Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Eye of the Storm

A certainty is out to get me. Sometimes preceding with a lot of uncertainties.

A shiny new sickle is in my hands, wet with the fresh rain water on its handle and surface, rain never ending , never ceasing forever near these terrible seas.
It rained here all night and for nights on end. But today the sun shines intermittent of the black clouds, somehow piercing from the corners of these thundering giants to give a little taste of fresh sunshine. The sands have been tightened and held close of all the rain.
I walk towards the ancient summit. It is called netratara. Atleast that is what the ancients used to call the place. It cannot be mistaken or go unnoticed. Lying deep within jungle vines and think forests where even sunlight is afraid to go. Distances generally go unrecognized by me, for am more engrossed in the path, where each direction might take me, how a path winds, meanders to another path. This is more interesting to my feeble brain than mere calculation of distance. But I would have it that to reach netra tara from the coast where I put up takes me more than one and half days.
It is a place un explored. Pristine beauty, to a person who is not accustomed to seeing it in his or her day to day existence. I have no particular insight to why the mountain is named such. All that I know from the fisher men who I habit with is that there is a temple, a ruin. A small yet colossal ruin. A power place.

I have taken patience with the oceans, and they have treated with equal kindness. When one learns about nature. Including about ones self, there is patience which must be taken of utmost importance. Nothing in nature takes place “fast” everything takes only time, nothing else and everything gives everything equally well.

Having spent a decade in human existence in contemplation of my goddess tara with the oceans, I have mastered patience with the terrible seas. They are not a part of the nature of this soul and this soul a part and parcel of them. I set out near netra tara once a month, trod ding carefully and slowly seeing all the encumbering paths which might lead up to her. Never is a route been found. Never anyone who dared to go near the divine hill, standing at the face of what breaks. She has stood resolute like a light house for the damned. For the restless. For the seekers. For the souls who yearn for the heart off the beloved.

A sinking feeling and then a quick rise. Every tree houses within itself a million lives ney! More infinitely more. I look at all the parts of these magnificent beings. They tower, adapted to the saline water which they receive in plenty, the trees near the coast apart from the palms, tower. Further inside, the jungle growth starts up in parts. Here the water is pure fresh; without the salt which even I have got accustomed to.
Women from the little habitat which I reside in the periphery come here to clean the clothes and fill water in their little buckets and take them back.. Sometimes the little chores though demanding are the most fulfilling. Perhaps when we see that all the work which we are to do in this life, is nothing consequential or important or any such garbage, then we might do it best.
The night is half filled with the moon on the periphery. And I have gone as far as I can go in the jungle. I am resolute. I have taken my time to yearn for my love. For the becoming to become and unbecoming. She has not come. She has hid. She has watched in silence, the suffering that her lover has endured. The death which comes on every moment in the absence of her. The meaningless existence in the lack of heart of the beloved.
I must reach Netra Tara. The eye of Tara. The eye of divinity. The eye of the Storm.

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