Literary Seductions
In search of bluebird
The genesis of love remains a mystery. They say how, why, and when it happens no one knows. On the art and science of love Ontor solemnly declares it is an innocence bordering on naïve faith. Surely it is the half cognizant absences in life that lure leanings towards the other; no more, no less. One is compelled, fascinated, attracted by different aspects of more than one individual. Sometimes it is a sense of intellectual compatibility, sometimes of a verve that one notices which denotes the promise of excitement and stimulation! Such sparks cannot be love. Can it? Mentally she makes a note: it is good to remember that in the end we have only ourselves. The phone rings, putting an end to her cascade of contemplations. She is reluctant to converse with Neel. Who would say anything yet? Recently her fragmented thoughts could not find their way on paper. She hears herself say:
"How do you like the idea of interactive writing?"
"What writing?" "You know, a literary collaborative work, I write the other person responds and vice versa. Even better, we can become each other's Anna Akhmatova and Isaiah Berlin? Ah, the happy ride we could take, together, in closeness reminiscent of the stars, it would give new meaning to my life!" What on earth was she saying? His long pause made her hopeful. Perhaps he will agree to push back the deadline, just by few more days? "Ok, I know of someone who can work with you. He will be your Ai!" With that he hung up, without nicety of details. Ten minutes later a filigree of words light up the screen of her work station. No name, no introductions, the unpardonable act. "My search for you is essentially a striving for what goes on in your mind. What happens there, my friend?" "To you here is my mind's crystal or cameo. Name it as you wish!
I seek:
That color which can paint all that is
In my heart, but shape me not in a mold
The truth where wisdom is humble, silent
Life's heart that sanctifies grief and joy
Wonder of clumsiness where imperfect beauty abounds
To hear that racing heart when soul feels void of the one
Knowledge of freedom, as freedom itself is in chains
In silence, I seek life…!" "You look for colour which can paint all that is in your heart and yet not shape you in a mould? But colour goes beyond parameters, doesn't it? "The colour? Yes, indeed it does go beyond parameters. But as the colour gets captured on canvas the essence, the feelings of an artist come to an end, parameters get defined. I am in eternal need of the unknown colour. I find kindness colourful, truth colourful, the duality of tear and smile colourful, birth and death colourful, I find a beautiful mind colourful! It is the human essence. Or would you rather say to hold precious moments we are ever-in-need of that unknown colour which has many forms: moments, expressions, temperaments, each captured within defined parameters and yet open to new horizons? In all this the heart cannot but throb, for to pause would be the death of all that is beautiful in life." "Would you feel easy and comfortable if I addressed you as my soul-mate? Ah, but then, emotions will come into the picture. Let them. In this profound intellectual relationship, it will be an interplay of reason and emotion. To deny that will cause a conflagration in the soul, yours as well as mine. In this coming together, we are going for an assertion of ourselves, separately and in conjoined fashion." Neel's solution of Ai? But who is this? Clearly he was calligraphing her opinions. She smiles and writes back, "Recall Pascal? He said, 'The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.' Ah…but he speaks of mind's reasoning of higher spirituality, where faith resides. For individuals like us who are slightly off on the continuum of sanity, I say the only way to endorse beauty is to temper reason with emotion! Does it sound unreasonable to you? Let it be so." "By the way, what would you say to a thought borrowed from Neruda: I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees"? "The reader in me says thus. Hold me in your belief. Fold me in your flow of life. But not do what he pronounces. There love and divinity come together as magnificent, pristine, surging and beautiful. For me, savouring words establishes a violent intimacy to the reading process. As I wrap myself in lyrics, poems, books, literary writings, the words stand at the periphery giving shape to my thoughts and images. With assertive finesse Wilson would say to you, 'Reading is an adventure without a known route or destination.' To me it allows for the pleasure of breaking away from the bonds of routine, to explore the bond we long for. To read is to live life many times over; and the friendship remains ever loyal. Ah…the mind is provoked in the privacy of listening to that quiet voice." "Well, what do you think, can we work together?" "Surely we can work together. If it is a search for each other's mind we will end up with a reactive discourse! For me, it is a trigger for how I wish to respond to the words, the thoughts. Ontor becomes the objective self, detached, one that does not belong. I do not respond to you, my writings are a response to those words. That is how my mind works. That is how I write. Perhaps we will discover more of each other, if we continue. If you do not agree, pray do tell why?" "I know you as Ontor. But what do I call myself? Would you choose a pen name for me? Please do. You are a gift to me from the heavens. Why not the 'gift' now come up with a gift?" "Why get into the emotional bindings of a name? Let us keep away from it, shall we? Perhaps you will again reiterate we are soul-mates on many levels! Maybe. Maybe not. Remain un-Named to me. My suggestion, take you and me --- he and she --- out of the equation while traversing the road of thoughts. Can we not be just persons? I wonder." "Hold not your emotions but let it be free
For I will not be in judgment of you
I feel the fragrance of your life
Let me be the smile ever present on your lips
Let me be the sparkle of your being
Feel my presence in your soul. And the heart always throbs. As I wait for your response I imagine hearing your laughter as the evening stars gleam in your hair!" Pausing briefly on the exclamation, Ontor reciprocates with a spirited touch of gray.
"But I can give death no name
Perhaps it is but a luminous silence
I can speak of no dreams
I walk on into the weary night
A story perhaps unfolds, restless in content…"
And then she adds, "Always remember I am a solitary traveller!" "My day is made, for you have let me enter your Ontor. It is warm there. I say, 'Do not leave yet / Let me rearrange the world for you.' It is a beautifully cloudy day, with that slight hint of sultry breeze. You create worlds upon worlds in my soul. Ah, it is indeed the soul, my friend. There is the heart stumbling upon another heart through the interplay of stars. That is when life reenergizes itself. Shall we start a new chapter in the long history of literary seductions?" The conversation ends. Ontor tunes in to her thoughts, "Little do you realize tucked away in that autumn landscape of my mind is a small space of serene comfort selfishly mine, where I often go to meet the words. There I let my bluebird take to the sky, unfettered. As I become writer and reader the stranglehold of empty space fills with fistfuls of sunshine. I find the pleasure of connecting thus as partnership with living. It is my Ai (love)! True, it takes two to tango, the writer and reader, but surely the intensity of seductive pleasure can only be of the writer! Admittedly, seduction is a reaction, in need of an actor. What if the writer's self becomes that actor? How else do great writings happen? One sees through the objective other the deliberations of self and it validates one's expressions, thoughts, pleasures. That is how stories come alive. There is this intense joy of savouring such creations which obliterates the need for any beings' presence or feel. In the absence of this madness, of and about self, one cannot seduce the reader to submission. Writing generates the substance of mind, the amazing entity that determines the prescriptions of life through accepting or rejecting the emotions, the imaginations, thus giving in to persuasion, allowance, temptations, and, yes, reason. Well, it is the writer who draws in that someone, but it is only possible when the writer too has been seduced by words themselves!" Is that just what happened? As Ontor steps into the rhythm of life she lets her heart reach for the peerless beauty of eve's twilight.
"What writing?" "You know, a literary collaborative work, I write the other person responds and vice versa. Even better, we can become each other's Anna Akhmatova and Isaiah Berlin? Ah, the happy ride we could take, together, in closeness reminiscent of the stars, it would give new meaning to my life!" What on earth was she saying? His long pause made her hopeful. Perhaps he will agree to push back the deadline, just by few more days? "Ok, I know of someone who can work with you. He will be your Ai!" With that he hung up, without nicety of details. Ten minutes later a filigree of words light up the screen of her work station. No name, no introductions, the unpardonable act. "My search for you is essentially a striving for what goes on in your mind. What happens there, my friend?" "To you here is my mind's crystal or cameo. Name it as you wish!
I seek:
That color which can paint all that is
In my heart, but shape me not in a mold
The truth where wisdom is humble, silent
Life's heart that sanctifies grief and joy
Wonder of clumsiness where imperfect beauty abounds
To hear that racing heart when soul feels void of the one
Knowledge of freedom, as freedom itself is in chains
In silence, I seek life…!" "You look for colour which can paint all that is in your heart and yet not shape you in a mould? But colour goes beyond parameters, doesn't it? "The colour? Yes, indeed it does go beyond parameters. But as the colour gets captured on canvas the essence, the feelings of an artist come to an end, parameters get defined. I am in eternal need of the unknown colour. I find kindness colourful, truth colourful, the duality of tear and smile colourful, birth and death colourful, I find a beautiful mind colourful! It is the human essence. Or would you rather say to hold precious moments we are ever-in-need of that unknown colour which has many forms: moments, expressions, temperaments, each captured within defined parameters and yet open to new horizons? In all this the heart cannot but throb, for to pause would be the death of all that is beautiful in life." "Would you feel easy and comfortable if I addressed you as my soul-mate? Ah, but then, emotions will come into the picture. Let them. In this profound intellectual relationship, it will be an interplay of reason and emotion. To deny that will cause a conflagration in the soul, yours as well as mine. In this coming together, we are going for an assertion of ourselves, separately and in conjoined fashion." Neel's solution of Ai? But who is this? Clearly he was calligraphing her opinions. She smiles and writes back, "Recall Pascal? He said, 'The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.' Ah…but he speaks of mind's reasoning of higher spirituality, where faith resides. For individuals like us who are slightly off on the continuum of sanity, I say the only way to endorse beauty is to temper reason with emotion! Does it sound unreasonable to you? Let it be so." "By the way, what would you say to a thought borrowed from Neruda: I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees"? "The reader in me says thus. Hold me in your belief. Fold me in your flow of life. But not do what he pronounces. There love and divinity come together as magnificent, pristine, surging and beautiful. For me, savouring words establishes a violent intimacy to the reading process. As I wrap myself in lyrics, poems, books, literary writings, the words stand at the periphery giving shape to my thoughts and images. With assertive finesse Wilson would say to you, 'Reading is an adventure without a known route or destination.' To me it allows for the pleasure of breaking away from the bonds of routine, to explore the bond we long for. To read is to live life many times over; and the friendship remains ever loyal. Ah…the mind is provoked in the privacy of listening to that quiet voice." "Well, what do you think, can we work together?" "Surely we can work together. If it is a search for each other's mind we will end up with a reactive discourse! For me, it is a trigger for how I wish to respond to the words, the thoughts. Ontor becomes the objective self, detached, one that does not belong. I do not respond to you, my writings are a response to those words. That is how my mind works. That is how I write. Perhaps we will discover more of each other, if we continue. If you do not agree, pray do tell why?" "I know you as Ontor. But what do I call myself? Would you choose a pen name for me? Please do. You are a gift to me from the heavens. Why not the 'gift' now come up with a gift?" "Why get into the emotional bindings of a name? Let us keep away from it, shall we? Perhaps you will again reiterate we are soul-mates on many levels! Maybe. Maybe not. Remain un-Named to me. My suggestion, take you and me --- he and she --- out of the equation while traversing the road of thoughts. Can we not be just persons? I wonder." "Hold not your emotions but let it be free
For I will not be in judgment of you
I feel the fragrance of your life
Let me be the smile ever present on your lips
Let me be the sparkle of your being
Feel my presence in your soul. And the heart always throbs. As I wait for your response I imagine hearing your laughter as the evening stars gleam in your hair!" Pausing briefly on the exclamation, Ontor reciprocates with a spirited touch of gray.
"But I can give death no name
Perhaps it is but a luminous silence
I can speak of no dreams
I walk on into the weary night
A story perhaps unfolds, restless in content…"
And then she adds, "Always remember I am a solitary traveller!" "My day is made, for you have let me enter your Ontor. It is warm there. I say, 'Do not leave yet / Let me rearrange the world for you.' It is a beautifully cloudy day, with that slight hint of sultry breeze. You create worlds upon worlds in my soul. Ah, it is indeed the soul, my friend. There is the heart stumbling upon another heart through the interplay of stars. That is when life reenergizes itself. Shall we start a new chapter in the long history of literary seductions?" The conversation ends. Ontor tunes in to her thoughts, "Little do you realize tucked away in that autumn landscape of my mind is a small space of serene comfort selfishly mine, where I often go to meet the words. There I let my bluebird take to the sky, unfettered. As I become writer and reader the stranglehold of empty space fills with fistfuls of sunshine. I find the pleasure of connecting thus as partnership with living. It is my Ai (love)! True, it takes two to tango, the writer and reader, but surely the intensity of seductive pleasure can only be of the writer! Admittedly, seduction is a reaction, in need of an actor. What if the writer's self becomes that actor? How else do great writings happen? One sees through the objective other the deliberations of self and it validates one's expressions, thoughts, pleasures. That is how stories come alive. There is this intense joy of savouring such creations which obliterates the need for any beings' presence or feel. In the absence of this madness, of and about self, one cannot seduce the reader to submission. Writing generates the substance of mind, the amazing entity that determines the prescriptions of life through accepting or rejecting the emotions, the imaginations, thus giving in to persuasion, allowance, temptations, and, yes, reason. Well, it is the writer who draws in that someone, but it is only possible when the writer too has been seduced by words themselves!" Is that just what happened? As Ontor steps into the rhythm of life she lets her heart reach for the peerless beauty of eve's twilight.
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