The Conjurers of the Mind!

Screw the tattered memories that bring a fresh onslaught of anguish!

As hard as I might try to ignore, the wispy threads of recollections slither like new spun silk rebelling against the limitations of the spool. The knot of emotions, swell like a rivulet flooding its banks while I tend to my daily life. Nothing great nor significant but the collective pain of every Nepali who walks down the threads of Sajha, carrying nostalgia of a far off land, Nepal. Trapped within my daily existence is an anguish that forms around the lazy afternoons of tea drinking; children calling to the echoes of the hills; fervent trips to Manakamana and almost daily festivities of family traditions. Yes, I do dedicate this to all those who seek the Nepal that once was, at a different time and day; now only existing in the treacherous tunnels of the mind. My recollections make a potpourri of magical times conjured up by a mental enchantress who often drags me into the depths of what was, and no longer is. My home of my childhood!

Pablo Neruda articulately speaks my pain:

There are exiles that gnaw and others
That like consuming fire.
There is heartache for the murdered country
That rises from below
From feet and from roots
And suddenly the man is suffocating,
He no longer knows corn tassels,
The guitar has been silenced,
There is no air for that mouth
He can?t live without a land,
And then he falls to his knees
Not onto native soil, but into death.

Pablo Neruda,
?Exiles? from Cantos
Ceremoniales

The only deity in my mind, who personifies the tranquility of Nepal, is Buddha. He remains stubborn, clinging on to the debris of my illusive memory. It?s the reason why I paint this deity in his various serene forms. Yes, I am compulsive in my need to ?create? peace as I brainwash myself into believing that with one brushstroke I can re-create a passionate relationship, unbroken promises, intact families and a bloodless country. Yes, peace reigns supreme in democratic vacuum while the conjurers of my mind mock my futile attempts.

In the cradle of my thoughts, bloom Jasmine and Parijat. They are my sensorial memory triggers. I recall the jasmine creeper that crawled tenaciously around our garden wall, only to cascade down to the ground forming a hollow cave into which I used to crawl with my precious books. The fragrant, heady perfume, slowly lulling me to blissful stupor as I daydreamed of trekking around the yeti zones; levitating into a different dimension; and finding the ever elusive Shangrila. So infectious was the jasmine?s sweetness mixed with the warm breeze of Spring that it spared no one. Even my mother, would pick a spray of flowers and hook it into my hair as well as her own. The scent was imbedded deeply into my memory as the crushed petals adorned each book I lugged around. The parijat strewn patch of dew drenched grass added another ingredient into my patchwork of sensory scrapbook.

Destroy the feeble and fragmented attempts at preserving the mental picture of a out dated and out lived hometown where I am a stranger now! The neighborhood kids have grownup and gone. One is maimed by the people?s war and the others are silenced by the massacre. And still others feign ignorance-- for to speak means to know and to know means to arouse suspicion. While peace reigns supreme beneath blankets of silence, I try to exorcise the collective memory which many transport with him/her while paying for excess weight with silent tears and a knot that tightens swiftly around the heart like a noose.

Dismember those bits of seductive reassurances which are patched with spit, tears and bile only to fall down in tatters every time the phone dies in my hand when I call my mother!
And, yet I desperately cling to a vision which remotely matches the slowly fading spectrum of a peaceful home and a country unscathed by the ravages of the past. In peace I offer!

god!its greatttt


read it,again read it ,again read it ,again and again sachaii its lovely..
every word,every sentence u mentioned is .......mind blowing.


taranga bacha mutu ma yo padhdaa,
lovely:)

Buddha is speaking the truth of the hour in Sitara's words, but the Satans are closing their ears and eyes and carrying on hunting down doves in our tranquil land.

Sitaraji, I am delighted as usual. Your words captivate me ,do please spill them as much as you can. I struggle to understand everything but the dictionary is helping me out. Yeh, we are helpless for the nation. But there's something we can contribute, as you are doing now.

Appreciate your comments Ruina and Newuser ji: Just scribbling down some pensive moods relating to mother and motherland. Sometimes thoughts cannot be contained within the cubicles of my mind, so they spill over. Perhaps, this dissection of nostagia resonates within those who've left their childhood home. It's almost like a scream that reverberates around the mountains of a different world, a different time and space.

when it is going to reach 90 percent of madan who still busy trying to feed their him and his stomach after working for whole day in field and what about the muna, who tries to work and feed her family. It still exist in 90 percent of nepalese back in home.

What have we achived is nothing what they have done?
What they have done is nothng what we are for?
what they are for is nothing compare to what we exist for?
Thats life Sitara, just try to reach this ppl who still struggle for one day meal...............


GOD BLESS YOUR AMERICA and YOUR GREAT ENGLISH
but afsosh your painting wont reach to them.........................

go kill for being such a ashollllllllllllllllllle to educated ppl......................................

Moneyminded:

First, thank you for dropping by. Second, I hope you can decide upon a career which suits your frame of mind (although, I did enjoy reading your receipes!). Third, it's ok, there will be other girls who will appreciate you, esp. in your birthday. Fourth, I think you missed the message of this posting, but as they say in Aussiland, NO Worries Mate!

:)

ramro..thaha thiyena, you have Vinchi inside you.

sabbe sankhara dukkha
sabbe sankhara anicca

- Gautama the Buddha

Rough Translation:
Everything is impermanent (anicca). Attachment to anything anicca causes suffering (dukkha).

(The translation is not completely correct, but it captures the essence. Sankhara is the reactive part of our mind, i.e. it is responsible for generating feelings of joy, sadness ,etc. to stimuli (external, or mental). So really understand this, you need to get into mind-matter phenomenon, etc. That's for another day maybe)


Everything is impermanent. Spring is here, but it will not last forerver. Winter will come, it will also pass. Our country may be bleeding right now, but that too will pass. Everything is anicca....

What a nice thought with which to start the week (mapai) ! So excited to see what the coming week unfolds... btw, i am also a big fan of the buddha. to me, he is the ultimate symbol of love, compassion, and wisdom...

-peace

Sitz Dijju,
Poet, I knew you were, an Artist I know now.. Thanks for sharing !

:)

Jira ji, Am a big tyam fyan of Vinci and da Vinci code!

"So really understand this, you need to get into mind-matter phenomenon, etc." Zalim Singh
Shucks! Zalim ji, you rudley snapped me out of my self-absorbed reverie with your words of wisdom. May I please borrow your yoga mat and meditate upon "Shunya" and "Neti Neti". Perhaps, I can aspire to be as clear and level headed as you. My poor pillow could take a break from heart rending sobs. :)

Hey Mili, thanks... Not an artist, just an artist wannabe when the mood strikes.

Mili ji, She still is a poet :p. J/k.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marvelous. What else can i say beside acknowledging your multidimensionall talent Sitara.

Buddha indeed epitomizes love, sacrifice & knowledge. We, the mortals can relate to Buddha more than other deities, primarily because he is the only (ho ni hoina?) one among our 'tetis koti' devi and deuta haru (more than the entire population of hindu? ho ki ke ho) that actualy verifiably LIVED, SUFFERED, and ultimately CONQUERED.

(Feri maile Buddha as a Nepali 'deity' manera ra mostly hindu population bhayera bhaneko ni. I know Buddhism and hinduism are diff.. Feri yesma bibad bhai rakhla. Royal commmision basla feri. Anyways, Buddha was born hindu. And No am not religious fanatic. Phewwwwwwwww, mathi dui tin line lekheko explain garda nai badi lekhna parne. Kasto bidambana :( )

Ani Sitara, What did you use to paint that art? Is it a Canvas paint or a paper? Pardon me, but am a lil novice in these. But I do have an interest in it although I suck big tyam :(.

Indisguise:)

i missed a "to" between "so" and "really." it's interesting how one word can change the tone and meaning.

now as far as the yoga mat is concerned, if i lend it to you, the continuity of my own practice will be broken. as much as i would like to spare your pillow from heart rending sobs, my own welbeing comes first. you can prolly get a decent one for a few bucks. after all, it's a small price to pay for becoming clear and level headed.

Hey Indi, I am undeserving of your compliments.
I agree with you about being "politically" "religiously" correct. Khai, I find anything to do with Buddhism (yes, even the philosophy) attractive. Zen is one branch which fascinates me but the koans are difficult to understand.
As for the painting. It is a miniature; acrylic on paper. I've never taken any art classes although I dabble in stuff here and there. So, I don't know much about the various medias except that from trials and errors.
All I know is, acrylic is water based and quick to dry. Oils take ages while watercolors are unforgiving if your make an unintended line or dot. What about you, do you take classes and what is your preferred medium?

Zalim ji; yes, the "to" does make a difference. Had it been there in your original posting, I would not have asked to borrow your mat. I appologise! Ok, off to Walmart to purchase my clarity of mind.

Thanks for starting the thread sitara, it is a privilege seeing you shed deep emotions. I often ask myself what would buddha do if he encountered such predicament fostered by capricious politics and ever increasing despair and enmity among nepalese people.

I remember my childhood walking with grandpa through the rustic streets of jawalakhel with sparrows chirping. A good story teller he was, he never ceased talking about the good old halycon times, birth of Israel, leadership of Gandhi and Kennedy and the power packed jabs of Cacius Clay...his voice was at a perfect pitch...slow and snorous. And I wonder if anyone sounds like him today.I call it a voice of peace because he knew what he was saying and he knew what came after him.

I carry my nine month old daughter Grace through the golf course sometime talking to her like my grandfather did....I try to talk about the fall of berlin wall and end of iran iraq war....only finding myself trying to follow up saying discrimination and hatred still retain in the hearts of germans and that Uncle sam found himself fighting iraqis again.

I do not know what comes after me...yet another tsunami, another bin laden or chemical ali? another fidel castro or prachanda? and ah well..the good old gaddafi? One fine morning I might wake up to see the world had ended and I did not even know.

I often ask myself if we really need Gandhi, Kennedy or Buddha to save the world, but they are long dead...probably vowing never to return back again. But we need a savior...not just one.... the global population demands more. In the wake of this crisis and the absence of our so called leader why can't we be our own buddha or gandhi? Why can't we disseminate love and carmaderie among us all? Why can't we all crave for peace instead of inventing a new software chip?

I would want my daughter Grace to be a messenger of peace and go off to darchula, khartoum or ulan bator. We have enough lawyers to squabble and enough engineers to build the whole world.

May all be in peace....

John (along with grace)

Hey John bro, sorry I was a bit harsh on you on another thread. Couldn't help being the smartass that I am. Anyway, if there is one thing that I respect, it's true family men like you. So no hard feelings, hai. by the way, your daughter is beautiful.

Zalim,

No worries...just wanted to reply you back. I cannot help myself being smartass either...I like your comments....you write beautifully...and yes...my daughter needs blessing from some smart sajahites like you guys.

John Galt ji:
Your beautiful daughter is truly blessed with a devoted father.

Thank you so much for penning down your thoughts; those that we rarely articulate lest they be brushed aside as insignificant ramblings. Your writings triggered off so many memories of my own time spent with my father.

This one's for you!


Like Water Through My Fingers

Slow, drip by drip
I feel the water seep out;
my cupped hands
in breathless transition.

Like sand trickling,
grain by grain
through the hourglass,
I watch the seconds tick by.

Mesmerized I watch,
experience the agony,
as minutes race me by.

Desperate,
I grab at empty air,
steady the moments still,
enslave time,
as it flies me by.

Knowing,

If I could, I'd freeze the clock,
retrace her crawl,
record her babble,
hold her to my bosom,
like the first time, I did.

But,

As I watch helplessly,
she crawls into a step,
steps into a run,
oblivious, joyful, innocent.
Beautiful!

As she laughs with life,
life laughs with me;
She, an infant no more
Just a friend for life.


~sitara



------------------------
Friends, please mind the typos scattered in abundance in this thread. Too lazy to correct them.

Thanks Sitara,

I will make sure my child hums your poem when she starts speaking.

In appreciation,

john.

P.S I have typos too...spelt camaraderie wrong