My mind is hovering between angst and ecstasy. Day light made me dull and lethargic. I wonder why nothing good is happening in my life. Sometimes I contemplate on suicide and sometimes I wonder what the meaning of life is. I live in a fictional self and a real self. I am trying to read a book: Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie. I read a few pages and then stop. Do you need to read all the books to write a book? I don’t think that most authors read books. I have tried not to imitate other authors but to develop my own style of writing. Writing for me is an everyday habit. My fictional self dreams of travelling to places, making love and writing. I long to retire and spend my rest of days in writing. I really don’t have any patience. I have no success at windfalls. Yeah money deserves respect. I have burned one dollar bills thinking it is Satanic but I am sorry for it. I carry a one dollar bill in my pocket. Is it a talisman for bringing luck? I don’t know! Today I heard the last part of the play Merchant of Venice taught by my mother to a child in 10th grade. I wonder why Shakespeare maligned the Jews. The Jews sure have done him no harm. Why? Why? Why? The plot of the play is rather flimsy. Shylock is asked to extract a pound of flesh from the Antonio without taking any blood. Isn’t Jews the most suffered race? One can’t underestimate the brilliance of the Jewish mind. Yes, today Jews are doing well in technology, business, arms and agriculture. The Bible states that when the Jewish people are flowering, it’s time for the second coming of Christ. It’s also written in the Bible: ‘I will bless those who bless you’ and I will curse those who curse you’. I am a gentile but as a Christian I would like to trace me lineage to Abraham. It’s a historical wonder that Abraham gave birth to races –one through Sarah as Isaac and his descendents and the other as Hagar (maid) as Ishmael and their descendants. It’s a historical mystery as to why Muslims and the Jews trace their ancestry to Abraham. I feel great to be related to the grand patriarch Abraham. The Bible is an interesting book to read. The Old Testament God was very punitive and used to punish the Jews when they departed away from him. Now with the coming of Christ in the New Testament, its grace theology for all and the rest deserved for the judgment day. It’s a wonder as to why God blessed both of the descendents of Abraham. God made Ishmael an oil rich country and Isaac he bestowed brains. It’s also a moot question as why both of Abraham’s descendents bear hatred for each other. History is a puzzling jigsaw. The thorns of History pierce the Middle East with hatred and love.
Morning was a slow itching day without nothing much to happen. I was feeling sad about not accomplishing my wishes. But I am hopeful and filled with the language of cheerful optimism. The sky lay like an oven of bright clouds. Amongst the clouds I could see Garuda, the Indian mythic bird which is the symbol of the Indonesian flag. I am wondering if my wishes are coming true. Yes, they are and I can feel it in my heart. Seeing Garuda is good fortune and I feel so happy about it. For a long time I have been wanting my life to be stabilized, with more money to satisfy my material needs. I need money to travel all over the world and I want to write my passions out. Now my dreams have started working out my wishes in harmony. I have been very generous with money, giving lots to the church when I had money. Now I have only enough for my needs and I live a hand to mouth existence. My sleep is being regularized by the psychiatric medicines that I take. I have been identified with Bipolar disorder.
To write is to make an existence come alive. The spirit and the soul work behind the scenes creating a tensional harmony. To explore the lands of many people, to taste, touch and feel the manna of experiences is a writer being stimulated. Writing is the four seasons of experience. Summer is elated writing. Spring brings out pathos of thought and feeling. Autumn signifies moods and thoughts of writing. Winter is an occurrence of anguish and angst. Writing is also the art of wish fulfillment. Writing is a therapeutic art. Writing expresses words that cannot be spoken. Writing is the magic of the pen. Writing is the weaving craft of desire. Writing is the character sketch of people. Writing edifies the soul. There is a soul of thought in writing. Writing is the cathartic release of the body. Writing realizes the dream of the writer. Writing pours out the angst of the soul. Writing is a melancholic soliloquy. Why am I writing like this? I don’t know. I am a restless writer. What is the art of the writer? The depths of feeling, the warmth of emotion, the passion of reason are all existential philosophies to liberate the writer. Writing is grounded in the use of the ellipse. One is forced to write out of necessity. A writer’s prose is broken but clarity cannot be decimated. Writing can be an obscure rendition as human emotions are palpable. Where does the writer belong? Am I the writer seeking recognition? Shame on me! I write because passions live in me. Am I being truthful when I write? When I write my fictional self takes over. The fictional self gorges the pen. The real self is subdued and the author is the self – the master writer. Writing happens when one is forced to write and also when the writer indulges in the pleasure of the pen. Writing is the alter-ego taking over. Writing is a mania to overcome what’s a phobia in the real world. Writing is mytho-poetic exercise. Writing can be an illusion of the pen. One indulges in writing as one is forced to love it. Writing is an art of the epicurean self. Writing frees the writer from the self inflicted guilt. Writing is the religion of the writer. The poem is the heart of the soul and prose the body of passions. Writing releases the self to a pure existential catharsis. I am what I am: I am a writer too. Why clamor for recognition? Why seek aplomb? You have to write the joy of the heart in a melodious poem of art
No nothing new and surprising this day. The day lagged as a couch on bed. Thoughts poured into my mind as a vessel. I feel sad that I am making no winnings for the lottery. Yes, I seek the gentle pleasures of music in a longing body. I am always in thought about visiting famous art galleries, buying books of my favorite authors. I have found the Bible: Message very interesting to read. My soul is very restless. Sometimes I feel that God does not want me and I am far away from him. Why I don’t know? Yes, I want God to forgive me of my iniquity. I want God to have a loving heart. I want a God on whose shoulders I can lean on to. I want a God that’s merciful.
Morning serenaded as a poem of a beloved. Listened attentively to the chirping and tweeting of birds. Since the exams were going on I did not have classes to take. The sky chirped in an aura of colors. God Jehovah Jesus is the creator of beauty and he is the master architect. I sincerely thank him for all the blessings given. It is said in the Bible: What is beautiful: think about these things.
Life lives in me a like a poetry of art. I am the potter’s clay and I am yielding on the porter to make me perfect. I thank the potter for making me sufficient and self reliant.
For some time now, I was caught up in a tug of war between Satan and Christ. When things don’t work right I lean towards Satanism. But now I am a reformed proselyte and I am returning o the father like a prodigal son. Yes, my heavenly father is taking two steps when I am taking one step to welcome me. Satan tempted me to slander and tamper the scripture and I did. But in repentance I have deleted all content and I have asked God Jehovah for forgiveness. Yes, he is a loving God wanting to accept and rejoice with the prodigal son who is returning.
Read through the story of creation. Read how Adam and Eve were created in the likeness of God and that’s the original sin. This sin has been redeemed with the sacrificial blood Christ spread on the cross. I am always asking God to make me stay away from sin. Yes, the wages of sin is death. I with all humility ask God to make me humble and thankful. I can’t count his blessings.
I walked with nature with a poetic heart. Nature’s colors were a musical joy to feast. The lullaby of the birds resounded with an aura of pleasantness. I feel so happy and contented with the world. The Word is the world given to me. Yes, salvation and eternal life in heaven mean much to me. Trucks from the quarry are carrying metal and roaring through the road. The aroma of an old flame became a visceral entity. The soul is the seat of all beauty and passion. It’s gift rendered by God. Oh God I seek your mercy and grace. Cover me with your precious feathers. Let me be grounded on your love. Remember not my iniquity. Help me live long to see my grandchildren frolicking.
Every day I am trying to devote myself to the garden of writing. I hope Oh God that in the garden of writing all flowers will be in full bloom. Music drips heavy on each word. The silence of nature is a deafness of beauty. The brook that’s murmuring is a hymn sung to heaven. Psalms are floating merrily through the sky. The waltz of nature is God’s beauty incarnated. Oh, dear and loving God….please look into my heart as I am gravitating towards you….Make me an art , celestial symphony. Oh Lord, I got to be at peace with myself. No matter what, I got to be serene in the heart. Lord I have only one life on earth and make this life, peaceful and blessed. ‘Give me the kindness that passeth all understanding.’ Nature is wearing her celestial robes. The clouds are canoe moving hazily across the sky. Lord, teach me the mysteries of nature. Help me understand the rhythms of nature. Let me hear the celestial poetry of the heavens. Let me immerse my soul in the beauty and harmony of your being. My being is God the maker. Life is short on earth and the eternal life with God in the Heavens is the joy and beauty of life ahead. Lord, rein a Manna of Blessing. Lord as your command says: it’s a joy to love thy neighbor as thy self. In you oh Lord, I have realized the meaning of life.
Today I became couch potato simply doing nothing. Yeah, I wanted to read books was too lazy to do it. Morning lay pleasantly like the bird chirp. I remembered an old poem which I have posted on the website. I didn’t have much luck with the lotteries. All astrologers are liars.
Time is beautiful when luck springs your dream to a realization of becoming. I am caught in a dilemma between the occult cult of the Illuminati and the Masons on the one hand and Christ on the other side.
I am confused when Camus says: life is absurd on the one hand and on the other he says we must authenticate our existence. What does Nietzsche mean by God is dead. Yes Nietzsche is a pilgrim of a gentle blasphemy and he was done lot to free the signifiers from the cult of religious worship. Nietzsche’s theory of art is also fascinating. According to him all art is a combination of the Dionysian and the Apollonian. The Dionysian elements are rhythm and beat and the Apollonian elements are melody and harmony.
Life is a metaphor of poetry. We have to balance the good and the bad. By no means compare yourself with others. Grab every opportunity that comes into your life. Don’t bother about people who stab you behind your back. We have to live life creatively. The essence of life is ontology of experiences which nurture harmonious living. It’s important to nurture authenticity of thought. Seek peace with your neighbor and your enemy. When your dreams don’t happen don’t bother. The Universe wants to give you the best gifts that you possibly can’t think.
Masonic and Illuminati symbolism has fascinated me….yes, the all Seeing Eye and the Unfinished Pyramid. My asemic signature has evolved through time….I have engulfed it with the Christian esotericism ….Yes, Christ is more valuable than the secret societies. In my signature, there’s the Alpha and the Omega ….the verse in the Bible which says: ‘I am the beginning and the end’ There’s also the cross which means take up the cross and follow me. There’s also the sign of the fish …..again used symbolically for Christians of the early church…Yes, truth is stranger than fiction.
August 5th 2019
Today was a day of feeling of being doped and dragged down. I had to take the children to play badminton as the PE of our school was sick. It was an interschool contest. When we went register the students, lo to our surprise, we were asked to present their birth certificates. I had a tough time phoning the school and asking the principal there to email it to the host school. The PE of our school did not coach the children at all and to make matters worse the children were not aware of the rules. Though we lost, we lost by a narrow margin. It was a boring day for me. I could not smoke also I am became at ease after dropping the children at their homes.
There is a strange custom here in Kerala. Many Hindus hang idols of their Gods along that of Jesus and Mary and send decorative lights all over the idol. Is Jesus and Mary an idol? Isn’t the idolatry inherent in Catholicism a diabolic hocus-pocus? I would call this as an idiom meaning Confused. I am confused means accepting Hindu and Christian beliefs at the same time. The shop keeper is confused.
What to writer now? I have written all of a day’s happening. Writing is a fluidic meaning of recollecting and mentally positing experiences. It’s good to recall thoughts? Thoughts are symptoms of a pathological narcissism. The muse dies in painful agony with every word. The muse then resurrects with a new thoughts. Sad to say, that the muse is very sporadic. The desire to write is found deep within. It stems from a flow of eclectic thought. Words bounce like bouncer. It’s a wonder as to how words get recalled from stored memory. Writing is the knack for the uncanny. Writing is a staggering effort in streams of consciousness. There is no fixed time for writing. Writing is always in the process of renewal. Writing is like the four seasons: summer, spring, autumn and winter. Writing is an enigmatic artifact. A writer succumbs to the poetry of prose. Writing is a stoic ornament. Writing is battle for the writer and catharsis for the reader. I would love to adorn the gift of writing. Writing is a indwelling of catharsis and angst. Writing is the soul of nature. Writing is the poetry of hope. Writing nourished the soul to a new well of becoming. The reasons to write are many. Writing is a fugitive disguising words in veils of poetry. Writing anchors the body to an epiphany of ecstasy. Writing is tool of the optimist to forecast a bright future. Writing is an awakening of hope. Sometimes writing is a black rose of death. The fiery zeal of the writer is autonomous to celestial designs. Writing is the passion of poetry. Writing is the breath of living in literature. Writing catapults the soul to dizzy raptures with the divine chorus of heavenly rhythms.