A raindrop dropped making a percussion sound on a lily leaf. She breathed out a cloud into a cup of her palms and gently covered her face with them.
And faintly she started to hum...
I'm bound to walk the earth I know, but I've read of outer skies,
I know the truth about fairies, but I believe in butterflies,
I've seen the saturn rings in dreams and heard of Jupiter and Mars.
I'd rather look for moon and miss it than to look around,
I know I ...
The stars were listening.
The pages are flying away, my design document, my blueprints, pages of my life. They are flying away. The winds are so strong ... I want to hold all these pages close to my chest, but at the same time I want them to be strong enough to take care of themself. It's just paper silly.... Everything is, isn't it? I take everything too seriously. It's in my genes, can't shake this one off. Can't let this one go. This isn't just a paper, this is the paper. This is the reasons why paper was discovered, created, conceived ...
Walking four miles down the dust road I reached the village, and I stopped by a small lake to look up and saw some little patches of clouds. My grandfather probably saw something similar when he came here ... there was a 'first day' he was here and a last. There are always firsts and nexts unless you die, then there are also the 'lasts'. And each moment, each meeting, sentence, meal, walk, sleep, day, night, laughter, tear, hug, handshake can be last. Life is not a sentence or a story with a clear 'end', with closure. Life ends abruptly. Always. My grandfather was visiting this village for a couple of days some 10-11 years ago. He died here. Suddently. His health was fine, he travelled alone. But suddenly he was gone. It was my birthday that day. The news came rather late in the night by a telegram. I'd never seen my father cry before...
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie skip, skip, skip ... "Suzanne"...
Or rather 'a' star was listening. Far away. So far away they were on opposites ends of the universe, but he heard her voice and his heart started to beat. Like a drum. In rhythm with her song. And she noticed. She was looking up at stars and so she noticed one of them twinkle in time with her song.
It made her smile. Such a lovely smile. The lillies came to bloom with her smile and a swarm of fireflies zigzagged around her making a tiny firework display. The stars were listening.
"Look! She's looking straight at me", this star, with loud heartbeats and dreamy eyes said more to himself than anyone else. "Look, her eyes are looking at me. Have you seen anything this beautiful? I can almost see her dreams ..."
Trying to swim he found it tough to breath and turned on his back to start to backstroke slowly. The sky was filled with stars. There were so many, So many of them. There was no moon, just the stars. He started to count and stopped at 918 ... that's when he saw a star twinkling in a strange way, as if in a rhythm. He closed his eyes.
"Mother, they say I am a God, the One, but perhaps I'm neither, I am just your son. I accept your curse as a gift. But you must know - in this war of 18 days, no one got wounded, no one died, but me. Again and again, just me ..."
The sky turns dark blue. Ashwathama grieves over his father's death in a corner ...
She wants to fly, but at the same time she wants to feel the ground beneath her feet. She really does want to clap along, but at the same time she doesn't want to let the bird get out. She wants to dream, but at the same time she's scared to close her eyes.
"... can you hear that voice? And see her lips move?"
"Sometimes," She whispers to herself, "strangest and most beautiful things happen to me too..."
In every colour there's the light.
In every stone sleeps a crystal.
Remember the Shaman, when he used to say:
"Man is the dream of the dolphin" ...
This is Airavat. Airavat of the four tusks, Airavat of the eight trunks. King of elephants, mount of Indra. Ardh-Matana, Arkasodara, Naga-Malla, Born of ocean, Iravat, Airavat.
They named an elephant Ashwathama and killed him. Sri Krishna tells Yudhisthira to proclaim "Ashwathama is dead". Dronacharya's son's name is also Ashwathama. He approaches Yudhisthira and asks, "I know you never speak untruth; you tell me what has happened. Is Ashwathama really dead?"
"Ashwathama is dead" repeats Yudhisthira. I am listening. Drona gives up his life. His son, Ashwathama will learn of the deceit tonight.
A distant animal cry is heard on the eve of Lord Ganesha's birth.
I am the hand that threw the stone, and the stone that hit the water and the ripples that expand out from it. This day is the longest day of the year. I sit by the lake waiting, fighting an occassinal wasp. Squinting my eyes to fight the glare of the sun. I can't get up and walk, I want to keep sitting here and grow roots. Let me stay ... stop me and call me back if I give up and start to walk away. Remind me what I'm waiting for.
What are you waiting for?