Insights

Do we ever write out of our sphere of experience?

I am working on my first book.

It is time to break the ice once again, every day, every morning.

I am glad to resume my daily writing practice, it almost feels like learning to walk again.

A book no matter how small it seems; is huge.

I would have never thought that my scribbles on the paper would become writings on the wall.

Much happens between notes and the book.

It is a journey from personal adobe towards a walk in public.

To be prepared for this journey you also have to practice in public.

So this first post after a while.

In service to you

Any artist regardless of medium aspires to please an audience.

He has to walk the sharp edged blade to keep it self-expression yet amusing to the audience.

To be frank I never took my blog very seriously.

It is fun.

I enjoy reading and writing daily, not necessarily formalising it on a platform.

The year I took a break from blogging, I found solace in taking notes.

Those notes have grown into a book, but wait not yet; not so easy.

When I blog or write a note, I write it from a very personal perspective.

I am not sure how it goes with the book. I want to make about you and for you, the readers.

But there are reminiscences of the writer left on every corner of the page.

I haven’t spoken about this to anyone. But I did what felt logical.

I read books from another author, in the same domain and from other domains.

No matter what an author writes it is biographical.

There is part of life, the essence of their journey and fragments of experiences through the lenses found in the work they produce.

Birthing would be more appropriate than calling it producing.

But miraculously, it serves the reader as a service.

By informing, entertaining and casting a light on streets never known before.

The writer’s story becomes the reader’s story, and in that sense, it is biographical for the reader too.

We are navigating life on the same planet and tackling the same questions.

There is an overlap between our experience and the confluence of our existence.

The reader’s mind is an extension of the writer’s thoughts. And when the words are thought of by the writer; readers are thought of.

I am finding book writing experience very different from that of writing blogs for sure, but only the process is different.

What makes them different is that they have a shelf value.

I love the direct nature of blogs, I write and post without editing.

I love Gonzo.

But with books, you have to be careful as it is going to be inked.

It is the ocean where all the stream of consciousness flows in. It is more than a fragment of an experience.

It concludes many things to be parted as knowledge.

It’s an overview.

A blog can be a stone between the feets standing on the ground, a book is like watching the earth from the space station.

I to You

It’s normal to start and restart with me and mine, but I am damn sure I will exhaust it soon.

Expect you and your to follow : )

A jar has to be filled before pouring the glasses.

I am sucking in the energies and breathing out to expand my awareness.

The first couple of breaths will be sedimentary.

What lies beyond is the sharing of consciousness, transformed from the energies of this universe itself.

How long?

I don’t know how long this will go on.

I am not big on consistency, let alone commitments.

But in my experience, I return to themes in life and they have seasons.

I watched and sketched 1000 Japanese films a while ago.

Then came up with the book and writings.

To answer that in short; “As long as it goes”.

If not on the blog, in the notes. If not on the writings on the wall, a scribble on the note.

What flows keeps on flowing. What is shared is destined to be shared.

It’s less about what I want to give and more about what you want to receive.

You asked for this, in many ways. Direct Indirect.

My friends have pushed me off the edge without giving me a parachute.

They have demanded this book.

Now it’s up to me, whether to crash or to land. I would let time decide that.

Nothing is steering my whims, What jots on the paper is a secret.

Some things are sacred and secrecy adds a flare of mysticism to them.

I did not want it the other way than letting it happen, as doing so would be forcing things.

Birth cannot be forced prematurely. It takes its own time.

And so I excuse myself from myself. Stepping aside from my path, I want things to happen.

Wish

Well, I can wish though.

I am that little child who still believes that fairies would come and hang some gifts in the socks on the Christmas tree.

And I wish to touch the lives of as many people as I can.

Hopefully, in the process help transform them. Even I minute of encouragement can inspire a step toward the self in people.

I love watching it; just like the butterfly flaps its wings.

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