001. On Writing and Consciousness
It is night-time as I write this. A time of silence and sleep, and deep, lonely dives into consciousness. So perhaps I may not be completely sensible. Not that I drink. But rather the solitude of the night makes one wonder … . And the mind reined with the glam-words of ‘productivity’ and ‘job-efficiency’ during daytime is free to plunge into philosophical thought-voyages.1
Writing requires courage. Courage to make a choice, to falter, to delete and erase and try again. But most of all it requires an foolhardy bravery and a steadfast will to unravel oneself. To put words into paper is not a mere electronic task of the clicking of buttons on the typewriter or the flowing of the ink on the parchment. But it a fearsome - not always pleasant- process of removing your masks one by one. Slowly, steadily letting the thoughts - those fickle fantastical creatures settle on paper. To coax the formless spirits to take on a coherent shape, and remain there. For if the writer is not very careful and always on his guard, the thoughts may slip away like naughty mischievous children, and then the whole thing will be a muddle. And I has to start again.
Charm the thoughts, make them follow one another in a funnel of words and take shape on the page. And all this requires patience and enough madness to acknowledge the fantastic. But if you think this is only a metaphor and all a writer does is research and pen down his fancies and dreams over several cups of coffee on a day, well that's to maintain the façade. Like what would you think if you saw me talking loudly to no one in particular, coaxing invisible pixies and lost in my own world ?
002. A Zen Story of the Seed and the Fig Tree.
Somewhere in the village of Tranquility, near the forests of Zen, lives an accomplished hermit, a teacher of Zen.
Young disciple (with a bald head and long oiled ponytail): “Sir, what are you hiding in your palms?”
The Zen Master smiles: “A tree. A tree that once bore the fig fruit.”
He opens his palms.
Young disciple: “ But it is only a seed.”
Zen Master: “The tree is within the seed.”
003. Tanka
The sky leaks; The blue Dripping into a puddle-spill The frog cranes, crane croaks. The world half-done. Or perhaps Unravelling in my mind.
Dear Reader,
And thus we reach the end of Issue #005 of Brief Notes on Life. Do share your thoughts in the comments section.
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Thought-voyages: Now that's a beautiful word. You start thinking about something. Not planned or purposeful thinking, rather just wondering freely. But the mind is clear like lake-water on a afternoon and one thought leads to other, like a pebble creating ripples on the calm surface of the lake, and you find beautiful conclusions and new epiphanies.
I liked your description of what a writer does being a form of unmasking oneself and seeing what's there. Always a surprise.