The pen can only contemplate eternity but can never calculate it. The pen meditates on ecstasy. The pen has never spent a night in a brothel. The pen is authorial and has got multiple selves. The pen is a Grecian Urn an architecture of aestheticism. The pen is green as grass and red as the sun. The feelings of the pen give a joyous shout. The pen is a flowing brook. The pen woos the writer to become an acrobat. The pen bears the charm of meaning. The pen has been through many disappointments but every time has woken up with the motto: ‘keep trying never give up’. The pen is wine drunk with joy. The pen is the feast of the eyes. The pen is a moody instrument of sorrow. The pen is a joy kindling the heart. The pen is in love with waltz of spring. The pen works wonder with the soul. The pen is an incantation praising God Jehovah Jesus. The pen adorns the paper with sweet memories.
I took a job as an English and Social Studies teacher in a very prominent school in Jakarta during the years 2005-2007. Moving from a village to a bustling city gave me the experience of something new as lights, colors, smells and sounds. I had to become a thorough bred professional. Slowly as time went by I started doing my profession excellently well. Jakarta had many maids and I engaged a maid to sleep in flat to do the cooking and washing of clothes. The lady teachers there strictly warned me not to sleep with maids as this would lead to gossip and reach the headmaster’s ears. Though I wanted to sleep with a maid, I avoided it. My predecessor in the school lost his job because he slept with maids and gallivanted with them. So I took all precautions to avoid it. There in the school, I was introduced to drinking as the school gave lavish parties during festival seasons. Slowly I started drinking every day. One day during a party: I drank a lot and started weeping. Then the Principal came over and hugged me and said ‘son don’t worry’. I felt so grateful to him for that. Jakarta has a fair collection of malls and it is fun to be in them. Time flies so fast. Indonesian cuisine is unique with a dish of rice, chicken and duck curry. There is also sambal a paste made by grinding shallot and chilies. The grilled fish of Indonesia is a sheer delicacy. Night life of Indonesia is so vivid. One can see prostitutes standing on both sides of street waiting to be picked up. Cars slow down; doors are opened and this continues still the streets become empty. Sometimes I regret the fact that I did not sleep with prostitutes. I was all full of Christian virtue. Another thing I would like to mention is that when I came back from school, someone has slipped a notice through the underside of the door and it reads: ‘massages available at budget costs’. At that time I did not understand that in meant it was a professional calling for you-know-other-things. I feel sad that I did not visit the beautiful island Bali. I would like to say that though Indonesia is a Muslim country, it is very liberal and permissive.
Stephen Deed Locust is an imaginary name coined from Joycean Ulyssean character Stephen Daedalus
Dawn dawned –the sky all rosy-pink. Night hung in my body as yesterday’s hangover. I drink a low cost budget rum called Karl Marx. It’s a drink of the proletariat. A cracked mirror reminded me of a fable from ancient Greece. I had two glasses of black coffee. I watched the mist hovering over the earth like a helicopter. Birds are chanting hymns. The sky turned into a goblin and the feast of the monsoon as rain started. I remember how in my younger days I used to float paper boats. A witch came home to give milk. Her cheeks are wrinkled due to old age. Now I am having breakfast with cereals and fresh milk. Soon I hurry to school where I am teaching.
How much I try to generate in students the love of literature. The lesson was an extract from the Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. France is all feverish with the proletariat echoing the sounds of revolution. I asked the kids: ‘what is revolution?’ I got no answer. I replied to them: ‘a revolution is a major change occurring in a society. Revolution can be political and are also brought about by changes in Science.’ I gave them a briefing about the industrial revolution that occurred in England and the French Revolution that occurred in France.
The Bell rings for break. I hear the rushing of feet, an urgent scampering to go outside.
I wonder whether I am satisfied with a teaching job. ‘I am not’. I long to be a global vagabond with unsettled roots –a pilgrim of cultures. I want to visit many countries; I also want to visit the famous art galleries of the world. I want to do all this to awaken the aesthete within me.
The school bell rings and all the kids rush out. It’s an amazing psychological fact that when kids enter school, they are slow and when they leave school, it’s always in a hurry.
I reach home tired. Again I have a few cups of black coffee. I open Whatsapp to see if there are messages for me. There is nothing, and I feel disappointed.
I watch the sunset with the aroma of a poet. The colors of the sky are a dazzling fiesta. The sun is a globe glowing red. I watch the flight on tiny wings. Slowly the sun sets and the sky becomes a dark veil. Stars, the tiny buttons glimmer in the sky with radiance of hope and love. I want to rest but I am reminded of Frost’s Words: ‘the woods are lovely dark and deep but I have many miles to go before I sleep.’
The sun seen on the horizon was orange-red; the sun resembled an eye; colors started spilling over; orange, red and pink glowed in loving passion. The sky was a peace of prose. Eloquent angels danced in the sky. There in the sky, I saw a mermaid, then I saw a fire belching dragon; then again I saw a gigantic salamander; the sky became a poem of efflorescence.
This happened to me when I was in the 10th standard. There was girl in the nearby girl school to whom I became emotionally attached. Every morning and evening I used to rush from my school to see her go. I did not have the courage to tell her that I love her. After finishing school we parted our ways and I know nothing of what happened to her.
Rain an Epiphany
Thunder growled ferociously like an angry dog. Pink flowers lit up the sky. The sky started chanting hymns. Rain is now pouring a cuisine of delicacy. The sky is serenading the earth in sheer ecstasy. Nature is an art of rhythmic music. Cymbals are clanging; base drum is pounding; tom toms are echoing the music of beauty.
He is reverend Sam. One day we went to visit him to tell him that our son was autistic. He happened to be qualified behavioral psychologist. In our next meeting he started taking classes on behavioral psychology. It was all Greek to us. He did not provide any solutions to our son’s problem. We were in demand for something practical and not something that was theoretical.
The Advocate’s room
I went to the advocate’s room to register a land deed. On his table were some curious mementos. One was an emblem of India, a pillar with four lions which was King Asoka’s emblem, his signage Close to that was a tiny grotto and standing on it was Mary and the son Jesus. On the wall was a Palm Sunday leaf with the sign of the cross.
Rain an Epiphany
The canvas is swollen grey. Very soon epiphanies are pouring on the earth. God is pleased with the earth and wets the earth in lyrical etudes. The earth has been a bald head, dry without water. Thanks to heaven’s pleasant gift, the rain of prosperity is gifted to the earth.
King Alexander the Great Poop
King Alexander was a great king of poop. He uses his poop soldiers cast in poop to conquer lands. Each of the poop lands he conquers, he induces them to adopt poop mannerisms and culture. Poop culture and Poop Empire is being recorded in the annals of history. A poop medal is being awarded by the distinguished committee of poop for his poop contributions.
Time is nearing sunset. The colors of the sky are changing to crimson, orange and purple. Colors are mesmerizing fonts of delight. Bards echo joy on celestial wings. Slowly the sun disappears and light is scattered into a fiesta of colors. I watch how the light percolates into the tress and I get feeling of Cathartic happiness. A bird, a sparrow is building its nest on the window sill. I watch in amazement how the tiny joy of love, bring dried leaves, wastepaper and other paraphernalia to build the nest. I am reminded of the saying by Christ: ‘the birds of the air neither sow nor reap and yet the heavenly father takes care of them; then how much more will your heavenly father take care of you’.
Two jokers were discussing about sperm. One joker asked: ‘how much sperm has been spilled on the earth’. The second Joker replied: ‘it is not quantifiable but it bears a resemblance’. The first joker replied: ‘What is the resemblance’? The second joker replied: ‘as big as the pacific ocean’!
Tastesy has been derived from Taste and Ecstasy. It refers to the following. If we think about delicious food: our mouth instantly waters and that is called Tastesy.
Evening an Epiphany
Sunset is sheer crimson passion; colors echo the song of love; birds are dancing in the wind and singing poems; the sky unfurls into many shapes and hues; many shapes of the sky bear resemblances to a bestiary; the sky is melting and mating with the fonts of colors; evening is a poem being written.
Night an Epiphany
Night is dark except a melody of twinkling pearls. My loins are soaked with leitmotif of the night and I urge God Jehovah Jesus to strengthen my loins. Why should night be a wicked witch casting a spell on me? When will the night become a bed of passion? The music of the crickets is a rising crescendo
The Israelites in their sojourn in the wilderness grumbled to God that they don’t have food to eat. In order to placate them, God rained hordes of Quail meat. Quail as an Idiom means a colossal material blessing from God. I Invite God to send Quail in my life.
The clouds are majestic, warm and friendly. Colors dazzle as a jazz opera. The sun is a ball, gleaning crimson. Colors scatter in celestial whispers. Clouds are hazy impressionistic forms and sometimes they take shape as Picasso’s Cubist art. Birds glide in harmony, a fusion of a melodious dance. The passage of nature is an unfurling of a streams consciousness narrative.
You passionate bed of the night; your lips flavor the poetry of romance; your body is soft as tender dew; let’s embrace in mystic adoration; let’s sing the song of songs by Solomon with our bodies.