The Abyss and The Rose

Float.Hate.Place.Expanse. A few words I "saw" when I woke up today to the strains of Jim singing about the end.My perception changes every moment of how I feel about them.
An explanation eludes me as I search,sometimes the search itself becomes the answer.
So,I stared into the abyss and sought the rose but only the abyss stared back at me.

FLOAT:An instant replay.A beach in goa.Letting myself go under a wave for a minute,feeling the sea calling back the sand like a mother to her child.I open my eyes through a curtain of water ,sea shells floating beside me as I see the sun breaking through the clouds.My surroundings have the volume button turned to mute.For a split-second. I let my head back thinking that perhaps my dark side too will be washed away.Then the water lifts me I float,the sea calls back her own.I strike out and surface,water dripping down my ears and sand in my trunks(it really is uncomfortable).To the voice going in my head "break,break,break,break on through to the other side" and the screams of a friend who thinks she's drowning in the sea for now.

HATE:Like jim said,"When my fist clenches crack it open before I use it and lose my cool".A feeling much more useful than love ,it has really changed the world.How do I see the world?How do I know where the thin edge is between hate and love?Isn't it just easier to simply easier to cease to care.
Funnily,I didn't see Himesh reshammiya or any of the buggers in class(I'm allowed to be crass)or any lost loves or my mess food.
What do I hate? Is it just like something bad I have n then spit out?( but even that tends to linger)Do I love to hate or hate to love? I close my eyes and I see a cracked white wall oozing blood.Dunno whats that all about.

PLACE:
"Hazaron kwahishein aisi ki har kwahish pe dum nikale
Bahut nikale mere armaan par phir bi kam nikale"
My place.I'm not talking about the current urban jungle that my room looks like now or my place in the grander scheme of things(cults are nice but can't seem to find any local ones).
What I am writing about*feverishly-stoned-sloshed-dreamily* is about the place in my head where I commune with all the voices.The one where I talk with me.The room with the white walls.The beach with the shining stars .The river patrol boat (I only have three places, they do get overcrowded).


EXPANSE:
It is a curious incident of which I tell you about.On a trip to rajasthan ,we went to ranthambore. Its 5 o'clock in the morning and the forest is like nothing I have seen before. Not the dark mysterious sunderbans or the wet duars.We are in Tiger country ,my guide follows the calls and the open-top jeep follows his directions.We wait for the king/queen of the jungle keeping a silent vigil(my stomach does growl setting off a false alarm, thats what you get for not getting me any breakfast).An hour passes by and we go to another spot along the trail.The sunbeams crisscross the path .A few dips and then we come up behind the fort on top of the valley. I see it then.I'm in a Technicolour dream ,every shade attenuated and every image in sharp focus,the grass is golden and the trees are geometric designs of nature,the earth is a mottled crazy palette of red,magpies fly overhead.And everywere I look it becomes even more beautiful.

P.S.:I did get to see a tiger .


This is the end ,beautiful friend.
Of everything that stands the end.
No safety or surprise the end.
I'll never look into your eyes again.