Mar 29, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Reading, Writing, Thinking
Death, and all that Dark Stuff …
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 29th, 2013
The dead are never really far from us.
I imagine them around me every day.
When I shut my eyes at night, and sink, awake, into the blackness under my eyelids, I feel a momentary sense of terror, as if I’m floating away, unanchored, into space. Then follows a quiet exhilaration. I know sleep will follow, and that’s a lovely, glowing, cushiony thought.
I wonder whether the dead feel this way upon dying. Do they float around in inky blackness, wondering when they’ll awake, but knowing they never will, and so, they burrow under our subconscious and visit us in our dreams, just to feel at home, if only for a night?
Or, do the dead just drift away?
Can we accept the word of those who’ve “come back” just because they came back? How do they know what happens after? They’ve come back, haven’t they? So, they didn’t venture that far.
If only one could write after death. I would love that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~That’s all, folks!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mar 29, 2013 Uncategorized
Day-Night-Quiet — Pune, India
©By Vijaya Sundaram
Written in India, on Friday, July 16, 2010
And the hills coming closer
Closer, closer
Marching towards the buildings
Being built
And the sky reaching
Towards the claustrophobic
To pluck them, gasping, into open space,
And the slim bais walking along the road
Not yet bent by hard work
In the houses of the rich,
The not-so-rich, and the toilers,
Walking proud, strong, upright
Knowing it is they
Who keep the dust at bay.
And the blood streaming
Through my arteries,
Through veins, dreaming
Along the shores
Of my being, reminds me
Of all that goes on, while all
This toil proceeds in the world
Around the edges of my skin.
And the crickets chirping
And the dogs yelping
And the buses hooting
And the rickshaws snorting
And the trucks squawking
And the light bulb humming
And the baby crying
In the flat below,
And my neurons abuzz
With mindless chatter
Non-stop chatter, flitting
From this to that, from thought
To feeling, from shapeless notion
To an idea taking form,
Taking up all my mindspace
And my mind craving quiet.
And quietness presses in
Opens her petals,
And the buzzing comes to
A dreaming halt
Drinking in the nectar
Of sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Original Poetry, City Sights, City Sounds, India, Night Sounds, Pune, Sleep
Mar 29, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal
Jamun — A Fictional Walk Through *Purple Prose
©By Vijaya Sundaram
(Written in India on Friday, July 16, 2010)
The bleeding, purple heart of the jamun fruit crushed under heedless footsteps colored the sidewalks of the streets, as I wandered aimlessly, endlessly, fruitlessly.
All I saw was desolation everywhere amidst the greenery — broken fruit, broken windows, cracked buildings, spit-covered walls. And yet, the fruit, the fruit … all that crushed purple bleeding profusely on the patient sidewalk!
I looked up. The trees, the flaming flowers of the flaming-flower tree (what the hell is it called, anyway?), the delicately blossomed perfumed flowers of the “night queen” tree, and the gigantic jack fruit trees swayed sensuously in the still air. Still air? Then, whence the swaying? A freak wind? I stood still, mouth agape, thoughts stilled. After a sigh (mine? the breeze?), I resumed my meandering.
(*Thanks, Oscar Wilde, for a phrase that has forever become a part of the English language. Your “purple prose” always thrilled me!)
Tags: Fictional Walk, India, Jamun Fruit, Pune, Purple Prose
Mar 29, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Bees Abuzz
©By Vijaya Sundaram
Written in India (on Friday, July 16, 2010)
We went to the bazaar today, and I had my head spun around like cotton candy by the incandescent colors and iridescent clothes I saw. My daughter showed discernment and good taste, except when it came to certain hair clips which possessed a gaudiness that defied description. I, on the other hand, well, I hesitated long and hard over certain things, and made snap decisions over others.
Shopping for clothes and accessories is both elevating and depressing. It’s like a quick buzz you get from certain substances, but after all is said and done, what you crave is the oldness of things you’ve always worn. The new things, gleaming and gauzy, lie like treasures waiting to be claimed. Months go by, and you go back to the Egyptian cotton blouses of plain prints you’ve always preferred over the glittering over-worked, highly decorated, over-priced dresses you’ve picked up in a moment of infatuation and uncertainty under bright lights.
And thus, women spend their days, going from one buzz to another, like so many bees among artificial flowers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~That’s all, folks!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Colors, Comfortable old clothes, gaudy things, Shopping in India, women and shopping
Mar 29, 2013 Teaching and Learning
Maelstrom – A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
Written long ago, on Sunday, June 20, 2010
And thus, we send out our frail leaves of self
Floating on a tide of indeterminate purpose,
While all around us the seagulls call loudly to one another.
Eddies whirl our bits of memories about
And then, we vanish, leaf by leaf
Into a maelstrom,
Where, far below,
The monsters of the deep await.
******************************************************
And then, with our flaming magic swords
We vanquish them, swish, swish, swish!
And turn them into pretty fish that swim up
And pop into the air, turning into butterflies
Which then arise through the mist into the clouds
And return as rain, which then descend
Into the depths of a maelstrom,
Where, far below …
The monsters of the deep await.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mar 29, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Essays: On Books, Art, Literary Appreciation and so on, Reading, Writing, Thinking
On Neil Gaiman and Fearlessness
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 29th, 2013
Ever since the day I first encountered The Sandman series, I have loved and admired that possessed writer-and-venturer into perilous territory — Neil Gaiman.
He takes his books, his themes and characters far afield, into terrible, sometimes disgusting, sometimes amazing territory, but somehow, he tends to bring our favorite people safely home, and as in Coleridge’s poem, his characters and his readers often wake up, “sadder and wiser” on the “morrow morn.”
I love how he shares his work, his advice and his ideas so generously. Like all true writers, he seems to sense that we draw from the same deep well of stories that have moved, nourished or startled our spirits since time began.
I recognized Neil as a fellow-dreamer when I first read The Sandman series. I, too, had strange dreams. I, too, imagined the Lord of Dreams, because I had steeped myself in Greek mythology since I was a young girl. I wrote stories and songs about these well before I had read his work. Then, I read him, and he blew my mind with his tender blend of love and terror. His imagination is completely unfettered, and his intellect is a joy to behold.
And he always goes farther into scarier territory than many writers (and I don’t mean in the realms of horror, per se, just imagination), farther than I have dared in any of my stories — and his books, The Sandman series, American Gods, Neverwhere, Coraline and The Graveyard Book have pushed the edges of the story-telling universe.
And he inspires me to find my own way into those places — and again, I don’t mean horror, just daring, the kind of daring that makes a person take one step back, and then take a flying leap into the abyss, with absolute certainty that he will land on his feet.
Thank you, Mr. Gaiman!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: Creativity, Fearlessness, Neil Gaiman, Writing
Mar 29, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Reading, Writing, Thinking
Passion or Calmness?
©A Pondering by Vijaya Sundaram
March 29th, 2013
I am equally moved by both.
If there is too much passion, though, I get suspicious. It’s easy enough to weep and rant, easy enough to be outraged and enraged, easy enough to wave one’s hands about and gesticulate fiercely when making a point, if one feels deeply about something. And that’s important, because we need deep feeling and deep engagement with our own, and others’ emotions.
Go on for too long, though, and it becomes too much — one needs a check to correct the flood, re-channel it, perhaps, to irrigate fields, rather than inundating them.
Calmness and reasoned thinking matter. Logic matters. True logic can be married to true emotion. The two can go hand-in-hand. One has to step back from personal response as the sole arbiter of one’s philosophy of life. One needs to truly see. Beware of false traps and circular logic, self-serving interests disguised as dispassionate interest, logic that seeks to destroy rather than build up a good, reasoned, calm, thoughtful approach to a problem, any problem that exists in one’s own life, or in the collective lives of humanity.
I cannot help but remember Yeats: The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity.
My definition of Balance: The merging of the Apollonian and the Dionysian.
So, what do we do when there’s a flood?
Build irrigation ditches, and grow food. Feed the hungry, and nourish the spirit. Then, dance, sing and get drunk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S. I do not advocate drinking (although I think the occasional wine is fine). I like metaphors!
Tags: Apollo, Dionysus, ego, Finding balance, Logic, Passion