Spaces

These are strange spaces. I hear of a space called quiescent which is of quiet inactivity. I seem to be in another space - of responsible activity - a space where every word, every thought, every movement, even a slight shift in my consciousness consequences something. There does not seem to have been an acute call for responsibly acting such as this before. The word purpose seems superfluous in this space. Any attempt to capture this space in words at the moment seems premature and yet there seems to be something right about attempting to describe the indescribable; feels like a worthy pursuit attempted by several before through time and space - a skill that could come handy en route. Strange spaces these.

Me. Who?

I feel presences flitting through me in whatsoever texture and logic they are made up of. I feel like the canvas on which a painting has been made - the colors and whatsoever has gone into making that painting that painting reinstating their qualities, almost like in a certain way asking the canvas to acknowledge the different strokes and hues and whatever has gone into the painting's making. Who am I in all of this? Am I the consciousness in who's presence the drama of whatsoever exists plays out? Am I the Universe looking upon itself distinguishing more of itself and the magnificence of its creation? And yet I have a purpose. I may admire and see more of myself and whatsoever there is and yet I have a purpose for existing, for having come into existence. I feel like the creator and creation. I feel real and just as equally unreal, and that is not a contradiction and in no way absolves me of any responsibility with my existence; in fact, makes the hues more intense, draws me to make efficient strokes, and to live deliberately/determinedly/meaningfully.

Storyteller us

It is interesting the stories we tell about what is happening around us. There are facts and then there are stories we tell connecting the facts, much like how we join up words in different ways to makw up a sentence. The story tells of the content in the storyteller. Given the same set of facts and asked to join up the facts into a description, two people would tell two different stories linking up the facts. A person's emotional, psychological, intellectual, spiritual, creative, cultural makeup shows up in the stories he/she says..or wven makes up about random happenings in and around them. Some of us are epic story tellers.

Stories have a way, just as anything created, to have a life of its own and to have its own fate depwnding on whose imagination the created goes through. The content convections from the depth of time itself, if the storytellers allows, to enrich the content with the depth of wisdom. We each have story (s) to say. We need more story tellers to connect us as humans and to get more on touch with our humanness and to allow for us to be more humane. "The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers ....of all kinds" to have us become human beings again.

Musings...awe (teddy-bear snugglyness)

I was sifting through my blogs and realized i been 'musing' in odd scraps of paper and notepads and creating other blogs..and all just to voice out and give expression to the awe, bewilderment, anxiety, joy and umpteen other emotions and observations, and to capture a 'shooting star' as it were that flashed in the sky of my awareness, and to sort of point it out to anyone and everyone who would listen "look at that" "did you see it?" "awesome." And then I thought I have this old teddy bear of a blog space that I have also named Spaces (conveniently) to voice and capture all of that. It feels like coming back and snuggling up to my ragged teddy bear as a child ( only I dint ever have a ragged favorite teddy bear as a child), but this must be how a child feels that has one, I guess. Sigh (and smiles).

Mind's laboratory

..is where it is still safe to play out thoughts and examine things and put two and two together in all quirky ways and see what happens. It is not so much like in the presence of an intelligence as much as in the space where such activity could be done and be ok without bouncing off an opinion or judgment - that will be there later, but before that a space to figure things out, to let imagination have its playtime.

On trust and truth

Im addicted to analysis..and to asking questions. Why, what, how, where, when.. why mostly. I want to get to the depth of things. The truth of the matter. Whats at the bottomline. Whats the undercurrent..all to be discovered by questioning. I need to get to that which is not apparent to be able to trust - trust people, situations, systems. To trust myself to take action from knowing that it is based on getting to the heart of the matter. The urge to know that truth at the core of it all is so important to me. Wonder if it is a universal thing (dont want to end up thinking im That unique). Maybe people really want to know the truth of things. Maybe people are cynical and mistrustful of what they see around them and of what they sense with their limited sensing hardware (read 5 senses) and need to see beyond the apparent into the very heart of the matter. Or is it just me?..and i dont think theres anythng wrong with wanting to get to the bottomline. Thats just the way I am, and I like me for being me.

Just for the records

On taking stock of whats there on my board today, there are the things i had been working on - vocabulary learning, phonetics, cognitive trainings, sketching, my take home from the stuff learned from people i have interacted with, my hopes, my struggles, things that people have chosen to leave with me, me, and the whole world with whatever it has to offer, which is quite a lot i fathom from my vantage point as of today. I also have the space for my simple likes and dislikes, for my silliness, quite naive mistakes, unpolished even crude mannerisms that i feel ok going through. Feel human in a way that i have watched other people being but could not allow me to be or think of me as being, or to think that these are the movements through which every child goes through on its way to learning something worthwhile; that i could be going through similar motions en route did not occur to me until now. Being human.