Tumult

So after a brief moment of struggle, can I afford to sit back and ponder over "that animal" getting off my back? I think I can't. There too much left to be desired, after all. Moments ago, a state of limbo and moments after, another. The difference - one "leads" to the other; a series of incidents leading to another, a series of thoughts triggering another and a moment of resignation ushering another. Dominoes. The good thing is that I can afford to do what I was doing all this while, with that extra little peace of mind; the bad thing is that I can't do anything about it, now. So, I sit back, after a long spell of denial, and try to put things into place. A Hampton Maze, a jigsaw puzzle, but without any story to connect, so that every piece would fit into every other suitable one. Does it give me reasons to rejoice, with choices galore, or does it indicate a general loss of objective, since one way or the other, the puzzle would fall into place anyway. This is what I am thinking. Drifting.

A quick glance at the clock throws back 0118 hours. I have seen many of those. I laugh back at the clock, "I am not at your mercy." But how wronged I am, because in the end, the clock always has the last laugh. Time beats all. It is the "clock" that "strikes away" every hour. So what is it that leaves me struggling? Too many to be contained here. Time. Perhaps faineance.  I am not a man of too many words, but I am not a recluse either. I may not be the first mover, but I am not a martyr either. I fancy my chances. Everyone does. So, what am I left with? Let us try and explore.

There are sprouts of opportunities, bouts of indecision, followed by moments of madness, ending in spells of desperation. What good is the anvil without a hammer? The iron would still remain unshapely, laying waste to the effort gone behind arriving at that preparation. January Night, Premchand, teaches a lesson or two. Reality, after all, is your consciousness, shaped by the desires you harbor and molded in the fashion you want things to be. Laying waste to all that you have strived for, all the while crying foul over some flawed structure of construed pragmatism, or seeing an alternate universe, where all that is real are your desires, and accordingly carving your consciousness, are just mechanisms to define what you are going to be. Desperate or content, you define your zone.

Tumult. This is something undeniable, after having decided to write as much. There are too many things going around in my head. If I can afford to digress, “Paranoid” would be an ideal statement, sans the opening clause. I wonder whether it comes naturally to me, the tumult, or whether it is a product of so many assumptions; whether this is a result of a diverging, almost escaping, reality or a converging, almost overwhelming, hallucination. So many times have I thought about so many things, so many predicaments, and an equal number of times have I experienced strong explanatory undercurrents, only to have let them drift in time with the flow, punctuated by scattered, insignificant efforts for roadblocks. At times I have been plain reluctant of taking charge, and at other times confined myself to complaining, limiting my will to react.

React. Yes, reactionary is what I have largely been. But does that solve one bit of the puzzle, the assumptions bit? By laying a claim to being reactionary, can I say this tumult is not at least the result of too many assumptions? No, because regardless of the assumptions, I keep deferring action. This only builds a massive block which some or the other point in time has to be dismantled to be able to see any further. And within that unorganized megalith, breed many tumultuous thoughts, nibbling away at every bit of organization within you. Like the domino effect, these megaliths keep regenerating all around you, colonizing within themselves, a largely productive brain, rendered rather ineffective, consumed, all the while, in battle against an imposing, but invisible, foe. The key is how soon you condition yourself to circumvent this entrapment, and get back to being what you were. Still better, don’t wait for the garbage to pile up.

Pre-empt. Act.

There is so much to see beyond every wall, so much to read between every line. The question is, am I up to it?