As I said, recently I swam in the flames. There is something romantic about it. Something very very romantic. I am a romantic pirate you see, even when it comes to the possibility of drowning. And on this particular event 2-3 days ago when I took a shot at trying to understand what this flame is, I was overcome with the warm feeling that leaves you in the unbearable cold later. And while I was living through the after-effects, I came to get used to whispering this song. Don't read too much into how it maps into the whole story. Just try to relate to it. Feel the longing. Think about your favorite person:
"Wish you were here...
Me, oh, my countryman,
Wish you were here...
I wish you were here...
Don't you know, the snow is getting colder,
And I miss you like hell,
And I'm feeling blue...
I've got feelings for you,
Do you still feel the same?
From the first time I laid my eyes on you,
I felt joy of living,I saw heaven in your eyes...
In your eyes...
Wish you were here,
Me, oh, my countryman,
Wish you were here...
I wish you were here...
Don't you know, the snow is getting colder,
And I miss you like hell...
And I'm feeling blue...
I miss your laugh,
I miss your smile,
I miss everything about you...
Every second's like a minute,
Every minute's like a day
When you're far away...
The snow is getting colder, baby,
And I wish you were here...
A battlefield of love and fear,
And I wish you were here...
I've got feelings for you,
From the first time I laid my eyes on you..."
(Blackmore's Night)
Sunday, February 17, 2008
I need an analogy
Analogies are powerful things. They control the scope of the story. Old people use analogies to tell their stories because the wealth of subtleties in the original story can easily overwhelm the child who is listening. Sometimes when you use an analogy, you successfully fill gaps you otherwise couldn't fill in the original story. Perhaps you can even map the solution back to the original story.
I use analogies because my original story is too painful, too confusing and too overwhelming to tell. The original story, just like my analogy, is still in the making and is happening now. There are many unknowns. But by using the analogy, I get to crop out things that are irrelevant or boring. In great fiction, this is perhaps one of the weaker ways of writing. But the fact that my story is happening now makes the analogy an exploration tool rather than a preaching tool.
While we're on the subject of exploration, I should confess that 2-3 nights ago I couldn't resist swimming towards a new spot close to the shore where I've found flames under water. The spot has been a favorite place of swimming in the decade I have been sentenced by circumstances to be confined to this island. But recently I noticed the spot in flames. I went in. I don't care. I want to break this sentence. I have no fear of the flame. Well I should probably mention that with this particular one, there was more pleasure and less of the feeling of burning to death. Tonight I went back to the old spot where the sensation was indeed of burning, and I can confirm that it still is.
I can't help you understand how the pirate story maps to the real world. But I can guarantee that as you read on, you will be able to slowly map it to your own reality and see yourself as the main character. You might not believe me now, but we'll get there. Meanwhile I can only provide hints, clues and rare directed brush strokes to paint the canvas more recognizably.
I use analogies because my original story is too painful, too confusing and too overwhelming to tell. The original story, just like my analogy, is still in the making and is happening now. There are many unknowns. But by using the analogy, I get to crop out things that are irrelevant or boring. In great fiction, this is perhaps one of the weaker ways of writing. But the fact that my story is happening now makes the analogy an exploration tool rather than a preaching tool.
While we're on the subject of exploration, I should confess that 2-3 nights ago I couldn't resist swimming towards a new spot close to the shore where I've found flames under water. The spot has been a favorite place of swimming in the decade I have been sentenced by circumstances to be confined to this island. But recently I noticed the spot in flames. I went in. I don't care. I want to break this sentence. I have no fear of the flame. Well I should probably mention that with this particular one, there was more pleasure and less of the feeling of burning to death. Tonight I went back to the old spot where the sensation was indeed of burning, and I can confirm that it still is.
I can't help you understand how the pirate story maps to the real world. But I can guarantee that as you read on, you will be able to slowly map it to your own reality and see yourself as the main character. You might not believe me now, but we'll get there. Meanwhile I can only provide hints, clues and rare directed brush strokes to paint the canvas more recognizably.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Flames under water
I have seen bright flames under water.
They have a glimmering glow. They're warm -- they feel warm where water is the coldest. I have seen them. I've been touched by them. I had wanted to. I was lost, lonely and freezing. Once or twice I gave in. I put aside the fear of unknown and let go. I lent myself to the warmth -- the sensation that everything will be okay in the end. I didn't know if they will, but I had no other choice but to believe. It was either that or the cold waves of water that would have drowned what was left of me.
The second time I attempted this, admittedly, I was putting myself in the situation experimentally. I hadn't understood what happened the first time. I just know something about the flame put a permanent stamp on me. When I got to the shore, I was exhausted and half-unconscious. I shouldn't have survived the cold waves of the sea, but somehow they had washed me back to the shore and I had survived. Anyone in their right mind would take that and walk away, but something was different. I was then cold, shivering and desparate, out on the shore. The flame had stripped me of my normal senses. I needed it. I was addicted. A while later, I attempted the second time. I had recovered, but I needed to try it again. I needed to. No rational reason why. I needed to understand the flame, and to make it mine.
As I mentioned, I'm here, shipwrecked on an island.
The second incident went better than the first. I couldn't find the flame in the same spot I had found it the first time, but after some search, I happened upon a place in the sea I felt to be familiar. There appeared to be nothing there at first, but then I was engulfed in them.
When I call this phenomena "flames", it is because I haven't found a better word for describing them. To clarify, they share some physical properties: the heat, the unpredictability and the shimmer -- the feeling of being in presence of something magical. But some properties are quite different. It doesn't burn. At least, it doesn't burn then and there. The feeling instead is of pleasure. Of this feeling, I will speak in depth later.
After the second attempt I set sail back to the shore. I was prepared for the cold waves. Somewhere along the way an unexpected storm crushed my boat to pieces. It washed me back to the same shore, this time stranded forever without a boat to go anywhere else. For the longest time I would imagine that the storm had a direct link, even caused by, the flame. It took years to accept that two events happening within such short time interval need not be cause and effect. Took years to accept that the two were very independent events. The fear had found its due place, and perhaps rightfully so. The next time I visited the flames in the same spot was on a raft a decade later. This time, I couldn't get very close. This time, the flames felt as if they were ready to burn in a very literal sense of the word.
I am a pirate without a boat, sitting on an island, with a lot on my mind that I can't unload on you right away. For one thing, you haven't seen what I've seen, and you may be starting to get a sense of detachment from my story. After all, who cares about a pirate and strange-sounding tales of flames under the sea-water...
If you've ever been lost in your life, looking desparately for something you couldn't quite identify, please stay with me. I admit I am busy. I'm trying to build a boat and get back to my world, you see. But I have tales to tell. I can't tell them quickly. If I do, you wouldn't understand -- trust me, the subtleties are way too important. You need to stick with me. At least, listen to the next few words I say...
They have a glimmering glow. They're warm -- they feel warm where water is the coldest. I have seen them. I've been touched by them. I had wanted to. I was lost, lonely and freezing. Once or twice I gave in. I put aside the fear of unknown and let go. I lent myself to the warmth -- the sensation that everything will be okay in the end. I didn't know if they will, but I had no other choice but to believe. It was either that or the cold waves of water that would have drowned what was left of me.
The second time I attempted this, admittedly, I was putting myself in the situation experimentally. I hadn't understood what happened the first time. I just know something about the flame put a permanent stamp on me. When I got to the shore, I was exhausted and half-unconscious. I shouldn't have survived the cold waves of the sea, but somehow they had washed me back to the shore and I had survived. Anyone in their right mind would take that and walk away, but something was different. I was then cold, shivering and desparate, out on the shore. The flame had stripped me of my normal senses. I needed it. I was addicted. A while later, I attempted the second time. I had recovered, but I needed to try it again. I needed to. No rational reason why. I needed to understand the flame, and to make it mine.
As I mentioned, I'm here, shipwrecked on an island.
The second incident went better than the first. I couldn't find the flame in the same spot I had found it the first time, but after some search, I happened upon a place in the sea I felt to be familiar. There appeared to be nothing there at first, but then I was engulfed in them.
When I call this phenomena "flames", it is because I haven't found a better word for describing them. To clarify, they share some physical properties: the heat, the unpredictability and the shimmer -- the feeling of being in presence of something magical. But some properties are quite different. It doesn't burn. At least, it doesn't burn then and there. The feeling instead is of pleasure. Of this feeling, I will speak in depth later.
After the second attempt I set sail back to the shore. I was prepared for the cold waves. Somewhere along the way an unexpected storm crushed my boat to pieces. It washed me back to the same shore, this time stranded forever without a boat to go anywhere else. For the longest time I would imagine that the storm had a direct link, even caused by, the flame. It took years to accept that two events happening within such short time interval need not be cause and effect. Took years to accept that the two were very independent events. The fear had found its due place, and perhaps rightfully so. The next time I visited the flames in the same spot was on a raft a decade later. This time, I couldn't get very close. This time, the flames felt as if they were ready to burn in a very literal sense of the word.
I am a pirate without a boat, sitting on an island, with a lot on my mind that I can't unload on you right away. For one thing, you haven't seen what I've seen, and you may be starting to get a sense of detachment from my story. After all, who cares about a pirate and strange-sounding tales of flames under the sea-water...
If you've ever been lost in your life, looking desparately for something you couldn't quite identify, please stay with me. I admit I am busy. I'm trying to build a boat and get back to my world, you see. But I have tales to tell. I can't tell them quickly. If I do, you wouldn't understand -- trust me, the subtleties are way too important. You need to stick with me. At least, listen to the next few words I say...
Captain's log: Introduction
It is February 2008, a late year to start a blog for someone who has to stay on top of the latest Web Technology. But this is not my first. I have another blog. One that spans 3 years of detailed events in the early years of the Internet. One that existed publicly before blogs became a public phenomenon. I've hidden it on an island I once visited, in the middle of the ocean...
I am the proverbial mighty pirate. I built a boat I sailed, and commanded an army of one. After a very important chapter in the story of my life, I set sail to the sea with my army again, but the tides changed. I was caught in a storm. Walls of water came raining down and crushed the boat and the army. I floated in the water, semi-conscious, hungry, for days.
I live on an island. It is inhabited by others. Some know how to swim, some know how to farm, but those who know how to build a boat are old and gray, left only with stories to tell.
Of being a pirate, I only keep the lingering identity, but... I need a boat.
I need a boat for a different reason. Not because of who I think I am, but because my heart belongs to the calm and unpredictable waves of the sea.
Love escapes.
I found it once or twice, sitting there on the horizon, glimmering here and shimmering there under the rays of the rising sun. But the sun set... and I slept to wake up to it another day. Day came after day and I woke up with energy, to go on board, to see the shimmering and feel the longing and the lust for getting there... until the storm.
I need a boat.
I am a pirate that despises the navy and yet wants to be the navy, in search of the shimmering light in the horizon I think to be love.
I need a boat, and I need a navy.
This log is on how to build the proverbial boat.
I am the proverbial mighty pirate. I built a boat I sailed, and commanded an army of one. After a very important chapter in the story of my life, I set sail to the sea with my army again, but the tides changed. I was caught in a storm. Walls of water came raining down and crushed the boat and the army. I floated in the water, semi-conscious, hungry, for days.
I live on an island. It is inhabited by others. Some know how to swim, some know how to farm, but those who know how to build a boat are old and gray, left only with stories to tell.
Of being a pirate, I only keep the lingering identity, but... I need a boat.
I need a boat for a different reason. Not because of who I think I am, but because my heart belongs to the calm and unpredictable waves of the sea.
Love escapes.
I found it once or twice, sitting there on the horizon, glimmering here and shimmering there under the rays of the rising sun. But the sun set... and I slept to wake up to it another day. Day came after day and I woke up with energy, to go on board, to see the shimmering and feel the longing and the lust for getting there... until the storm.
I need a boat.
I am a pirate that despises the navy and yet wants to be the navy, in search of the shimmering light in the horizon I think to be love.
I need a boat, and I need a navy.
This log is on how to build the proverbial boat.
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