In the sanctity of a broken mind.

In the sanctity of a broken mind.

A recurring dream

An animal outside the room.. a crazy mad song in the loudest decibel. I can recollect clawing at the door to get inside. I never really know what’s out there; I assume sometimes it’s a lion. A big gorgeous beast of a lion.

Is it a metaphor for coming to terms with who I am. Maybe I locked away my ‘dark passenger’.

Maybe it was sedated and the older I get, the harder it gets to keep the beast out, the more I realize it needs to be caged.

I wake up scared and not screaming. I wish I did get up screaming; at least it would be cathartic.

Maybe I need to get laid. I don’t know. People usually think that does the trick. Maybe , me closing a door on a side of my personality that was so violent and manifest, is the cause of the night terrors. A huge part of who I am , who most of us are is sex. Now I don’t mean, Bang Bang in the bedroom. But a more raw , SEX. That we make jokes about, we are ashamed of, we live our lives hunting it down. Sex, the basic rawness that we roped and caged into norms and rules. Matrimony and organized community.

I roped and caged and thought I killed the beast , when I stopped looking for happily ever after. When I grew up and the throbbing need got dull, I realized I dint need just a romp in the sack and five rug rats. I needed a friend. An honest loyal friend, who would never let me down and who I d never let down. We d go through life travelling, exploring the world and us. Living and having a fucking frenzy. It all became clearly unachievable , and I don’t say this in hopes of someday a knight with blue eyes should come change my mind and slay or befriend the beast. I say it with an understanding that what I want is unattainable for a number of reasons. Those reasons don’t apply to everyone. But they do to me.

To save my yearning, aspiring soul, I chained away my sex. A huge chunk of my soul and decided I was going to get through this alone. Its just me and me.. baby .. on this long ride home. I do believe from whence we came we shall return.

My rider was not on the Storm.. My rider is the Storm. The one thing I cannot allow myself to feel.. I welcome nature at its finest. Thunder.. Lightening.. Raw and scary.

Chaining all that.. has to be a bitch. And it comes back to bite me.. Most nights… if not every night.

It starts a smooth jazz.. a slow build into a drum roll and thundering explosive guitar solo and a screaming Bruce Dikinson, Cris Cornell,Anthony Caleb,Hendrix, Axel, Robert Plant ,Bonn Scott and Freddie Mercury all in unison .. Until my heart can’t take it anymore and I wake up in a cold sweat , heart pounding.. one heck of a ride.

Photo by Harish Singh on Unsplash

Conversations with Indian parents.

Conversations with Indian parents.

stolen kisses

stolen kisses