Random-philosophy The arrival of ideas and the ever so slightly tapping of thoughts happen when its least possible

to capture them. A spark, a glimmer, a bit of something strewn about! They show up when Im fuzzy with sleep. They arrive with the fragrance of coffee, and in the quiet moments as I lie down counting clouds or stars. They come as Im cooking, rinsing dishes or folding laundry, playing. Or when I am in the middle of an important email or a conference call! They bloom from snippets of conversations, lyrics of on-repeat songs or guitar tabs. Or things I read or scribble down in notebooks; from things pinned, bookmarked and gathered, my mind a collector, like the bottom of an ocean. They show up tattered and secretive: whispering. Or clear and sharp like diamond. The truth is, I think they are everywhere, like ether, they weigh nothing and fill up the universe. Each one waiting to be picked up and put down on paper or blown up into just another big bang, just another universe. Accessible! There! For all! Its not their absence that stops us; its their abundance. And, more importantly the absence of wherewithal of courage to yank just one of these and mould/sculpt/thrash/shape into life what one has dreamt of. Those who re-invent, innovate, create just know that ideas trickle down to you and are not something that comes pre-cooked ready for the microwave. They understand the patience and persistence that goes into letting the smallest of the ones grow into something concrete. Big! And, they are ready to risk, put their souls on to the line. The thought does matter, the waves on which the ideas ride. And, then the execution needs to begin. It will have to be executed! Worked upon! Written down! Directed into! Titrated into! Experimented upon! Atom by atom dissected and then rebuilt. After all, the big bang must have had its own small spark!

What you hold with your hands is everything. Possibility. Opportunity. Joy. What you hold are hold the fragile wings of something that arrives in the night and then slips away, leaving only its slight carbon footprint on your sill; or the small body of a sparrow thats just hit the window. Or maybe you hold the runaway tug of your dogs leash; or the runaway tug of your heart. You might hold the hand of the one you love; or your face in your hands; the heft of your childs body, his head thrown back with laughter; or the weight of emptiness in your palms pressed together in prayer. What you need to know is that what you hold can be a anything. What counts is intention. What counts is reaching out. Taking hold. Accepting. Offering.

I am building a collection of pairless socks while I wait for the others to turn up in the most unusual places. I believe we may have a serious case of faery mischief here. I told you not to leave the window open.

Now, I feel the weight of every book Ive ever read, pressing down on my lungs, stuffed compact inside my brain. Millions of letters, thousands of words, by now, are imprinted on the inside of my eyelids, the back of my head. I have fallen head-over-heels in love with language - the rise and falls of its consonants, the cadences composed of rough precious metal alloyed into gold by personal connection.

Everything collides and converges, projects, deadlines, semester exams, Nirvaans school works, end of year round the corner everything! And, I never feel, I can just stop, pause, put my head down and take that deep breath I am always running out of time. When, I could just use, maybe a day, a mere 24 hours; perhaps a few moments to just slip through that hole in the fabric; my own rabbit-hole a handful of moments. Am building a collection of random moments, knick-knacks, while I wait for something to string them together! I keep misplacing my stuff, me and finding in places and moments, unexpectedly.

Copyright Neerja Yadav