'Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.'
- Mary Oliver
Girls and boys and believers of love, hi :) Thanks for sticking around. I love you.
The past two months have drifted away in a flurry and since I have all the time in the world now, this swift drifting has taken me along to an unknown space. Wandering in this new space, I have been constantly thinking of my yellow paint, this safety net that I started stitching for myself two years back. Been telling myself that I need to write weekly now. That it deserves more attention. Only to realize that it sure is getting more attention, just that it’s not translated to paper anymore. Any moment I’m sitting on my couch, or on my bed or on my yoga mat or the balcony, I reach out for my guitar instead of the laptop or my diary. I guess being able to speak the language of music is another color that I’m drinking at the moment and this drink looks sparkly purple to me.
I’ve put on an Australian music playlist post waking up from the best evening nap I’ve had in a while. Found out there’s a big and wide lush green field two steps away from the backyard of my stay in Goa (yes, I’m here finally!). First two weeks of being here were spent taking long morning and evening beach walks. One of these evenings I witnessed the color green in the sky. I stood there astonished. Mary Oliver’s instructions for living a life ringing in my ears. I wanted to capture it and preserve it but technology does fail at some point & I’m glad. I’ve been riding my Activa around town like a Ninja trying to save the world. Although the world that this Ninja is actively saving is her own. The tiny little world that exists in this big magnificent world. I remember taking a walk at the beach during sunset one of these days when I turned around to look at the little shacks and beach side huts getting lit up and felt totally out of place. Same evening I stumbled upon a poem by Jo Brachman that goes -
The Universe Continues to Expand at 6 a.m.
Standing under a faded sky, what you are feeling,
whatever you have tried not to feel, arrives.
You begin mourning like an ancient,
as if you remember a pre-dawn more star-filled.
Bright flash gone missing, the sky withers down
on all towns of the earth, their bodies of water
reflecting kitchens with people devoted
to explosions of their present moment.
Monstrous beauty escaping, the sky burns up
dropped edges of the trees. Gravity lets go
what you had hoped to keep. Your body numbs
as if you are the space in-between,
as if you have already gone.
I’ve stood under the faded sky, felt new emotions, even the ones I’ve tried not to feel & I’ve mourned. I do remember a pre-dusk which was more star-filled. As the bright flash of sun disappears and the universe comes to surface in all its darkness, I’ve looked at the distant windows bursting with light and life. Where people cook meals for themselves and their loved ones. And I find myself being an overlooker. The ache to live in their present moment & hope flying farther away taking past pieces of me along. The alienating space that I’ve become, the in-between, someone I’ve never met before.
For the longest time I’ve found myself saying that I’m lost. That I’m not able to associate myself with the world around me. Have been beating myself up for so long that I can’t even remember. Trying to resolve the constant fight within. Only to now understand that all I need to give myself is the acceptance to be. I need to show some kindness to myself. It is okay if I fumbled while articulating the thoughts in my mind. It is okay if I remain silent in a crowd. It is okay to talk about my trauma with that person who won’t shrug it off saying you’re overthinking. It is okay to finally be able to talk about the mess that I am knowing that I am not getting judged.
Safe space. A space within space which feels safe. A shelter where all life forms can coexist. We call a space like that our home. I’ve heard people calling other people their homes, their safe space. John Lennon spoke about making our planet a safe space when he sings, imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try, no hell below us, above us only sky. The song made perfect sense to me as an enthusiastic audience cheered on a poet reciting a poem on “farts” at a small, cozy backyard of a dim lit cafe with a mic. That person must have left their city in search for their safe space & clearly seem to have found one. And nudged me to believe that this is where I can start to feel safe too. Our moderation of security may differ, but it was after a long while that I felt protected. When you know that the exceptionally talented host, the pretty drunk girls sitting at the top of the boundary wall, the bartender making cocktails, the waiter giving away drinks and food, the old man sitting at the front row couch, the flies, the rain, the lamp, the fairy lights, the red neon sign, the mic, the two guitars by your side, everyone and everything is bent on emphasizing that you can be as you are despite the voices in your head. The voices are bound to give up. You end up finding a safe space within you.
More than a month back, when I landed in Goa I was frantically searching for events, workshops, creative sessions to enroll myself for and get a reason to get out of my house. Until one day, when I stepped out of the house to partake in the San Joao festivities. San Joao is Goa’s annual festival when they celebrate the birth anniversary of St. John the Baptist. It poured non stop that day & the ninja was out and about getting drenched in rain. I saw colors all around. Goans were wearing crowns of flowers, donning vibrant shirts, taking dips in the rivers and quarries & I felt thankful for being able to witness this celebration. The same evening I saw a tortoise right outside my house which entered inside the gate along with me. That day I was soaked in feeling safe and welcomed. When the tortoise crawled through the gate, I could almost hear him saying, “Hey, welcome home, we’ll take care of you even if you worry a lot”. And then each day, every bike ride, every walk, every moment of stillness I kept stumbling upon moments, things, creatures, sounds, that brought me closer to myself. It was only today when I was looking back at my time here till now, I realized this is my workshop. The stillness of being with myself. When Plath said, “I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.”, I envision myself moving along yet still with the continuous noise around me. The fact that I can breathe through this means I’m becoming more comfortable in my skin.
Yeah, I have been telling myself I don’t know this person that I have become. But what I should really be saying is that I have said goodbye to the person I once was. This is me. I come with my flaws, dark side, pleasant side, clingy side, quiet side, loud side and also a side that I’m yet to discover. This is a liberating feeling. To simply know that I can exist as I am. In my own clumsy way. And that’s perfectly okay! I have been radiating a color all this while and I was truly blind towards it. I can see it now, the light colored green, timidly shining in the vast blue sky. So when Oliver says that you need to be astonished. I am astonished by both the sky and the person I’m becoming.
Sharing some parting words by Kim Stafford that empowered me to go ahead and send this letter to you -
'In solitude, or in the throng, a few words come to you. They may not seem the right words, but you welcome them. The writer's prerogative is to take small things seriously.'
And gratitude to Shivam, my dear friend who sent a very heartful commanding message saying, “WRITE and ship your blog out in the next two days”. Here’s to you and the gift that you are to the world around you. :)
be gentle to yourself, you beautiful human
riti x
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Lovely writing. Heartfelt. And yes ‘I guess being able to speak the language of music’ is indeed another sparkly colour of expression