The Beginning, and The End

So much to speak, yet so little time.

“In the midst of winter, I found within me, an incredible summer.”

                                                                                                                    -Albert Camus

It doesn't matter what you want to write. For the moment you hold the pen, the moment the pen touches paper, your heart will break the barriers that the mind has imposed upon it. The heart shall flow, and let it flow. Let the words flow from your heart, as blessed water from a forest stream. Let the words glide, as effortless as the wind that graces the skies. Let your heart and soul reach that place deep within yourself, that temple of incredible calm and peace.

I've always liked temples. And churches. Temples at dusk and early hours of dawn. Churches in the day.

There are few sights in the world more beautiful than a quiet temple, lit in the darkness, surrounded by a hundred mud lamps. Chuttuvilakku, it’s called. The light of the hundred mud lamps flicker and waiver, yet they hold steady, in unison. Like the heartbeat of a hundred children. Like the marching beat of a hundred soldiers, who march in the knowledge that they will not return. The silence and the calm within the walls offer solace from the noises of the urban world. Even the occasional cry of the “ Chemboth” does not break the silence. Temples are beautiful.

In the distance, the mullah calls for the evening prayer. It is a melancholic semi song, and I realize I do not know what it means. I remember something from childhood- that I used to try and learn what the mullah sings. I also realize, I've never been inside a mosque.