I am experiencing what I have been experiencing for the last few days. I am worried for the other side of life. I am trying to find the answer but the problem is the many ideologies that I have come across. I find no reasonable stand to come and hoist the flag. Life after death, no life after death, nirvana etc., I know little about. I feel happy, sad, elated, joyful at times for no reason. A child call me if it were. I visit my school days and college days, the next moment I realise I am 'me' in present with everything lost. The next moment I console that I am happiest as my bad days are done. The tables are turned. The breath takes me back and forth. I am worried for the impermanence of everything and 'what next' feeling after every action of mine. I feel the charisma of the 'now moment' would fade and die. The 'now' and all undertakings would soon give away and with them, the love I derive and the things I perceive. I laugh at myself when I think on what I have done and what I could have avoided but somehow could not. With people talking of the past, I also walk through time. I can picture places very vividly which I have never visited or have visited only for a few times. I feel that they are the part of my memory. I can see what is coming when I talk. I can be the other and can be me at the same time. I fear, I think, I stop and I act. There is no actual worry that I should be worried, still I am worried. The reason is not known and that makes the cure of it difficult and complex. I talk to many with strain. And that strain comes out when I leave them. The words resonate later. At some places, I lose the fascination to revisit. That is true to people. I perceive the energy of a place and also term it as good or bad without supporting evidence. May be that is intuition which is taking the upper hand. I also sense someone standing and overseeing me or guiding me but never hurting me. At night in dreams, things intricate, characters are replaced in episodes, episodes coexist, the stories become linear to an extent or are broken in pieces and when they do, it becomes harder to thread the flow of events. I become aware of something happening still asleep but not aware exactly of what goes on. I also experience jerk while eyes closed. I am conscious of the movements. Sometimes I write lines, I recite in sleep mutely but I completely miss when I try to organise in writing when I try or I don't pick those lines with maturing awareness of awakening from sleep. The conscious I am of an act, the creation loses the essence. Before this writing faces the same, I must put off my pen.
Minu Jasdanwala
Minu Jasdanwala
