Life is a tug of war between acute cravings to remain buried in a fetal position under ponderous layers of blanket tucked away smugly in its much affirmed impregnability and between a fathomless longing to lie sprawled under an open sky with arms spread out wide and far just as a near perfect refection of the wild blue yonder that you try to capture and release at the same time. And in between them lies a pile of unpaid bills and a trail of half done chores.
Eta:
Sometime around while my cold fingers were dragging the cursor to the 'post' button to publish the above string of seemingly erratic words, somewhere in a quaint little town in Eastern India an erudite soul was pouring over enchanting pictures of various stages of a caterpillar metamorphosing into a butterfly. Here is what Manjari Chakravarti writes about the process:
"Was reading about caterpillars being completely liquified inside their cocoon before being refashioned into a moth or butterfly, a process that is as inconceivable as something seen in a hallucination, as far from probability as it can get.
So, was thinking, could this be what we see as death? What if death is only that process of liquefaction from which we emerge as something else ( although of course we retain none of the original soup once we've kicked the bucket, unlike the caterpillar).
This is of course some form of wishful ranting.
But, the butterfly remembers behaviours it had learned as a caterpillar. (Insert italics here.)
Once, a movie on tv opened with the scene of a field, some blue sky, and I said " oh, that's Cornwall". About twenty minutes into the film, it transpired that the scene was indeed set in Cornwall.
There are some forests I miss, a certain kind of forests, a certain light, a kind of dark sky. Pretty sure they're memories of some pre-liquefaction period."
An internet connection albeit a lousy one is perhaps also a contrivance to form deeper bonds where you are beckoned to have a peek into each other's ostensibly inaccessible yet fascinating dwellings. When I read her post the very same day my own post seemed to unfold an added suggestion. The very same day we both had mused over two different acts both of which elucidate a common precept. The precept was absent from my sphere of observation till I read her post.
Here is my conversation with M
Me:These are signs I think. The parts not only complete the whole but also are a replica of its larger design. We can connect the dots if we are sensitive to the signs.
M: Yes G...
Me: At times I write something to put into words something that nags me and when I read it again after a couple of days it comes across as something totally different...I mean I never had though it could mean that too!
M: Because we are changing all the time, our perceptions change, even of ourselves.
Me:Or do we get a glimpse of our subconscious sending a deeper message?
M: Hmmmm.......could be!
M: Like my current post. I didn't think about birth and death while writing it
M: Hey!!Sounds like a cocoon n butterfly to me
Me: I wasn't even thinking of all this while writing
M: Telling you must go abroad Apply! Apply! Apply! Go! Scoot! Fly!Run!
Eta:
Sometime around while my cold fingers were dragging the cursor to the 'post' button to publish the above string of seemingly erratic words, somewhere in a quaint little town in Eastern India an erudite soul was pouring over enchanting pictures of various stages of a caterpillar metamorphosing into a butterfly. Here is what Manjari Chakravarti writes about the process:
"Was reading about caterpillars being completely liquified inside their cocoon before being refashioned into a moth or butterfly, a process that is as inconceivable as something seen in a hallucination, as far from probability as it can get.
So, was thinking, could this be what we see as death? What if death is only that process of liquefaction from which we emerge as something else ( although of course we retain none of the original soup once we've kicked the bucket, unlike the caterpillar).
This is of course some form of wishful ranting.
But, the butterfly remembers behaviours it had learned as a caterpillar. (Insert italics here.)
Once, a movie on tv opened with the scene of a field, some blue sky, and I said " oh, that's Cornwall". About twenty minutes into the film, it transpired that the scene was indeed set in Cornwall.
There are some forests I miss, a certain kind of forests, a certain light, a kind of dark sky. Pretty sure they're memories of some pre-liquefaction period."
An internet connection albeit a lousy one is perhaps also a contrivance to form deeper bonds where you are beckoned to have a peek into each other's ostensibly inaccessible yet fascinating dwellings. When I read her post the very same day my own post seemed to unfold an added suggestion. The very same day we both had mused over two different acts both of which elucidate a common precept. The precept was absent from my sphere of observation till I read her post.
Here is my conversation with M
Me:These are signs I think. The parts not only complete the whole but also are a replica of its larger design. We can connect the dots if we are sensitive to the signs.
M: Yes G...
Me: At times I write something to put into words something that nags me and when I read it again after a couple of days it comes across as something totally different...I mean I never had though it could mean that too!
M: Because we are changing all the time, our perceptions change, even of ourselves.
Me:Or do we get a glimpse of our subconscious sending a deeper message?
M: Hmmmm.......could be!
M: Like my current post. I didn't think about birth and death while writing it
M: Hey!!Sounds like a cocoon n butterfly to me
Me: I wasn't even thinking of all this while writing
M: Telling you must go abroad Apply! Apply! Apply! Go! Scoot! Fly!Run!
