Mormon Gold Plates (Photo credit: More Good Foundation)
If it doesn’t look good, it won’t be called deception.
That nice-looking bandage over that fine piece of hot leg may as well be covering up a festering repugnant sore.
So, what will I do?
I am leaping off my bed
Throwing aside the beddings
In the bright of the day
Only my pajamas on
Running through the doors
Into the street
Bounding through the arrows of a million eyes
Shrinking inwardly from uncertainty and shame
Throwing myself on the beach at the road’s end
Where sits the Healer
Because He said I should come
Because He doesn’t believe in covering up dross with gloss
Because gold-plated clay never lasts
Because He can deal thoroughly with the sore
Because good acts can’t redeem the dark soul
Because noble emotions can’t re-brand the weak will
Because sheer muscle power can’t deliver the failing heart
Because He can save the dark misty soul
From my complacency…
Against my comforts…
In the wake of truth and discovery…
Just as I am…
Away from where I had been…
Out in the vulnerable openness…
Against my pretences, image-protection and “good” name; and external constraints…
At the foot of the Healer…
All because He called me out.
Gold-paint all you want,
It doesn’t change the that clay at the centre.
I am seeing things and not “seeing things”.
I am committed to this obsessive act now.
It’s a new insanity peacefully residing in my mind.
At times the madness is asleep, completely at peace with itself and my world;
Other times the madness is industrious at its peak performance.
I prowl at the cliff and peek over the edge at wonders burning in this world beyond,
So magically thrilling, the fires have got be an illusion;
Or, symbolizing the intense power and energy flowing in this world.
It’s like something birthed from a Harry Potter movie about an enchanted city,
Else how can a market exist in the centre of a burning city?
Help!!! How could I claim to be in love with this sight?
How could I leave the comfort of my home every evening,
Unafraid of being possibly caught by some spirit-guards,
To come gaze at a market which bustles with the activities
Of trading in human souls?
Over here I see an angel with the halo on his head in a golden tuxedo
Pleadingly and aggressively (at the same time) haggling over the price of this human soul.
Just beside him is a demon dressed coolly as a business man in a dark misty suit
ALSO aggressive with the right mix of subtle premium evil intentions.
Each acting as though the other were not there; fully focused on the business at hand –the human.
The seller is the … HUMAN himself!
From this distance I can’t understand all that’s happening.
But when a transaction appears to be over,
The human follows either the demon or the angel out of the market
To his fate, having sold out his power of choice.
These activities happen everyday, every moment –
Humans selling out their souls and fates
To the angel or the demon
I am just an observer
With no memory of ever being in this market.
P.S.: Pardon my digression into the details of the activities
It makes it seem like a horrid place, but it’s far from that.
The pure awesomeness of this city is part of what has thrown me into this addiction.
And, who knows, I might get away with something out of this city (the day I dare venture further)
That I can show people as proof of its existence.
Washington DC – Judiciary Square: Meade Memorial (Photo credit: wallyg)
A supernatural world that knocks the earth out of its orbit
The rules override the laws of physics and logic
A powerful system whose fingers weave through all nature
A power that affects events in nature all around us
A living breathing force that swallows the ball of darkness
A solution to the complex puzzle of the corrupt human nature
A mystery that smashes the imagination
A fact the limited cognition can’t process
I am the Unseen One
I exist even if you mortals don’t want to admit it
I am even if you have challenges acknowledging it
You don’t expect me to fade because you deny my reality
You don’t expect my deity status to change because you blaspheme and curse me
You don’t think I will be guilty simply because you rain –
Well, since you are below and I above –
You fire blames upon me
I have made my case, but you simply don’t want to pay attention
Then you bring up all these “facts” and allegations
You manufacture your own versions of circumstantial and hard evidences
Without even a slight trace of my “DNA” to inculpate me
You concoct your own versions of character evidence against me
Without even a peek at the copy of my personality profile
Available so readily all around.
And when I won’t even honour your subpoena
You blatantly call me a coward
Then you go on to lead your lives
Mostly oblivious to my reality and design for your lives
Occasionally admitting to my existence with the angry jab or a curse word at me
I still try to help you see
Not because I cease to be a deity without you
(as I can reel out a billion universes and creatures in a second)
But because I am still concerned about you.
Yet, my reality remains a mystery to you
A reality more promiscuous as a blazing sun temporarily hidden behind a cloud
Yet can be observed to be there
But, again, poor mortals are stuck on detailed analyses of the clouds
Blind to the sun!
I have heard someone who may have thought himself a sage say:
Without darkness there can be no light;
Without death we wouldn’t appreciate life.
What then is the value of good, if it is incomplete without evil?
Or, maybe it is just because we are confused.
Who has been here before the world began?
Who has been in an existence that had only light and life?
Let him silence these babbling sages who pontificate before me.
Night has come with the peak of life and performance.
Meanwhile the other members of my species
Are lost and dead to the world –
Souls astray in the land of sleep.
One has said to make hay while the MOON shines.
A real sage that one is!
So, let me indulge (in) my garrulity.
Chances are that you will find a useful phrase in the multitude of the words.
It really doesn’t cost much to speak.
It’s way less stressful than typing.
So, give me some credit for the words,
Whilst not forgetting the One who birthed the world through words.
So then what qualifies as a wise saying?
Words many people agree with?
Words that help many people?
Words that are complexly interwoven?
Words that are full of proud vocabularies?
Words that are very simple?
Words that give (any kind of) answer to a tough question?
Can someone please tell me?
Because we speak these days,
And I struggle with the words I hear.
Or, maybe I have been listening to the wrong people.
Maybe I should look elsewhere besides earth.
The kid thinks the father a wisest man.
The lover hooks on the words of the significant other.
The people want to believe the words of the presidential candidate as solution.
The seekers believe the words of their holy books ultimate.
And here this hapless doctor-turn-writer has found himself in this insane universe,
Where sound words are to be mined as precious stones;
In caves that are unstable and treacherous;
And the smooth rider today finds himself in some pit tomorrow.
In-between consultation periods with patients on a light day, I’d leave the consultation room with my jotter and pen, walk out to the veranda. My hospital was a 5-storey building on an elevated part of the city, and my medical business ended at the second floor normally.
Now I know it is not a most magical experience, but imagine how blessed a doctor feels to be able to wander up every veranda of that building, and finally stand on the topmost, a jotter or phone in hand, and writing obsessively as he looks over the whole city and men swimming in the stream of life.
This was the birth of my series of writing –From My Veranda.
I wrote at different periods of the day, from the different storeys, on different days (as the workload permitted). I have to say: these periods of writing were wonderful experiences for me, amidst the near-fun moments of consulting with patients. I lo…ved being a medical doctor, and I loved meeting with people and being able to help them with their physical and psychological ailments.
But, this other work committed into my soul; this other fire burning in my fingers (not to perform surgeries); this other brewing in my brain that makes me passion-crazy –
Is to paint out the unseen world with words, so that the seeing mortals can see and read, and acknowledge the reality of the supernatural; and recognize that it affects what they are and what they experience in this natural world.
It got so crazy that one morning, after my night shift, I left the hospital with a phone in my hand and typing as I walked on the road observing the people of that region, being different from where I live.
This is not borne out of a desire for fame. It is not borne out of a plan to leave medical practice and start generating income from writing.it is not borne out of a desperate desire to carve out a niche for myself as a versatile medical doctor, keeping in mind that I have so many other sides (refer to my “about” page and my nomination for one lovely blog award).
I have left that hospital today, but the writing has not stopped.
I have to do this. I have to do this. I have to do this.
The supernatural world is as a real as an unseen heart beating wildly under the thin skin of this present world.