When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.
– John Muir –
Today I just finished a basic writing workshop. I haven’t been to any of these kinds of workshops before. I used to think, my writing as something that’s in me or some therapy or some relief. So never heeded too much on various things.
Uff.. what’s writing to me then?
Writing to me is the dear lover… The crook of that hand that re-assures me and makes me feel safe
Writing to me is the Dearest friend… Never judges me and makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin
Writing to me is the immense Joy… Engulfs me with such tight hug, I sometimes love to be lose my balance.
Writing to me is that private space… that is sacred and can never violated in anyway
Writing to me is that Positive feeling… of living beyond pain, misery, discomfort
Writing to me is that flying feeling… Where I become everything and anything … one day I am architect, one day I am the prize winning author, one day I am avid traveler and seeker.. anything and everything
Writing to me is ONE BIG CELEBRATION OF WHO I AM..!!
Dears.. Let me tell you one story of a disabled bird, it so wanted to fly, everyone teased her gait, her hunched back, her skewed look, her lack of confidence, her everything is under the scanner. So, one day it decided that, enough is enough, she wanted to take charge of her life.. she tried to walk, it was always a limp, painful limp, it didn’t felt good. She thought too much, she wanted to fly, but first she thought she must never reveal her idea of flying to anyone. The bird has enough of criticism in her kitty already. Then it thought, what’s the downside risk of falling from walking and falling from flying..?? it googled, it searched here and there, then finally she decided to fly. She’ jittery inside. The flying day came. She set the mood, prepared well, ate nice breakfast, chose nice day with nicer weather. But still she’s tense, she went to loo twice and thrice, she sat on the pot, she tried to cry, nothing coming out, neither shit nor tears. She felt as if she dried up. She looked up at her legs. One is tiny and other is scrawny, how is going to walk and then fly?? It asked itself. She wanted to wipe her face, and found two wings that are soft, feathery and touched her face.
The bird’s heart Jumped with Joy.. IT DID HAVE TWO WINGS.. TWO WINGS MY GOD!! It checked, they are working fine. It went out.. never waited for a smooth road for walking, it limped with joy.. IT TOOK OFF A MAGNIFICIENT TAKE OFF.. IT SOARED HIGH.. FELT BODYLESS.. SO AS ME..!!
I needn’t tell you who the bird is, but imagine how stupid the bird is not to recognize and value its wings, that are there with her all along.. !!
Thank you Bhavana Nissima for making me realize my wings… you will hear more flap flap now, and some are going to be tapestry of intricate lives…!!
Thank you Sridevi Datta… for being the essential unconditionality that goes with any writing
Thank you Padma Meenakshi… for being the lovely analytical with ocean of love and respect towards every word of mine..!!
I started this piece to write about my writing goals… I feel so calm now that my only writing goal is to
CELEBRATE THE WRITER IN ME WITH MY OWN THEME MUSIC.. Its party time.. Life is Good..!!
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