MY WORLD

"People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you are the veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are eternity and you are the mirror." -khalil Gibran

W hen I was little, at every dawn I felt this shift in the atmosphere as if my room had transported into a different dimension, I felt this raw energy rushing in making me all jittery. It was the time of the day I looked forward to the most but it felt so fleeting and wasteful. Therefore to make the most out of it, every day after coming home from school, I would clean my room, burn some incense, and paint. Although I was a crappy painter, I loved to focus my brush into the canvas, it felt as if I am tapping into a different vibration, a distant memory, something I still, to this day, have a hard time understanding.  It would calm my mind and I enjoyed it. However, with this everyday ritual, I was attempting to experience something within me, which I never fully succeeded in. Thinking back, now I realize that it was my first attempt to meditate through my paintbrush. Eventually, I did replace the painting with meditation, well more of an attempt to meditate. When I gave time

D o you have a place deep within, like a place surrounded by the woods, like a small mushroom cottage? With just the sound of the trees, the warm smell of the damp bark, and the silence enveloping your being. With no past and no troubling future, just the everlasting present to live. A faraway place where you forget the things and the people binding you, where you even forget yourself and experience something larger. Something that you've been thirsting to experience with your whole being, stretching the boundaries of your limited existence. Where you no longer are a part of the story but just a listener, a mere watcher.  Witnessing the stillness of this living forest. The life that is floating in the air, as bubbles of infinite shades, with a soothing glow they flow, bringing warmth and joy. Some big as pumpkin, some as tiny as little butterflies, all glimmering together go dimmer and dimmer until disappearing into the mist somewhere. 

Dear, how do I describe this place to you, this healing womb of nature, this early morning breeze, the warmth that surrounds me right now? This scene so simple, so mundane and yet it looks so surreal. I indulged myself to a hot cup of jasmine tea while admiring the beauty ahead of me. In no time the crowd began to gather in the streets below, transforming into this colorful marketplace. It was a busy day filled with people buying and selling goods, children running around happily. Suddenly I felt the need to close my eyes and immerse myself completely in the feeling that was manifesting within. Its as if everything around me feels so alive. Strangely somehow my tormented mind found peace in this noise. I realized then how dead I felt in the concrete city, it felt like living in a giant box. However, now it feels as if I've cut threads with everything else that was pulling me down before. It feels like I can just sit here and watch people pass by the whole day.  It certainl

T he forces that dwell within, whispers gently... disguising as emotions: happiness, bliss, sadness, rage, fear, irritation, and some that I can't comprehend. They flow in like waves and I feed them. I feed them my time, my energy, my  thoughts, and even  my identity. I give them stories, stories of my past, my present, and also a possible future... give them faces of my friends, my lovers, and my enemies. I make an even bigger wave out of the one who had visited me and play them in a loop- tragedies of my past, arguments, ambitions, dreams, love affairs, regrets. In return, my emotions become stronger, more solid, engulfing me within- at times providing me with this fleeting satisfaction, other times just the heaviness in my chest.  However, instead of entertaining them, if I just observe these sentiments... if I become conscious of them . Their visits become shorter.  They just come and go like waves.  These forces, w here do they come from? where is their sour

T ime, a mysterious and fascinating thing.The best way to depict it is through the needles of a clock. However, that alone fails to capture all the enigma it holds. I feel sometimes that it deserves a more creative expression, capturing all the complexities it possesses. But a simple mind like mine can't fathom it all, and yet sometimes... while painting, I get to drench in it for a while. A glimpse of the mystery, suddenly at my fingertips.