I love poetry. I love painting. I love nature. The breathtaking beauty of nature. The wisps of soft white clouds floating by, the blue skies, the beautiful hills in the horizon waving and beckoning us, the babbling brook, the trees, the fragrant flowers, the scented blossoms.
Here’s my poem Beauty of Nature. And my painting. (Just a beginner)
I see the beauty of nature in
The majestic mountains
The soft, gentle breeze
The sailing of clouds
The green, sheltering trees.
The splendour of the sun
The fragrance of flowers
The beauty of blossoms
The sweetly passing hours.
The ripples of rivers
The harmony of heaven
The melody of music
Like sweet dreams woven.
Copyright © Nandita Das 2015
Have you ever experienced this? A sudden idea strikes you. A thought. The spark of a brilliant inspiration. It descends on you in the middle of nowhere, when you least expect it when you are simply going about your daily life, unprepared for that great insight, that brainwave to strike you. You want to capture it. On paper. Write it down, before it escapes your memory. Make it your plot. Your story. Your book. Your magnum opus, so to speak. You realise in an instant that this is no passing thought. Not an average, common, garden-variety one. But a great illuminating flash, an epiphany, no less.
And right there, your sleep-laden mind works on that vague idea and converts it into a plot for your story and how beautifully the plot unfolds and flows seamlessly into a captivating story.
Well, it happened with me. Last night, just as I was falling asleep, I had this brilliant flash. A great plot. A sequence. I plotted the entire novel in my sleep and even went as far as the second and third book in the series. All in that half-asleep state.
But amazingly, when I woke up at the break of dawn, much to my dismay, I found that brilliant, inspirational intuition, that great idea had escaped without a trace, along with plot, story, book, series and all. It was as if it was a dream and no such thought had crossed my mind., when in fact, although asleep, I had spent the better part of the night, building up my idea into story lines, chapters and books.
I even remember screaming “Eureka”, in my sleep, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you discover something of great significance, that will have a great bearing on this world. Change the world, impact the world, if you will.
But thoughts and ideas are slippery entities. They escape into another world. So, where do all these thoughts go? You can’t expect to retain them unless you capture them on paper. Or if you have a photographic memory, you could capture them on the canvas of your mind.
Maybe, I thought, if I just lay down again and pretended to be asleep, it would return contrite, begging for my forgiveness, for having thus escaped, without notice. So after a long futile chase, on the trail of my lost thought, down memory lane, I decided to rest awhile. Because the law of expectation states that things or people are more likely to appear when you least expect them. I can’t vouch for this, though. So, my plan was to lie in wait, allow the big thought to revisit, not knowing that I am right there lurking in the corner, waiting to pounce upon it and capture it, before it could elude my grasp again.
But try as I might, it was like a mirage, shining at a distance, shimmering, beckoning me, but as I approached it stealthily, it disappeared into oblivion, floating in the sub-conscious, diving deeper into the mists of my clouded mind, always eluding my grasp.
No gun can capture, no net can ensnare a “thought” that has escaped the mind. It needs to return of its own free will.
So, here am I, still on its trail. Sadly, the world will have to wait for that magnum opus.
Treasures of the mind
Of moth eaten moments
Of an enchanted evening
A nostalgic night
In a haze
Floats to mind
A vivid vision
So elusive and ephemeral
Slip out of memory's clasp
Into an illusory world.
Oh! Give me back
Those moth- eaten moments
Those misty memories
Those memorable moments
Those meditative musings.
Thoughts, images, impressions, musings
Churning, whirling, spinning, swirling
In the inner sanctum of the mind
Dwelling, screening, sheltering, nurturing
Yearning for expression
Passions, emotions, sentiments, feelings
Aching, pining, craving, seeking
On the canvas of the mind
Sprouting, budding, blooming, blossoming
Bursting in a riot of expressions.