The Dream Guides

 

 

“They’ll come to you when you need them,” he whispered.
“And I will know?” He could sense the disbelief in her voice.
“You won’t – they will.” That was the best he could say, not sure himself of how to explain something he knew he couldn’t.

She gazed back at the night sky, her eyes crinkling in exasperation. Here she was, in desperate need of help, and he found it prudent to throw fairy tales at her, out here in the middle of the night. ‘Dream Guides’, as he called them, were (according to him, of course) beacons of hope, faith and positivity. Like a tall lighthouse calling out to ships lost on the high seas of distress and doubt, he said (always had a flair for the dramatic, he did), they pierce the darkness with their resolute beams of faith – becoming the guiding light for the needy.

“What you may think you lack, they more than amply make up for” he continued his monologue.
She gazed at the stars, attempting to make sense of what he seemed to be talking about so earnestly. She certainly wasn’t inclined to give in to fairy tales – not at this late stage of her life. There was a time when she had left milk and cookies at night for Santa and woken up to gifts he’d bought her, but those days no longer seemed like hers anymore. A few flashes from a life long gone past sometimes came back to her – like memories of an old movie from a distant era. Brushing aside her thoughts, she dragged herself back to the present, the stars dotting the sky slowly swimming back to focus. This was a good idea, she thought to herself.

She had trudged back home earlier that night carrying the weight of her world on her shoulders, after yet another impossible day. Pressures were mounting at work, and in what seemed to have now become routine, she’d come back complaining, shovel some food into her mouth while continuing to complain, and drop exhausted soon after – still mumbling in consternation. He had dragged her away from dinner earlier, both of them tumbling out of the door while still chewing on cold pasta and grilled vegetables. He’d stopped only when they got to the lawn – a little patch of green that was now an integral part of their lives. Living in the suburbs had its advantages. She looked at him in confusion, a sense of irritation welling up inside her. “Shh..”, he motioned – putting a finger to her lips, and calmly proceeded to lie down on the grass. She was about to snap at him when he tugged at her leg, muttering a quite “come”. She lay down next to him, sighing with resignation. This wasn’t what she needed.

He had been quite for some time. Was it five minutes? Or was it ten? She wasn’t sure. The calm had slowly seeped into her, replacing the throbbing in her head. Their breath found solace in the silence of the night, noiselessly becoming a part of it.
“You know, they’re among us” he had murmured.
“Who?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow to the skies.
“The dream guides” he replied, and she could see his smile in the night sky.
She chuckled, knowing only too well how fanciful his thoughts could be.
“You don’t have to believe me, you know. You won’t – I know that too. Not until you meet yours, of course” he continued.
“You may know when they’re there, or you may realize later. They go about silently touching lives and making a difference, and for that, the world is a better place.” He seemed to be in a trance, talking more to himself than to her. She was listening, or maybe she wasn’t. She had lost herself to the skies sometime ago. He didn’t need her to acknowledge. He knew the universe would get his message across to her. Not everything could be said the way it should be. He needed her to believe – for he knew that it is only then that the magic would unfurl. He gently nudged her, willing her to open her mind, to accept.
She surrendered to the darkness, her senses taking in every bit of misty night.

A tiny star far away in a distant galaxy slowly woke up, shaking off centuries of sleep. Stretching and yawning (quite like us), it twinkled back to light, happy to be bright yet again. It did a happy little jig in its corner of space, sending an enduring ray of radiance her way.

She smiled as her gaze zeroed in on a cheeky star winking at her.
“But how will I know?” she asked, amused.

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The visions in my head

Life help up a mirror without warning, and I faced my reflection for the very first time.
It wasn’t just me that I saw, but a vision that held the promise of a better me
Or was it someone who made me want to be a better me? I’ll never know.
But what I do know now is that the image exists, something I’d never thought could be.

Was it to give me a glimpse of what to make of myself?
A reminder of all things today that I should treasure?
Will my life now follow what I didn’t earlier see?
What I saw opened my eyes, put me at my vulnerable most – I won’t deny
Yet my soul couldn’t get enough – of a reflection that seemed more me than I could ever be.

No, this cannot be me;
Eyes that’ll forever twinkle, a tear-drop nose,
Resolutely set lips and a chin held up in defiance.
That’s not me – far from it, I tell myself
Yet, what is it that’s so me I see?

This is me, once removed
More me than the lesser me that is, today
Brimming with possibilities, desire, life and spirit
A mirror held up to the far past, dredging up a life outcast
A time buried deep within me, sinking deeper, each day, fast.

What manner of sorcery is this, why does life throw me a taunt?
A reflection that lays bare all that I’d want to be, yet won’t.
An alluring sight that throws light on everything that is in the shadows today
A vision that scares me, not due to what it is – but because of what it could be.

If there ever was a time I needed to be shaken up, it is now
Bring me back to the dark of a dreamless dreary night,
Not to be woken by piercing shards of light
For I am all that is grey and black; soot that’s burnt fine
My sun is starting to set; the dawn is no longer mine.

 

 

The wind vane in my head.

 

East, West, or maybe not.

 

There’s a wind vane in my head
Where it points to, no one can tell
It twirls about on its own accord,
throwing my mind into absolute discord

Without a wisp of wind, it’ll start to sway
And the panes of my mind – they’ll rattle away
But when you think it’s finally still,
It’ll suddenly point the other way

There’s a wind vane in my head, and by it I am led
I cannot question it, despite all that’s done and said.
So while I may look like I know exactly what I’m doing,
If the vane points south-west, then that’s where I’m going.

 

The Great Escape

I do not have any illusions of a grand escape. It doesn’t have to be great, is what I mean. The smaller instances qualify equally well in my opinion, if not more.

The surprise of not running into a maddening traffic jam on my daily commute, getting through a tiring yet strong run on a lethargic morning, the satisfaction in typing out an elegantly worded e-mail, watching a sudden shower paint the dusty trees green, running into an old friend in an unexpected fashion – or even an impromptu WhatsApp conversation with someone I haven’t heard from in a while. There are a multitude of these tiny windows of ‘escape’ that grace your day more often than you think. The trick is in being able to recognize one as it unfurls.

There is an inherent need for escape that keeps surfacing in all of us. Why else would you think the whole world today reaches for their phones every few minutes? A quick glance through the WhatsApp groups, a sneak peek into the Facebook feed, a few tittering minutes spent on Twitter, or an instant of Instagram. Technology has made it easier than ever to ‘get away’ today.

This is more of an interruption though, the way I see it. A distraction is not quite the same as an escape – one will interrupt your chain of thought and leave you a little confused, while the other will pop a productive thought into your head, and allow you to come back enthused. One will tear you away from what you’re doing, while the other may not. Despite the connotations of the word, an escape need not be always be detached from what you’re doing otherwise.

I feel it all the time. Not having to constantly worry about what I’m saying or doing, in light of what someone else might construe it to be, having a conversation in which I’m being understood exactly the way I want to be, being silent just because, well, I can be – In a way, just the simple act of being able to be myself. That possibly would count as the most welcome escape today – being able to let down your guard and rid yourself of those ‘societal’ garbs that you don all the time, not knowing when you’ll be able to slip out of them and relax in your own skin.

Escape, in that sense, is just like effort – it is the little bits that matter. My grand plans of taking a mammoth swing at the task at hand when I’m ‘ready for it’ almost always fail to materialize. However, taking little stabs at it as and when possible, keeping the ball moving whenever I can, ensuring continuity in the form of small ‘packages’ of effort that eventually add up, seems to work pretty well. That way, one doesn’t even truly realize how something got done. The magic just adds up.

The value of small is vastly underrated. A much awaited coffee break in the middle of a grueling work-day makes so much more of a difference than you may credit it with. Of course, I’m sure a two week Euro trip is not without merit either. But for that, there’s MasterCard.

 

What will it take?

Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons

If you’re one of those people who is able to find the time and motivation to do everything you want in life (and then some more), then this might not really apply to you.
If not, I have one question for you – what will it take?

What will it take for you to sit down and start doing things you’d “really like to do someday”?
What will it take for you to accept and understand that the clock is ticking?
What will it take for you to recognize, every instant of every day, that Time is never an ally? It is that shadow that is slowly creeping over you, constantly pushing you into a corner.

The signs are all around for you to see.
Those gym shoes that are ignored day after day, the musical instrument that you’ve always wanted to go back to, the book that’s not going to write itself, those paintbrushes that now seem to find solace in each other, not to mention your passion – which has probably given up by now, worn out by having to remind you about its existence every few days. That new bicycle which got used for all of 2 days, now sporting tyres as deflated as the intent and purpose that made you get it in the first place.  Little indicators of failed effort that soon blend into the bleak landscape of routine, becoming completely invisible to the eye that is now trained to see only excuses, not motivation.

Nothing can or will happen overnight. Consistent and repeated effort will of course yields results – we all know that. Solving the little problems is what will help you address the big problem. But what is that spark that will light the fire, the fodder that will keep it burning? It takes a lot of things ‘coming together’ to create ideal conditions for one to do something. Waiting for that day when everything will be just perfect for you to do that something you’ve been wanting to do is, well, beyond foolishness. What one can do however, is work towards making the end result happen, by putting in what I like to call ‘distributed effort’.

Result takes effort. But the effort need not (or even cannot), in most cases be one sudden Herculean burst of vigour. It happens over days, months and years. All of it adds up, trickling into your ‘effort bank’, which will someday pay rich dividends when the time comes to encash it. Directed effort automatically qualifies you to get lucky. Your quota of luck often tends to mirror the contents of your effort bank, so it might be a good idea to ensure you’re not just drawing from them, but also investing systematically and diligently. Measures of fulfillment will quickly move away from material possessions to things you’ve done, experiences.

How long can you keep putting away happiness?
There are very few instances when the windows of ‘want’ and ‘can’ align, creating an opportunity for those who’re prepared for it. Even if you aren’t, there’s nothing stopping you from taking the leap – for all you know, you’ll be better prepared the next time.

Is there really a ‘promised land’ of tomorrow that you can put everything off to? Tomorrow is that mystical illusion that keeps slipping farther away with each passing day.

But then, do you even have a tomorrow? Would you know?

Flying High / Flying Low

Soaring up high, the winds take you on their flight
Racing the clouds, banking into the light
They have places to be, and you have things to do,
But at that very moment, all that matters is you

Your thoughts crowd together – they won’t be ignored,
Their need to be heard, is stronger than before
A scream, a sigh, a whimper, a cry
What follows might well be a prayer on the fly

Bring me home, says a muted voice
A plea blown away as the wind gushes by
I’m not meant to be speeding in the sky
I’m good for my word, screams a dreary mind
Be it day or night, by what’s right I will stand

Fluttering thoughts resent idling time
I’ve made my promises, now don’t make me whine
In this life I live, I may not shine
But I have promises to keep – mine and thine.

 

Larger than Life

Image courtesy: themovies.nl

                            Image courtesy: themovies.nl

There are movies, and then there are movies. The fiercely imaginary ones are easier to digest. You know that they’re so far removed from reality, that there’s no way you’ll identify with anything that’s being shown on screen. Yes, they may speak of the same human conflicts that have been explored in stories since time immemorial, but the incidents and the characters themselves are usually so unreal, that it becomes easy to detach oneself from what’s on screen. How often is the average man likely to go home in a helicopter than lands on the lawn of his dad’s castle? The viewer then becomes a wide-eyed spectator – empathizing with the actors at times, but never once feeling that the story could be real. It is all something that happens in a distant, far-removed world of money, choppers, business tycoons, high-flying fashion and exaggerated dialogue and emotions that could never have anything to do with the reality of the common man. Such movies are easy to watch. And forget.

Every once in a while though, comes along this other kind of movie – a ‘real’ one. These are the ones that can make you squirm with their bare representations of real life. The situations and characters you see are often the kind you’d meet in your life; the incidents narrated, things that could very well happen to you tomorrow. These bring about a sense of identification that makes for quite uncomfortable viewing. The realization that it could be you on screen, having to navigate through the very difficult situations portrayed, can bring about a sense of disquiet. These are the kinds I won’t label as ‘entertaining’. If you’re looking at shutting off your mind for 120+ mins, you’re better off staying away from these sort of stories.

There’s a reason everything on that screen is larger than life.

‘Keep it real’ is for life, not entertainment.