Letting go 11: Surreal evening with the river

An evening with the river

Not everyday ends up in a surreal evening, not every sunset and darkness brings two lonely whispering souls to whisper their lonely love affairs without talking of love at all. Like two best friends share a secret and then disappear in the soil or turn into ashes to blow away with the river stream, whispering begins. The story however, remains unknown and concealed. Like the forest becomes library in the twilight, rivers whisper near the bank, a surreal world unwraps in an extraordinary sunsets. 

A walk along the riverbank in the twilight, sometimes during a surreal sunset reveals story threads. Stories and discoveries that never fails to make kaleidoscope mesmerised. With the approaching darkness kaleidoscope could feel the river engulfing his soul. Before disappearing he could smell the wind blowing. A homecoming storm comes out of nowhere and claims all the words spoken, the moment shared!The sandy dusts and water blows through kaleidoscope's face. Quite the same way wind plays with your hair in a windy highway, kaleidoscope could feel home coming storm inside. 

Words and moments begin to dance around his soul, like a stream of consciousness in blood rushing through his vain. It synchronizes with a rapidly beating heart, fast breathing. Kaleidoscope could see all senses synchronizing in the tune of riverine whispers. He could eventually smell the riverine aroma and before disappearing in the riverine darkness he could listen to the whispering words -  'all yours.'

Letting go 10: fairy lights in everyday life

Light? Object? or the objects of the light

'Light is all you can see.' Its true and boring. Kaleidoscope thinks, what if the world is as boring as the statement made above? There would have been only one thing, the light itself. If all are light then things we see are not the things themselves, rather lights or reflections of those things. What happens when light penetrates and comes out of the object? Doesn't it create different dimensions of objects?

A. The objects as reflected - the light of the object

B. The light as penetrates, hence,the objects of the light.

We can have dual selves of the object and also the dual selves of the objects and light itself.

Kaleidoscope finds that here lies the beginning of disintegrated reality. It is multiple, postmodern and based on interpretations of the object itself. The object in our perception is no longer the thing but a thing among several other seemingly related things. The way you interpret the way it is.

Enough, of the light, objectivity and thingification. What happens when you encounter such seemingly unrelated dimensions of things? Kaleidoscope gives it a thought.

For kaleidoscope its no longer the thing but a thing in a sense that there are multiple things that comes and occupies in mind and take you to the fairies.

So that he finds purple rain falling from a dark sky in his good old city when the sunlight comes through bougainvillea that grows each year caring nothing of the concrete jungel nearby. Kaleidoscope whispers to the forest nearby as the new foliage comes out after the fall. It is beginning to store stories of a multiple world as the new leaves allow sunlight to pass through. Just like the innocence that allows everything to penetrated, never judging or demanding a perspective.

The objects of the light drags kaleidoscope to travel through a warehouse of mesmerising overlapping narratives. Sometimes it shows rainbow in the spider web, purple rain in the bougainvillea, snowstorms in the grasslands and a whole outer space in the new leaves.

The light that comes and makes you discover the fairies surrounding you, always inviting you to a parallel world waiting for you to discover.

 A few more are there for you, to discover the pathway towards fairies! Kaleidoscope would love to see others finding their fairies as well!

Letting go 9: the golden brown grasses

Forest writing its own story as noted in the following conversation

Suman Nath Yes.. those fingers..

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Rutuja Deshmukh It looks like a brown grass hand holding a feather pen... thinking what to write.

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Suman Nath True... wonderful observation...

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Rutuja Deshmukh :) thanks for the tag. I probably have too much spare time.

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Suman Nath no you have emotions... :)

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Rutuja Deshmukh Suddenly, it started looking so human.

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Suman Nath right you are... it's suddenly demanding a story...

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Rutuja Deshmukh The background grass is looking like happy human figures with their hands in air. Am I smoking something or what..

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Suman Nath no its never the weed or wine... it's all about setting yourself free among the fairies...

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Rutuja Deshmukh True that but something serves as a trigger. Sometimes weed, sometimes discussion, sometimes a book. When I first felt that it looked like a hand holding a feather pen, poised to write something.. the very next instant a thought came to mind that this grass (harvest for humans) may not have very nice things to say about us. And then i thought i should stop thinking.

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Suman Nath why don't we listen to their cry? They might have thousands stories to tell... forests are libraries if you want to read them. I realized recently.

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Rutuja Deshmukh Have u read a book called Animal Farm?

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Suman Nath George Orwell?

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Rutuja Deshmukh Yeah. George Orwell. U read?

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Suman Nath yeah, read it... years ago... and of course liked it, needless to say :)

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Rutuja Deshmukh Imagine this is grass Snowball's hand writing commandments for fellow grass community members after successful revolution against humans. Other grass members are cheering him up..

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Suman Nath exactly, I was just thinking that when you mentioned animal farm, but what if the forest is writing its story in its canopy, knowing fully well, no one would ever read them! but its worth of an effort - may be a survival instinct!

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Rutuja Deshmukh What if there exists seeds of revolution in the natural process of evolution.

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Suman Nath yes there are... seeds for revolutions... and it happens more often than we know!

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Rutuja Deshmukh That would be interesting to know. I always felt, nature's favoured method of survival was endurance rather than revolution.

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Suman Nath exactly, might be a long kept secret... we never know, :)

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Rutuja Deshmukh Viruses are the only system in the eco system which treats human as shit as humans treat other organisations. Pretty sure some part of nature hails them as heroes.

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Suman Nath Yes, quite likely...

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What happens when you find the forest writing its own story? Well it questions you again and again to reconsider, listen to and understand its existing narratives before it goes back to writing again. Quite something that makes you question the reality itself as it merges itself within the fantasies. A world in which if one wishes to, can live forever. However, roaming around in fantasies does not always depend on your wish! It comes at a cost, often too heavy to bear. Kaleidoscope often wants badly to come out of the fairies to accept and move on with whatever is offered by the world in concrete and clearly noted terms of agreements and references. He repeatedly fails to do so. He fails to comprehend the nature of being, and wishes to dwell on the perception of being in itself. It shapes kaleidoscope in such a way that the perception of nothingness also appears as being (an obvious Sartre's connection, google if you wish to). For example he believes there is a river with him, there is a library in the forest and water flow in the highway, if you try and convince kaleidoscope about the impossibilities he would pity your imagination and shut himself off.

It was just the other day when kaleidoscopic faces the question: 'when do you remember me the most? When you are drunk? Or its just that when you are drunk you need to remember me, search me, or be a loner for me?' - the river asks, forest whispers, and highways portrays! In other words do you really need to get drunk to remember me? Kaleidoscope has more cravings for being engulfed, but he also has an engulfed soul roaming around thirsty!

Kaleidoscope hardly has the answer to those questions. He knows his love for fairy is either too intense that he is always mesmerized, or he is drunk all the time - otherwise how could he always end up submitting himself to the fairies. However, he knows that there is no in between, there cannot be any.  Instead of searching for a reply to these primordial issues of fairy/real, drunken/alert, being a dreamer/awaken, he finds himself at the beginning of another story written by the golden brown grassland.

And it does not matter, because Golden brown grasslands have more stories than kaleidoscope could ever read and memorise. They have more stories than the whole world could even decipher.

The vast warehouse of stories have attracted him during his first meeting with the river Dulung. Yes, the early morning brown series have moved kaleidoscope and pushed him to walk through the fairies while he was supposed to do fieldwork. Instead he was trying to see what stories does the grassland offer! He could not read, neither could he capture them all. But after a couple of years he could only find out the fairy in the making again.