Flowing like water, befriending every rock, shaping it and letting it shape the movement… flowing like water, at peace with the dirt that blurs the vision, that disrupts the course and just letting it settle down… flowing like water with an open heart, warmth for the tiniest being and love for the fiercest soul… flowing like water nurturing and rejuvenating, sprinkling and splashing… flowing like a stream, a river, attuned to a wonderful rhythm, spirited to meet the sea, the supreme in the end… I wish to be, rejoice and live like water.
The post is inspired by what architect Douglas Wan said in this video – ‘people are like water… more adaptable than objects.’
Mirai o Mirai, where are you? You cannot hide for long.
Mirai o Mirai, I will find you.
Those childhood days gone by, gone by in playing, playing hide and seek, ice-water and cycling, cycling all day long like a crazy fool and laughing, those childhood days gone by eating candies and ice creams, hopscotching and skipping ropes, flying kites, strolling aimlessly, gazing at the sky, merry minds flying high, those childhood days are now a dream.
I remember, I still do, Aru and I were sitting, Pinti was roaming around as always; Aru was talking non-stop, sharing one of her charming stories, a feature film story I must mention – our protagonist, a little girl, the best detective in the town, begins her quest, she is looking for some stolen bright precious stones – we paused the story and went to play hopscotch with Pinti, she had re-drawn the rectangle-y pattern for us, sweet Pinti, we talked and played, then followed the clouds, just when we were about to get hold of the moody clouds, they turned and shouted, “peek-a-boo.”
We screamed and ran back, but could not out-do the rain bullets. And then… then we guffawed and danced in the rain, I remember.
Those childhood days gone by were full of dreams, dreams of the future, pocket full of adventure and sweets and joy and endless playtime… those dreams were of the future, a hidden gold chest…
Through those dreams we time travelled and blushed, knowing well that we have to wait a bit before we discover this treasure… we treasured the future and waited.
Those childhood days gone by, what a sweet melody… the future we still dream of, what a happy idea…
And what is left is the present, this very moment – quiet, true, rudely true, factual and boring, but euphoric if grasped and powerful enough to change everything, the past as well as the future.
Take the golden thread I say, take it and chart the course, know that it will not break for it is tied to you, you of the past and you of the future.
The times when the sky mirrors the sea and the sea mirrors the sky, when the horizon disappears and the sun’s reddish stroke colours both alike, at those times you get a glimpse of the whole Universe celebrating life.
Children of the Sea is a Japanese animation film directed by Ayumu Watanabe and is based on Daisuke Igarashi’s manga series.
The story unfolds leisurely as the protagonist Ruka, a teenager, meets two brothers – Umi and Sora – who are from the ocean.
While the grown-ups stay occupied with understanding the physiology of the two boys, hoping to know through them the secrets of the marine world, Ruka, Umi, and Sora go through a magnificent journey.
The unseen and the unknown happen for Ruka as she sees and lives the connection… the connection of every being with the universe.
Umi and Sora tell her that every living being is waiting to be found, that the awakened bright light in one finds the other and that if you pay attention and listen, you can hear the sea and the sky talking.
Quite depths of the ocean await the light of the comet for it is then that the celebrations begin; all the marine life gathers to be in this light of the comet.
Umi and Sora take Ruka along as a guest to witness this mystical event, themselves turning into a comet and disappearing forever.
Ruka on one hand cannot forget the surreal experience, cannot forget Umi and Sora, on the other hand, she just can not understand the meaning of it all and is not ashamed to say it out loud.
Dede, an old lady, tells Ruka that she also met a boy from the ocean when she was her age and that she did not understand things just like her, but she learned to understand the sound of the wind that carries secrets from the five oceans of the world.
Ruka’s confusion reminds me of Arjun from the Mahabharata, he, after witnessing the supreme lord in his absolute vastness and glory and listening to him, requests the lord after winning the battle to elucidate once again the message of the Bhagwat Gita.
An unfathomable experience and a human’s forgettable nature…
Summer vacation ends and Ruka heads back to school, to the routine life, on the way she hears the ocean and looks at the sky, she feels the secret is within her and smiles.
The times when the sky mirrors the sea and the sea mirrors the sky, when the horizon disappears and the sun’s reddish stroke colours both alike, at those times the Universe shares a message, one that is meant for you and only you.
A touch of the moon colour and this life will glow and slowly will it know of a love story so pure that has travelled a long distance facing boldly every storm that has become a norm, followed by all, the same ones who secretly, meekly hope for someone to rise, rebel and risk it proudly, showing the world that a heart beats in every being, a heart that falls irrefutably in love, in love with a smile, a gesture, the earth, the sky and the moon… all this life needs is a touch of the moon colour.
It counterpoised my anger and my frustration by allowing me to see the yellow wallflower, in all its glory, befriending a butterfly on a cold winter’s day. And when the clouds thundered and became dark, it reminded me of a wonderful painting, letting me feel the wild wind.
It counterpoised my hate and disgust by telling me that it is alright and by asking me to breathe. And then the rain shower, the autumn leaves, the wet earth, the dripping music, everything made me feel alive and better.
It counterpoised me again, the other half of me did it, and quickly I changed my gait walking on the same old path, quietly listening to the rain.
In a green velvety suitcase inside a wooden trunk she packed it nicely, neatly, firmly forever.
“I want it to be safe.” While the world rises and falls without any knowledge of it, she feels positive and shielded; her destiny is properly packed and locked.
Sitting cross legged she awaits the change, for the destiny to operate from underneath her crisp, fine, obvious thoughts, packed and placed in a corner.
“I keep in touch of course, why are you being so sarcastic?” She laughs loudly for she is confident of her victory and rightly so, what will stand in her way when she remembers to keep a check on the package, clean the dust off the wooden trunk and pray that the suitcase does not vanish away magically.
“Yes I remember, it is my destiny, I know…” She knows it all, yet she is afraid and waits for others’ approval and appreciation. Calculating the possibilities, probabilities, time and years she takes a step forward.
She did pack a piece of the truth in that suitcase, what is wrong in it?
She forgot to unpack it, she forgot that the truth evolves, our understanding evolves. What is destined for someone is destined and yet it changes, that is the rule.
The truth, the destiny unfolds when a mind lets it.
It talked to me and I listened quietly… it talked about the rugged old path that awaits coming of the travellers… travellers who are in the search for a new land and a new sky, a fresh start full of hope; the smoothened grass and dry pebbles, the inquisitive birds and the pleasant wind, the old temple and the thatched huts all count the footsteps and welcome the happy hubbub.
It talked about the decrepit palaces hiding its mysterious past from the sharp gazes, waiting for the patient one to stop by. The glorious lives and horrific battles have so much to share.
The flora and fauna sang a soulful tune, absorbed in it and lost in the moment. The jungle painted the sky with leaves.
It talked about the people, their traditions, their beliefs and their stories; that look, that frown, that toothless smile, that gnarled nod and the dancing feet spoke to me and I listened quietly.
And I found out then, how magical the ordinary is.
A roguish year, 2020, I believe was a twist in our LIVE story. Terrible, oh, terrible things happened. Let us nurture hope, let us learn from our mistakes, let us help each other and contribute honestly to this change.
Let the old charm of stories work, let stories heal your tired heart.
This colossal twist proves that the great writer is planning to finish a chapter, but the story is far from over. Dawn is about to break, the sun rays will fall on a new beginning soon.
Come to Chiming Stories, pocket old and new posts and watch, along with me, the horizon.
Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Arthdal Chronicles is a South Korean fantasy drama TV series that takes us back to the Bronze Age in a mythical land named Arth, where different human species and tribes struggle to be on the top of the power pyramid.
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.