Mutterings*

"Loneliness is not solitude. Solitude requires being alone whereas loneliness shows itself most sharply in company with others." — Hannah Arendt

It's been ages since I've been around in the blog-o-sphere. Where is everyone? I feel like I'm in an empty room, and there is no furniture so the sounds all echo bouncing off the empty spaces. Have we all grown up? I read my past blog posts and have to fight the urge to delete them all. What terrible writing, droning on and on and on about nothing. Ha! I clicked around on a few of the regulars, and they don't seem to have been around either. Will they eventually phase out the blogger, too? Do people just blog anymore? Have I just aged, and don't understand how it all works anymore? I could really use some chatter about current happenings. I wish the old bloggers would come back, if for nothing else, for the nostalgia. Thanks for the memories.

Listening to stories from Kandy, how buildings, homes, and livelihoods of innocent people were looted and set on fire by “mobs” was awful. Suddenly we were all reduced to the racial categories on the birth certificate as fear and uncertainty took over. There was CCTV camera footage of homes and alleyways with burning objects hurled at them and screenshots of horrific social media comments. Videos showed army tanks rolling down the streets in the city of the Temple of the Tooth. Then, there were stories of the dead, used as accusations and justifications for the civil unrest. Al Jazeera aired a news clip of an elderly man as he stood in front of the smouldering flames and debris of what used to be his shop; he told the reporter Sri Lanka was still a beautiful country. I cried in disbelief with my agonised friend on the phone worried about her parents as I heard myself utter desperate, powerless words, “don’t worry, you have us.” At that moment, I felt the price we were p...

The many fallen white tree trunks rest on the empty river bed, decaying slowly, yet, retaining its former glory. The stones and rocks on this dead riverbed are all white, grey, and reddish toned. They all have the same rounded soft edges formed over years of water flow. The relatively smaller river that is before me is joined by other branches of random streams; the water itself is a turquoise blue tinged grayish color. It is crispy cold. The water gushes down, drowning out everything else around; an endless gush, as millions of tiny water particles merrily trip and fall over thousands of rocks underneath; dancing along the way. I imagine this water must be melting glaciers from Mount Rainier.  Right in front of me, I look up to see the colours of the sun setting behind a giant mountain. I can see why the hiking trail here is called the Wonderland Trail. This water stream is a mere 1/10th of its original size, leaving the river bed rocks and a slightly dampish sand that ...

The feeling of numbness that echoes through each bone of our bodies. A low rumble of a shudder, a cry, a piercing of the heart in a loop of despair. Suffering. Questions,  hopes, and fears played over and over in the brain. An unbearable longing for a loved one that brings you to your knees. Musings on loss, of the mundane  everyday   afterwards . Of the absolute nothingness and horror of sudden goodbyes that are filled with words unsaid. Hugs ungiven, and memories not quite cherished until you realize they were all. Silent tears threatening to spill at random moments of the day.  Trickling down  on to  an already damp pillow... 

Trick = One day, we disappear. People everywhere. Loved ones, family and friends, acquaintances,  neighbours , strangers. Treat = Happiness. Love. Contentment.  Laughter, community, traditions and simple rituals. Insider jokes, memories. Secrets. The treat, easily becoming a simple trick.  Might as well be a dream, lost in the yesteryears of the corner most echoes of our brains. Life continues the trick and treating of one another.