Capitalism is hard, be soft
I am done whining, are you?
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I know. I know. I said I will be consistent with this letter. I know. I said I should have learned by now and if I forget, remind me… many of you did. The best part of writing a letter is someone asking you when is it the time for the next one?
I only came back because my space beckoned me. I love journaling my life on Instagram. But this space provides for me in ways that no other space can. I have some amazing humans who have aligned with my goals, my space, and my peace, here. That is paramount to me right now- waiting and to give back when I can. I have learned, met, and talked to so many amazing energies in the past month that you'll find my writing- new. My thoughts- are more stabilized. Whatever self-doubt I had, is no more. I feel like I am a child again. I feel great. I feel that I can make others feel the same. And that includes you, my dearest reader. Yes, you deserve your time on earth. You deserve a world. Nature. Animals. The unconscious is handling you more than your consciousness. Sometimes the best we can do is hand ourselves out to the universe and start accepting- the energy in pain, the emergence of pleasures, and life as it is.
When you are down, who do you go to? The last resort?
Think?
Your parents? Do you have them with you always? Are they your friends? Are they available always? Are your dear best friends available always?
The dog you loved, died a while back
The singer who makes you cry is no more, today
The boy who stole my heart left it mangled like a lift hurtling downwards after a malfunction, lot many years before we decided that I was forever heartbroken
Who is?
The unknown artist from Belgium whose music you paused and regained after a moment of clarity, lip-syncing slowly
The illustrator who knows how to draw your scowl with her felt tip pen on a stone paper
The rapper who made you feel alive
The movies which you watch again and again and again
The little wooden key chain which sits in your desk drawer reminds you of the trails in the mountains which you passed by
These people who make art, stay with you, against everything, within, without each thing that does not make sense
These people who draw, dance, and sing- make you feel like you are not alone
even when you are- Ah, oh, hmmm
sometimes when you talk to people, all they can speak about is the show they binge-watched in a week and how they loved it and why- that’s all they know and rejoice in because life is hard, it is unkind to most. Yet people look up to them who don’t even care. Yet people miss out on others like them. Yet people never know what it is to be kind and to suffer in the kindness of all the things-
With responsive strings, I sing of how
great Nature controls all things with her laws
and how she keeps track of the universe
with a steady attention that never flags
and looks after each tiny creature
held fast in necessity’s net.
There are lions in Carthage held in chains
of fine-wrought gold that are trained to feed
from a man’s hand, and they fear his beatings,
but once blood touches their huge jaws
they revert, go feral, break their bonds,
and turn on their master to slake their thirst
for blood and revenge from his torn flesh.
The bird that sang free in the treetops,
shut in a cage and turned into a toy,
drinks her honeyed food from her dish,
but let her, from the bars of that cage,
glimpse those treetops that used to be home,
and she will scatter her food and sulk,
twittering only songs of grieving
about those trees through which she once flew.
Take a sapling and tie its top
so that it is bowed down to the ground,
then cut the rope or let it give way
and the tree will point again to the sky.
Phoebus’ car goes down in the west
but rises again in its regular place
in the east to usher in the morning.
Each thing seeks its own return
to what it knows as its preordained
course, so that endings often announce
new beginnings in ordered cycles.
I have pasted this poem from Boethus’s masterpiece which I devoured a while back and it has not still left me. I look up at the ceiling which is my friend and the walls which contain my wreckage- and I see Boethus and his words ring in my wee ears. I have read how-to face-read, precious essays by my favorite authors, the history of witchcraft, human design, and Nonfiction pieces that start with books on solar eclipses to poems by Romeo Oriogun, Chris Abani- prose like the award-winning book- Sorrow and Bliss, Malidoma’s stories that talk in a tongue that I have missed- and not confessing much about what I am learning…I feel guilty. I have a project which started on October 21st. Around noon or a day before that, in Kodaikanal, Tamil Nadu. I cannot tell you how much I have learned about myself and the world, since. October 21st changed a lot. Some day the trip will beckon me to write about it.
Recently I read these five books which I am highly recommending to be read:
Ritual: Power, Healing, and Community by Elder Malidoma
Face Reading: How to Know Anyone at a Glance
Black Dahlia Avenger: A Genius for Murder
The Myth of Sisyphus: And Other Essays
The Last Time I Had To See You: A Poetry Chapbook
You might also want to check out some of my new writings-
I have these two latest pieces to share:
1. https://www.outlookindia.com/culture-society/it-is-raining-in-january-and-i-can-t-fly-kites-news-194149
2. https://www.theelevationreview.com/shalini-singh
Wrote this Newsletter listening to Lagaan Soundtracks!
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its beautifully written newsletter.