Skip to main content

Jonathan Livingston Seagull is the world's edge


I remember when I picked Jonathan Livingston Seagull for the first time. It was long ago. A thin, square-sized book that it was, with every sentence Richard Bach had me to the skin. It was as if the time had frozen. Although I was too young, I could gather what I had bumped into. It wasn’t a book. It was the edge of the world. Upfront was the dark abyss of all your fears and apprehensions about the life. And somewhere far far ahead a faint light seemed to break in. Right then that day, I dashed into that tiny dot of light, not caring if my way ploughed through the deep void.

You see, there is no abyss ever. It is you at either side. Validating the abyss is denying your connection to what is beyond you. Don’t be afraid when they tell you that the abyss stares back at you. It does not know the way to trespass on its own. Right across it stand specks of hopes, dreams, joys pulsating through the spectrum of your being. Transgress a little and you’d see that all the ashes burdening you never mattered, except for those thin silvery shards and golden cusps we call moments of life. These moments glister whenever we spread out the cover of repose and quiet. And show the worth.

Transpose.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Keep Gratitude

We often wonder how life and its things begin, how love is found, how joys are treasured. On this lookout we often forget how it all will end. How life would cease to be. That last day is the hardest thought to cope with, to let go of all that these moments hold for us. Even our incomplete fate, even our unfulfilled wishes. Even this imperfect story is too dear to let go. And in this retrospect our gratitude magnifies. This is where true happiness lies. This where the mind meets clarity, and the voice learns modesty.
Post a Comment
Read more

Be it

It flip-opens in you. It bursts out. Gashes deep. Makes you bleed. You’d writhe or feel  stifled. You’d flinch or struggle. But you wouldn't complain. For if you do, you don’t have it in you. Long coffee sessions, caffeine rush. Fistful of rum. Or chalice-deep wine. Singular walks. Drifting monsoon. Dwindling hills. Gushing rivers. Smoke, fire, or snow. Forests or deserts. Longhand. Sharp wit. Vague humor. Extended talk. One humongous sigh. That eccentric silence. The abyss inside a thought. These are indispensable. A slight remark would set you off. A tiny inkling would fuse into spark. A background sound would tick your edge. It would demand or vanish. It would sink or float. You might have to chase it. You might have to erase it. You might have to do it over and over as long as you breathe. Cut it. Be it. The writer.
Post a Comment
Read more

I will remember

This day metro isn’t so crowded and I get a seat toward the end of the coach. Two stoppages later a family boards the train. They have a couple of luggage bags. I vacate the seat for them. The woman reluctantly contemplates taking the seat as I insist. Men around focus on the opportunity if she refuses. She sits. The three children, who all seem 3-6 years old, slowly sit over the berth constructed of the bags. All these three sit with their backs to each other, all facing opposite directions. The man stands near the steel bar about a foot from the children, observing them. I take another look at the family - the man’s shirt is torn from places. Sensing my own unease, I hastily look at his feet. The shoes are okay, not worn out. I strangely feel as if this discovery is a consolation to my own blessings. I shift my sight. The kids are well-dressed in the clothes the parents could afford them, the woman seems to be wearing a new saree . I feel relieved that I have overcome the bout of s...
Post a Comment
Read more