Sometimes, it is literally an onslaught, and a relentless one at that. In a purely temporal sense, the change is unimaginably ‘fast’. The mind is racing, or actually, the thoughts are racing past the mind, abducting it with them. As powerful as a tool it is, the very same mind sometimes also seems the cause of doom. Look at the way man has come to look at ‘development’, and the large scale and long term impact he is causing with it. It is incredible, that a species that is considered highly evolved is actually going about self destructing. Interestingly, there is a school of thought that attributes feeling and thinking to different ‘bodies’ or ‘seats’ as one may choose to call them. There is the mind that senses and feels, and there is the intellect that judges and discriminates.
Coming back to the mind that begins to feel lost, it seeks means – some good and others not so, again in very subjective terms – to relieve itself in one way or the other. I wonder if blogging had played that role of a good channel, so to say, where the mind would be busy purging, and in a way, redeeming the self. I say had, because I realize that I haven’t been writing in a while now. Though I am aware of it, and have been for a while now, the initial pangs have gone by now. The thought comes now and then, and then fades away just as fast. I have been told, and also to an extent, have to come believe, that I take interest in too many things and quickly lose interest. On the other hand actually, during the past few years, it has always been too few things. I haven’t been doing much, except working hard and partying hard. And in the recent past, every time I think of writing anything, the thoughts just seem to melt in to others, faster than the mind can capture them. The mind needs, at this time, to slow down and dwell upon things, not esoteric questions, simple day to day events, the physical world of things and people and the mind’s reactions to them all.
I do miss the expressing for the sake of it, for the sake of letting go, for just letting the words tumble and flowing along with it, veering now and then, and yet being aware of the general flow of things. The other bit that troubles me now and then is the connection – indeed, some of the most interesting encounters have happened here, some of the deepest bonds formed. In that sense, I own an apology to those of you who come here and gently and ever so kindly goaded me to write; and also to those of you who keep your little taverns warm and cozy for us bums to visit, and here I am, lost in my own world.
It has been a while since I let go. Let go of everything; like you do when you ride, on the highway. There is not much else on the mind, except the road, with the wing slapping against the cheeks. At one level, it is mindlessness; indeed, there are times when you don’t know where you are headed – not in the global sense, but in the sense of not being able to see most of the road, or what lies beyond the next swerve.
At another level, it is a certain catharsis; in being there, right then, not knowing of anything but the moment. A friend recently mentioned of how the experience of watching mindless movies actually proves to be such an experience for her. At the first instance, it tickled me, and I almost laughed, yet, when I thought about it later, it hardly seemed strange to me. To every man his way. After all, when I look back at a life that seems to have blurred into oblivion so early, there is hardly anything that the mind remembers, excepting those moments that have sometimes tossed you upside down, at others, made you halt and think, and in every instance, have proven to be cathartic in their own ways, small or big.
I can feel a gale blowing my way. I can’t see it; only feel its impending impact on me. And with it, the wind blows change. Not one big alteration in life, but a series of small changes that would cumulate to a newer life. How well things will go is only a matter of speculation, but the change seems certain. Painful and sometimes unavoidable as it may seem, speculating about it is in vain. It is sometimes ironical, to know something and yet not be able to avoid it. Like the commodity that is offered free of cost, bundled along in an offer sale, when you know it really isn’t free, yet you succumb to ultimately buying it. Only in this case, the commodity is life – and life is only as valuable as it is valued to be.
There is no looking back – for one must go on, and in that sense, the bum plods on, weary of yesterday, reluctantly expectant of tomorrow, and not really aware yet attempting to be so, of the now.
Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize it’s just an illusion, that people are going to bring their own stuff into it.
– David Sedaris