The Lost Art of Words

The world, my world is topsy-turvy that is to say the least. Like most men who have lost much of their ways and ideas that define what the world means to them. I try, I try to both live and define what that is all that is all around me. In this vagueness is my salvation, so I fear I will find. Such damnation like the unlucky stars that burn up in a streak, I fear for my life to be such haphazard ordeal. Aimlessly I wander from existential crisis to consequential crisis, consequential to moral and from moral to back. Crisis after crisis I jump like a well-trained and ill-brained dog that knows not what to do but what it is taught to do.

Feeble is my heart so is my wantonness. Feeble is my thought and the grip that holds my pen. Flows not words but blood strained utterances, feeble cacophonous mutterings. Effortless fluency has ceased to be and in its place has risen a dauding emptiness, an exonerated decadence of mental faculty. Confused and intoxicated, devalued and misguided, all the stark reminders of a lost art and it’s ever the more lost artist.

A search into the dungeons of my soul is all I can. Searching for a muse that might still be wandering in it's dark alley ways. Lost in the catacomb of lost memories, some forgotten some deliberately wished away, slowly feeling and tumbling his way there about. There in its moss ridden walls I might find the old words that in an ungodly fervour I scratched ages ago. Neither do I have that fervour nor it's feeble descendants, all that were lost. In this age of impatient discoveries all that is left is hope, life’s one last beacon to desperately cling on to.

The Sensual Art of Love

Sensual is the art of love, sensual the embraces and sensual the silent sniffs of intoxicating aroma. Every moment I spent with her is ever the more arousing, arousing because its her, arousing because of what is that we have shared, shares and hold to share in promise. Sexy is a word as abusing as it can be, sexy is the objectification of what is already objectified. But sensual is not the same, sensual is a praise, sensual is a glorification of what is already immersed in glory, sensual is my love and the one I love. 

The Room and the Inn

I have heard elsewhere that our life is just a preparation for death, a transient journey towards the inevitable. I even remember Osho describe death as the most exciting of all orgasms, a climax that is deserving of all the wait. If all our life was indeed just like waiting in a bus stop for that one bus destined for us, then its is the people that we meet that makes the wait worth it. People emphasis stability, people embrace not knowing to much but unknowingly, unconsciously, people walk in and out of our lives in a  daily basis, as if it is just an inn. But a few, a handful of people makes it more than just a room for a nights stay, they make it a 'home'. 

Inevitably when we look back at our life, isn't it what that will make us turn around and wave back as we embark on our final journey isn't it. In our rather short stay at this place very few of all the people we bump into really mean much, often this is what why we feel the desperate need to cling on to our lives even when certain of the inevitable. Indeed this is one journey where we cant take whom we love along with us, yet pitiful re ones who don't have any faces to turn to and wave to as you fade away into the distance. 

The question

My sensual other asked me whether I will go away one day without taking her with me, Her innocence must have never transcended the depths of the question she had asked and may be in the vast pool of people who believe in the strange motto of 'ignorance is bliss' she may belong. It surprises me that people though fully aware pretend to be unaware and it surprises me that it gives them a sense of safely when the insecurity is obvious to other. It is like taking an insurance knowing that it wont cover what is that it has to be covered and yet feel sure to paid for in mishap. 

To come back to question,, both in life and afterlife no matter how much I would like her to be around, there are some choices that has to be made. Her sensual self is half of all my life will ever be. I can tell this to all the people who may not believe in a soul mate , its true not that there exist someone who is made perfectly for you, that certainly is hokum but this much is true that there may exist someone who can make you feel complete. The question forayed the corner of mind with such force that it made my thinking numb till I realized the obvious answer.

The truthful answer was always that I could take her everywhere with me as long I remain in the bounds of the world around me both in this life and in the ones I may come across. but there will be one time in life this or the next  or the one that may come next to the next or so, which life I may not know but I certainly would have to cut that chain of too, if not for me then for you. When the ultimate freedom beacons for any one of us we have to let go, we have to cut loose and we have to be ultimately free, just free, just absolute freedom the kind we get a taste of at death. Hence I say death is a celebration, more like a wild party, one for the absolute freedom.

Back to sensuality

Sensual is a word that has multiple meaning one that means raising and one that means more than the material spheres of awareness, one that means not just pertaining to the five senses but one that means pertaining to a higher a sense, a sense of being that is understood by another being. A beauty appreciated at the highest of existence and at the lowest of existence, a transcendental experience, an experience beyond the senses. The life when shared to an extend that it goes beyond the inseparable and beyond the bindings where they merge into one so seamlessly that one is not one anymore. 'Sensual'! yes sensual is the word not sexy or arousing or not even love, sexy and arousing are the materialization of love and beyond pure love lies the sensual I talked about sensual pertaining to the higher sense.