I watch the evening light falling on it, a melodious charm. The window’s steel limbs are falling as bent shadows on to the cream curtain. Light is life playing a gentle rhythm of shadows. The curtains are swaying gently in the music of evening breeze. An epiphany is taking place.
We all know the Old Testament story of Samson and Delilah. Samson the hulk was selected by God to rampage the Philistines. With his encounter with Delilah, a seductive Philistine woman, he became enamored with her. God said to him, that the secret of his strength lay on his long hair. Twice after Delilah offering him booze, asked him what was his secret of his strength, but he did not divulge it to her. During the third time, the tippler, Samson told her the secret. In drunken stupor his hair was cut down. Samson’s hair as an Idiom means becoming a prey while facing a precarious situation. I don’t want to invite Samson’s hair into my life.
In the age of writing the novel: Quixote, Quixote was labeled as a mad man and he was a satire of chivalry. Then came the modern age where he was given address as a romantic hero. With the dawn of postmodernism, he was elected to be a chosen prophet of trials in life. His relentless mania for rescuing the fairer sex, his imaginary battle with windmills, his quest for an unknown spirituality, all make him a novel figure in life.
When James Joyce wrote the Ulysses, it was a novel of one day in a person’s life. The book translates into an aesthetic adventure. Here is a constructed narrative of twelve hours.
Morn dawned with the cheep cheep and twitter of the birds. The sky was gleaming red, steaming with libidinous virility. I watch the ritual of a cow being milked and its rich creamy milk fall into the bucket. The newspaper arrives and it is full of narratives about the Corona virus. I scan it briefly and drink my cup of coffee and light a cigarette. I dress to go for my work.
I am in class taking the lesson: Gift of Magi written by O Henry. It’s a story about how a wife and husband sacrifice what is precious for them to a buy a gift for each other. While exchanging their gifts, they realize that the gifts they brought were to be used for the things that belonged to them as precious.
The poem of the sky becomes painting. The sky is covered with veils of crimson. Light is playing music of colors. I feel quite lonely as I watch the birds floating in the sky. Leaves wave gently in the evening breeze.
I have dinner and go to bed. I am full of erotic thoughts. I observe how my body becomes a sublime lyric. I feel like mating with the sweet passion of a river. I dream of a Greek Erotic festival called the Corybantic dance.
Kafka’s metamorphosis is reminiscent of a sales man being transformed into a gigantic insect. When his family realizes it, they isolate him in his room. It’s a story of ironic horror. In a way Kafka’s struggle of acceptance by his father is a major theme in the story. Metamorphosis brings into being repulsion, distaste, disgust and loathing for the self. One wonders if it is a story of a weak willed person. Metamorphosis asks the pertinent question, if the law of attraction works, there would be no need of irony in the world. Metamorphosis reveals a pathos of extreme angst, a Kafkaesque.