i resist mePosted: 07/03/2011
an ode to the spoken word poem
I hear across so many curtains of time, Charles Bukowski call out to me: “There’s a bluebird in my heart…” I am sitting here wondering what is in mine. As last week, I persuaded myself to check Velvet Verbosity’s 100 word challenge.
I need to be pushed to understand that I can do and that I need to do it. It is so with work, with brushing my teeth, and even sometimes crapping. I got to push myself every second of myself. And so her challenge, resistance isn’t new to my mind or to my body. What do both of them like – a calm quiet flow? Something that I can just keep hearing and typing constantly. I like to walk long distances, but it takes me long to push myself out of my house. What is in my heart? What am I so scared about? Today, I was lying down, flat on my back, looking up, not exactly anywhere. I was thinking about the lotus, huge like in a temple, carved on the ceiling of my hall. I was thinking, What made someone do that? I resist because I am tired. This world tires me a lot. I cannot stand the sound of horns, the traffic smoke, the loud and tired faces on the early morning road, the dejected and lost faces of late night road, or the lone faces of forgotten men and women homeless on the roads. I have no tolerance for these things, or at least I have not managed to cultivate too much as time went along. It is true I was born in the city, with few urban luxuries, but more than needed, in modest, but radical backgrounds. I roamed the theatres, the streets, the backyards, and the editing studios where I knew for sure something about this world is very dissatisfying. Something about this world is trying. And anyone with a genuine need to change this world, will get tired. And at some time, will be posed, because of a multitude of responsibilities, to submit to the systems that do this to them. It is true, what I see, when I see myself, you and everyone else around us are a web of interconnected and skewed systems all concerned in specialization, bureaucracy, and you know, I don’t know what. But, this bloody world tires me. School, college, work, rent, everything tires me. I can hear you snickering at me. Please do. Just a little bit more. You can even think I am a lazy fucking bum. But, you know what I am not. At least not up in my head, at least not when I am hear trying to create a space for dialogue. Because, I want to understand from you what life is. I would always be ready to talk to you, do what you do, give this that and everything a try. Because, my dream, you know what, is not to be a writer, not to be a pilot, not to be anything with degrees and money flying around. My dream is far more ambitious: I want to remain in this world, in wonder of life, like a curious and humane child. But, yes, the world has taught me that it could be a never endless trip. I wish I had never read philosophy and fiction. I wish I had read the facts, known the facts, and read capitalism and imperialism instead. I don’t know why I ever saw those movies that made me question. I don’t know why I studied in a school where I was left to explore. I don’t know why I can’t get myself to work in a proper organisation. I don’t know why. I don’t why I cannot confirm. I am resisting. And this is not like the push I need to get out of my door. I am abnormally resisting these systems. I abnormally dream of monks lost in a desert. I abnormally wish I was don Juan. It is like I have this huge allergy for what the world is now. It confuses me and repels me. I just so wish it does not. Then all of this would be easier to me. I could answer to what is in my heart. I could say in my heart is money. But in my heart, really is a forest of birds and mythical creatures. In my heart are sunshine and flowers and people who love and swoon. In my heart is magic. And when I confirm to any of these systems, after some time my allergy develops and I feel itchy all over in my head. I feel restless and then I resist. It is like daily I am pushing this huge wall away from me. No, when I try something I am not so stubborn. I actually took many large sips of college, I let it do it works and I even topped my exams with hundred percent attendance. Then why should I in my third year, be the exact reverse. I was dwindling in energy. I would fall ill. I would resist so badly, because the magic keeps me alive, that keeps me writing, that keeps me with stories die. For the past few days, while I have been working with Karan and Naren on the Short and Sweet Festival play – The Fruits of War, I have had this voice pounding in my heart: Perform. Everything in my body, my mind, my writing, my speech, my interests and everything says if I perform, I will find that space for questioning and dialogue. I am unsure. I am scratching slippery floors. But, yes Charles, the peacock in my heart is telling all the creatures to perform. To dance this for magic now.
- Resisting Writer’s Block – 100 Words (bardicblogger.wordpress.com)