Thoughts ~ Me To You

Thoughts ~ From Me To You

I have thought upon it many times, that how you open up my mind, swiftly similar to how you arrive out of nowhere. There is a dam that I hold, and hold on. It lingers in my mind like ripples in stagnant water, round and round yet static, It- the Thought Process. You know what they are called? The floodgates or levees, yes, you turn around their levers, before I know and then it comes out, vividly and beautifully, the way I want it to, so that I myself can understand it one at a time. It brings me to a higher plane that makes me realize how extraordinary I am, in a bunch of average minds roaming around me. With that plane, I wish not to come down, but you see we need to fit into this world, to get through it. You must have heard that saying, “When in Rome, do as Romans do”. Yes, now you get the word ‘fit’ relevant in context to what I said.  

This conscious talk about the subconscious has a tremendous affect at the backend, which we don’t realize now but we know, we know about its effect. Within the senses, when you are and you reach to a higher level of realization about the things around you, it is when you achieve the mountain called ‘oneself’ from where you can control things your own way

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The mountain, it reminds me of the story. I am glad the stone I wished to fetch from the impalpable heights is now resting in my fist. I am the proud owner of myself. A sense of gratitude dawns upon me as I reach here at this time, on this line, in this paragraph and I wish to express it through some more words. Thanks for allowing the windmills run, the turbines twirl, and the gears shift. (I don’t know how to put it up in a more mechanical way so as to explain it.)

Rocks seem to become pebbles; waves seem to freeze and get the definite shape I want and something numb inside the head seems to rise up like an albatross with almost stretched wings. VPN- virtual private network is not just an anonymous networks term anymore while I look down at the world, so lame and baseless, floating over an abyss of its own, almost ready to fall down.

Everything is measurable, even the flow of thoughts, with the beam-balances of the controls that we have over it. Some we use to build our gifted powers, some to degrade us ourselves. They are dangerous, that is why dormant in all but few, who are capable of controlling them. They make us and sometimes even break us apart, but they are a part of us and we live through them.

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Crabbit Old Woman

"Crabbit Old Woman" By: Phyllis McCormack

What do you see, nurse, what do you see?

What are you thinking, when you look at me-

A crabbit old woman, not very wise,

Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply

When you say in a loud voice, I do wish you'd try.

Who seems not to notice the things that you do

And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.

Who, unresisting or not; lets you do as you will

With bathing and feeding the long day is fill.

Is that what you're thinking, Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse, you're looking at me.      

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still!

As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters, who loved one another-

A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet,

Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet,

A bride soon at 20 - my heart gives a leap,

Recalling the vows that I promised to keep.

At 25 now I have young of my own

Who need me to build a secure happy home;

A woman of 30, my young now grow fast,

Bound to each other with ties that should last;

At 40, my young sons have grown and are gone,

But my man is beside me to see I don't mourn;          

                           

At 50 once more babies play around my knee,

Again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,

I look at the future, I shudder with dread,

For my young are all rearing young ones of their own.

And I think of the years and the love that I've known;

I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel-

Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart,

There is now a stone where I once had a heart,

But inside this old carcass, a young girl still dwells,

And now and again my battered heart swells,

I remember the joy, I remember the pain,

And I'm loving and living life over again.

I think of the years all too few- gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact that nothing can last-

So open your eyes, nurse, open and see,

Not a crabbit old woman, look closer-

See Me.

 Crabbit Old Woman is a poem written in 1966 by Phyllis McCormack, then working as a nurse in Sunnyside Hospital, Montrose. The poem is written in the voice of an old woman in a nursing home who is reflecting upon her life. Crabbit isScots for "bad-tempered" or "grumpy".

A writer’s Random

A writer’s random :Thoughts

A small bud somewhere in a hidden garden emerges from slumber, in the quest to bloom. When it is still a sapling, still too tender to climb up on its own, it seeks support. And the climber sapling spreads its hands and feet in search of that invisible stick that will lead it to greater heights. Like a blind person the fragile green grabs hold of anything that comes in its way and commences its pursuit. The baby bud has now started to open up. At the pinnacle, it blooms into a beautiful white flower with fragrance that invites the buzzing bees to lick up the sweet nectar from its belly.

A night, dark and dense, holds in itself the secrets unknown. A new moon might be even more mysterious. Unknown where the next step would fall, a traveler passes through a forest. The sound of a cricket echoes from everywhere. The dry leaves beneath her feet grumble in some strange sound. Pitch darkness and nowhere to go. A wolf moans somewhere far away. The jungle is awake even in the slumber of the night. “Where to look for the way?” She asks herself and looks up for the heavenly help. A smile dawns upon her face like the morning sun. The sky glitters with the tiny diamonds and one among them the brightest, to the North pointing her where to go. The help is granted and she is obliged.

                                                                       

He waits for her patiently, but she doesn’t turn up. He waits again, impatiently, she still doesn’t. It aches somewhere deep in his chest, but he won’t shed the pain, he carries it. She comes up and says something extraneous, irrelevant. He is just happy to listen, happy to see the curve on her lips stretch into a beautiful smile, happy to wait to just see that smile sit gracefully on her face. The wait is over yet it remains forever, indefinitely. There is some beauty in uncertainty, the rest is fear.

                                                                       

                                                                    A tiger strays in the wild. Hungry and blood thirsty it looks around for its prey. The big bulging predator eyes are in a search. No it is not its killing instinct; it is its growling stomach that demands for food. A fawn jumps around his mother’s hind legs playfully, knowing little of what is going to happen next. The tiger crouches behind the tall grass, its sharp eyes fixed upon the little life. A swift plunge on the prey, without giving even a warning such are the skills of this hunter. Without a daunt, it leaps and in one go grabs the fawn like a timid toy. Its jaws strangulate its neck with each passing second and the life that was still left inside struggles to get loose. The heavens cries as the mother sees her child getting ripped apart while the blood satiates somebody’s thirst and the flesh fills its stomach. The dust settles down and the red waters take away what is to be given back to the mother earth.

The inception of life, the deeds or karma, the hope in survival and reparation after destruction that’s all this is, we and everything around us.