Friday, May 13, 2011
I opened my eyes and the world seemed a shade darker. I had closed it twenty minutes earlier, the sun had begun to set. It cannot be called meditation, in terms of the people who meditate. But to me this was meditation. I was closing my eyes and listening to this song. Forgive me for my idiocy, everytime I listen to this, I believe it's profoundly mine. It's OM SHIVOGAM from 'Naan kadavul'
I don't understand the lyrics. I can possibly know the meaning of those words but I don't want to. It's the same language I've been relentlessly learning by rote since childhood until a few years ago. Well let's leave the language behind.
It's an intense emotion that I feel when I listen to it. It's been so for over 1 & a 1/2 years, the period over which I've become addicted to it. Never have I tried to categorize the emotion, because 'it felt good' even otherwise. Even now I am afraid if elaborating on the emotion will make it less dear to me.
One of my most rational and honorable teachers said 'the head is born with flexion even in a caesarean section. That implies man has to bow, at least to God and that begins at birth'. I couldn't agree then. I was wondering why someone would want to submit himself to something or somebody.
Never since I became an atheist have I been PARTICULARLY submissive to anything. But everytime I listen to the song I yearn to submit to the 'being' or 'thing' the voice and the music engrave. For once I wished a God that fitted the song existed. But did I say "God"?? The song extols all that is righteous, all that is beautiful, all that is powerful, all that is authentic, all that is rational and all that cannot be controlled by anything except itself. If you call it "God", I may not agree but can empathize.
This submission was overwhelming. I wanted to feel controlled, defined, refined, redefined and composed. I realised I was submitting to myself. Not literally 'myself'. But all the values that made me, that make me and that I make. Life's good yet again.
I am writing after aeons. Sitting on the terrace, it's supposed to be summer. But never has it seemed like it in weeks now. Well describing weather is something everybody can seem an adept at. Right now there is a huge three dimensional mushroom of a cloud to admire. It coudn't have gotten more beautiful. I am not an ardent nature admirer, but I don't know why admiring it so exhilarating. Is it because I am aware of the ability to admire it, or the fact that I am fortunate to be looking at it?
None of these seem to make sense. Perhaps I assume a bond between myself and these admirable things and as though its broken when I voice the admiration for them. It's just imagination. I imagine that they reciprocate it someway which isn't describable, which of course isn't credible. Credible or not, I shall continue to admire them.The imagination part... lets forget it