Alive

It wasn't easy to be doing nothing when she was there. He kept trying to refine his image. He wanted her. She wanted him more than him. He knew what was going on. He knew he didn't have to do all that. She kept touching her hair as if to retain the decor of the frame of his eye. She didn't want him to feel she wasn't pretty. She kept doing things to get his attention. The gloss on her lips and the shine on her nails were suppose to dazzle him and so they did, much like her eyes but never as much. They had barely spoken. The best kind of conversations are never aloud. A smile for a smirk and a blush for a touch. They both were enjoying this. More so, they had never spoken to each other before. Silence became expressive after a while, almost tangible, like colors to an artist. Liquid, lucid and alive.

Kasol, the afterthought.

With 25 thousand tourists a year, Kasol isn't a secluded part of the hills anymore. It is growing and so are the locals out there. They never imagined that people would come rushing in for the river that flows so fiercely that it becomes an echo in the minds that land up there. Soft minds, or to be softened minds.

We don't know if its famous for its brilliant charas,the beauty, or the crowd which definitely looks more creative than a club on Saturday night at haus khaz. We don't know if it is the plant (widely available everywhere anyway) or the freedom to smoke it that brings the modern Indian hippie culture together.

From debates that have neither legalized it nor told us the reasons for why is it still illegal, parvati valley offers a getaway for all since the spliffs have been lit from either side of the debates.

The beauty of the place, the plants,trees hills and even the evening breeze, the nutella crepes, the bridge that has been swinging between chalaal and Kasol and the thrill of walking on it (at least for the first time), the religious brand ambassadors lighting up chillums, the group of friends who have lied to their parents saying they are in manali and are found holding coconut shells as their crushing bowls in an environment which has almost a nil chance of violence when compared to our country's capital are smiling after smoking the joint they just rolled pushes me to question if we are fighting the right war at all.

The perspective on marijuana is changing with the western culture realising what they did was wrong. Take off the blindfolds of fear of the unknown. Know and not believe. Research and not agree to voices that apparently lead us to a brighter tomorrow. Marijuana isn't a big deal, the fear of it is.

Keep

Open doors

Knock knock
Hey there
Thought you were dead
I'm standing here
Let me in
It's raining

Thank God it's raining
Some excuse
To let me in
My God it's so warm in here
Away from logic
Away from fear

Sit
Why do you stand
I hope I don't make you
Uncomfortable
Stability is for fools
Travel is for sailors

Make a spark
Light a fire
And in that
Hotness breathe
So let the cold
Sleep some more
Some smiles
Let me steal

Why do I feel like
I am
The one you were
Waiting for
I'm just a passerby
Who'd travel
Door to door

I ask not of food
I ask not of wine
I ask not for sleep
I ask not to make you mine

I ask for comfort
I ask for care
I ask for light
And love that we share
I ask not much
Just this night
Next morning I'll be gone
Out of your sight

For I am scared
To stand
On the sand too long
The impression
It will leave
Will have me gone
In just a wave
Until I keep running
For far too long
But then its the same thing
You see
That we will be
Gone along with the wave
Along with our impressions

Let's just fuckin sieze this day

And poof.

From Sleep To Supernatural

It was in the middle of his sleep when he was shaken. He didn't wake up. He knew if his body woke up he would miss the reality his dreams were showing him. He was told that the body is separate and his soul resides in the body like a priest in a temple. He had ingested herbs that would let him reconsider his beliefs. He wasn't sure if this wasn't one. He had a habit of sleep-talking at times but never had he come across such an experience. 

His eyes opened almost as if they were meant to be opened; much like when you wake up on your own. He was awake while his body rested peacefully. He tried to move but he found himself paralyzed. Fear was the first thing that struck him but he controlled his breath because he also knew that its the tempo of the breath that signals the body and wakes it up. He understood the mechanics behind it. He felt like moving his feet and so he tried. What happened next gave him much clarity of who was experiencing everything. His feet moved but not physically. The feeling of the feet moving was felt but it was just his unseen self. He learned quickly that he wasn't a part of the emulsion between the body and the soul. He go excited and scared at the same time. He thought he would die. "If this is how it feels to be out of your body then death shouldn't be a difficult thing to handle" he thought to himself. He could feel himself floating above his body. suspended and gripped back only by what was behind his eyes. If he were to shut his eyes then, he would easily slip out of his body and go to his own wonderland. Like how the mystics talk about their own wonderlands. He was afraid to let go then, fearing permanent paralyses. This is how profound the experience was. 

Solitaire Sunrise

Cylindrical shaped

Bruises in the liquid soul

Intact within feelings

Colors and flow

Slow down beauty 

Slow down smiles

Slow your wheels

through the miles

Covered through 

The path you chose

Getting wetter 

Getting close

Damp and dark

Mud and snow

Walking through the

Mountain roads

shaking hands

with mountain ghosts

Sunrise with

his lover

Day dreaming 

Day dreaming. 

The Reverie: Chapter one.

Within this world they had no name for, was this particular conscious mind with the least appreciated art. He had the right eye and the right ears to connect to different vibrations , listened to good music played along in other's dreams really well but none could empathize with his. The colors he saw had started giving a depth to the basic foundation this world was made of. the glittery dust was feeling weak before his eyes and his eyes only. He began questioning everything he could but he was trained so well in attaching himself to the dream he survived in. he tried and tried to express it through his art but none could recognize the meaning within. What could they make of abstract art with no particular rhythm to it. His songs weren't melodious but just beats without a pattern. The concept of leaving patterns was declared as giving in to the system. The system was designed around the insecurities for people in many different ways. "Safety" was on the top of the list. 

He sat next to this river of energy, much like water but not as affected by gravity. It Changed color every time someone drank from it Or if any foreign glittery dust with a different vibration fell into it. It came from the minds of the highest order of consciousness in that particular dream. They were to sit in places away from other dreams and had become so good at it that their vibrations became tangible, changing forms. The river was a way for them to spread love among all, but the fact that you can only receive once you want to, drink when you are thirsty, the river became an open source of warmth and love. The river wasn't restricted to minds within those dreams but flowed through all dimensions because only love and light could penetrate everywhere and its absence was bitter. "Bitterness is as important" he thought. 

A branch of a tree lowered to heal his spine that had been feeling stressed. The plants in this world were perhaps of a giving nature. They had understood giving was not from something to something, but only a matter of support. There weren't any hospitals either, there was no need, intention and touch was enough to replenish love in one's self. 

Next to the stone where he sat, grew some color changing grass which he pulled off the ground and smelled. It was alive still, and had whispers from other dimensions. he smelled them and they smelled of fragrances that weren't of his dream. It was good grass. He took it home. He took out a pipe that was given to him by his father to be used in times of contemplation. I had a crystal from another dream to confuse consciousness and shake the dream he'd live in all the time. A reminder of where he came from. The state of nothingness. 

The Majority of dreamers wouldn't agree or even try the grass or the pipe. Fear of the unknown does that to the mind, takes it over and turns it black in color; Not the subtle blackness which comforts one at night, but the one that haunts and gives freedom for the fears to grow. He wasn't one of them. He understood that questioning everything was necessary and that he was a dreamer after all.