Inhibitions, and How They Affect Free Flow. Happy Birthday, Lantern Carrier. By Artin Selimi
To truly believe that one is open-minded, one must open their mind to scepticism, to believe that there is no such thing as objective truth; one must see that that statement in itself, is attempting to convey an objective truth.
Among these statements and contradictions, I sometimes find it difficult to convey, what I truly feel when writing poetry. The words are all there, like children on the top of a waterslide, pushing and shoving, barely being able to slide down the slope of ink, splashing into the pool of ideas, and then dried off by towels of paper that get read on nights like these. But it’s the security guard on top of the slope, who gets to pick what words get to slide down.
“Pick us, pick us!” Shouts a couple of sufi-esque words at the back, words like Spirit, Soul, Light, dreams and Love, causing many of the other kids to scoff, especially that group at the front. Words like empirical evidence, mm and volume.
And it’s quite difficult when I want to write a poem on subjects such as Love, without feeling a bit torn, to hear the mystics go:
“Strip away the skin, you will find flesh. Strip away flesh, you will find bone. Strip away my bone, you will find Soul, strip away my Soul and you will find Yourself.”
To hear the cheeseballs go:
“Are you a banana? Because I find you a-peeling.”
And to hear the evolutionary psychologist go:
“The way you cause these neuro-transmitters to flow through my body, it almost makes me forget about your slightly recessive genes.”
For me it’s late at night, in the morning as soon as I wake up, or when I listen to music, that my inhibitions are at their lowest. This also seems to be around the same time, when my guard decides to have a little drink or take a nap. Upon seeing that there is no guard to filter them, the words gently hold each other’s hands like polymers and produce something organic, flowing down the stream of ink, into the pool of ideas and unto the paper towels.
When I hear this friend recite, I can tell the stream of ink comes from his Heart, with no guard or barrier. I wish you Love and a Happy Birthday, Dear Lantern Carrier.
-Artin Selimi, © 10th February, 2016.
Excepts from Sri Chinmoy's writing's on a Birthday
“Each birthday is a new awakening. Each birthday is a new hope. Each birthday is a new promise. Each birthday is a new fulfilment….
Each birthday is a tune, a melody of the universal music. Each individual is also a melody of the universal music. The seeker grows and grows in his music, which he can hear with his soulful ears. The very presence of the soul-child inside us is what grants us a taste of the universal music…
Each birthday is a petal of a flower. The flower, petal by petal, blossoms and then it is ready to be placed at the inner shrine in the aspiring heart…
At every moment, God, the Author of all good, celebrates the seeker’s birthday.”_ Sri Chinmoy.
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Rumi and Love
© 2016 manatita44
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