windmills of your mind

Posted on | December 20, 2009 | Comments Off

I have a fever. The whole body aches. And a lot of morbid thoughts come, right in the middle of a happy home. This is unpleasant. Or may be, just too tiring. I am tired.

I have morbid thoughts a lot, these days.

A was going to travel. He told B about it, when he talked to her after a long time. She told A to be extra careful, because, of late, she had been having a few undefined morbid dreams. Involving A and locomotive machines- some obscure dreams which involved big bands and some vehicle crashing- whether it was a plan or a taxi she could not see. A was in it, and A was dead. She tells A to be extra careful.

A wonders. If he is caught in a plane crash, being extra careful will not do much good.

He tells her he will be extra careful.

He wants to say that he will come back, but it sounds too theatrical. Besides, he does not know if there is anything worth coming back.

Most things in life are not worth coming back. But yet, we keep returning to them, over and over again. Not just physical things- possessions.

When we love people a lot, we think we have begun to possess them. This is wrong. They possess us.

This sense of possession makes us go back to people and relationships, again and again- even if we were only the possessed and never the possessor, and even if that has soured too long ago.

In this way, relationships are traps. Even when we know all about it consciously, unconsciously, we want to be possessed. We end being had.

Its all stories. Again we come back to them. The stories we tell ourselves. One audience novellas played at a shifting stage which only has room for two characters at one time.

We want the other to hear the story, to tell it, to be part of it. We want to move from raconteur to play-actor to director.

No one listens.

And poetry lurks in the background, waiting for sadness to creep in.

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