Anurag Maharjan

dearmyblank:

Dear tumblr,
   
         I guess this counts as a “myblank” It’s to all of you, a true ‘blank’ because I don’t know you. They call it the tumblr community and I feel that it is more of a community than any other social media site. The very few of you I know in real life are the type of people who’s souls are too big for their bodies. You step into their soul when you’re near them as easily as stepping into someone’s shadow, they can’t hide it. They wear it like an overcoat. It’s warm sometimes, but that coat can drag you to the bottom of the ocean. And it’s because their souls are too big to hide that they are easy to step on. I kind of identify, we can’t defend it all. People step on it all day. We shelter other people in the shade of our best intentions, and offer pieces of ourselves in words, and paint, and even in our memes, often leaving little for ourselves to creep home and cover up in. This letter is to those of you younger than I am, and the demographic of tumblr suggests most of you are. A little background. I’m a 46 year old male, and I don’t lead what you’d likely consider an artful life. I unload trucks for a living basically. There’s more sweat and dirt, than poetry in my day-to-day living.
I enjoy drawing, and writing, and art. This is where I come to feed that part of myself. I wish there would of been a place like this to come to in the 80’s when I was your age. When family asked me why I liked the things I do. When I spent almost all my time alone reading at the top of the stairs in that drafty old farm house. When I gave up college to take care of sick family members. When I was voluntarily homeless for a time trying to save to fix up a family members home. It would of been so nice to know there were others like yourselves. Like me. What I had was one person. One lovely creature who encouraged me once, and disappeared the night we turned our tassels to the other side. It really was like a John Hughes movie back in the day. You didn’t step out of your clique. She did. The cheerleader told the nerd she liked his writing. Such a thing in 1988 was risky.  She noticed the only thing I liked about myself and publicly expressed that to me. Everything I’ve written for the last 28 years has started with the image of her smiling at me. More like a mermaid than angel she resurfaced from the faceless sea recently. I panicked and I ghosted her. Someone I thought about every day, and I added it up once, 4.89 times a day for 28 years, total stories and poems written, days since I last saw her….4.89 times a day, and I ghosted her. I think about her lot more these days. I contacted her again recently and we’re friends now. I wanted to get myself together before I saw her. That’s why I ran. I lost 90 lbs, got in shape, got some  money in the bank. I thought I was ready. What I was, was too late. She contacted me, and she wanted to walk with me under the light of a ‘super moon’ The next time, when I was ‘ready’ she told me she had met someone and was happy. I’m glad she’s happy. I wondered over the years. I’m glad to be her friend. But, I feel like I’m keeping a secret, she knows little of this. Like ice cream, there’s a lot of flavors of love. Friends, can be a little bitter.
This is why I’m writing this to some of you, to Someone Waiting. It’s like reading posts by a younger me many times, and I want to tell younger me: Don’t wait. You love someone? Tell them right now. Don’t wait till you’re thinner, don’t wait till you’re financially stronger, don’t wait. Do it. Do it now. We have at best, AT BEST, 100 years, 80 if you’re lucky. It’s a tiny island of time in an infinate ocean of complete oblivion. I sit here on my lunch hour begging you to do what you want to do. People will tell you you owe them. You owe yourself. No one else. I sit here in a dead end job, covered in dirt, and regretting the missed opportunity of doing what I wanted for a living. Most of all regretting not waking up tomorrow, warm on the  inside, next to someone who’s soul is as big as their shadow. Too big to be contained. Fear lies. Time flies. I regret. Don’t wait.  Do it now.
                                      J.

bhushita:

 Today the darkness came visiting me again and embraced me in her arms. A nameless, faceless, formless being. Who am I? - Am I this body, this absurd mound of flesh and bones? Am I my mind that curiously transforms the fragments of my being into dreams, rationals and impulses? Am I the heart, who weaves the bondages of desires and longings? Who am I?

 I had once gone to a tavern in a hill station, where all the porters gathered in the evening to celebrate the end of the day. The moon glided smoothly through the dark, monsoon clouds. The tavern in itself was faintly lit by a kerosene lamp that was hung at the centre of the room. The porters sat in benches and gulped fermented rice wine. The light was only sufficient to illuminate a part of everything and a huge part of it was left to ones imagination. How beautiful everything appeared! The moon and the clouds and seemingly liquified human bodies that had lost their want for locomotion. Their wrinkled smile and the reek of rice wine. Their laughter and their suffering that flavoured the laughter. How majestic these porters appeared! The masters of their own fate, who showed the most vulnerable part of themselves freely and bravely! How beautiful can human being be when they are fearless and vulnerable, oh! just how beautiful!

 Our conscience is a fort, a lonely island designed to save us from love, levitation, intoxication, forgiveness and the darkness itself! Alas! night after night the darkness comes rolling in boundless waves, drowning our forts. Had it not been for the dream no moralist would have survived the first night of the world. And deep down, electricity is the invention of a moral mind. The desire to discover, uncover, dissect and categorise. Most of the modern day neurosis germinates from being under the tyranny of light all the time. I walk into banks, opulently lit, and look at automatons, who for the fear of being judged show only the pale, shallow, agreeable part of themselves.

 I want to be loved like the darkness loves life - as intensely, as forgivingly! I have wounds and knots and regrets. I have fears and disquietude. I have beauty etched deeply to my bones. I have my private graveyard, where my poets lay dead. I have temples consecrated by love. I have libraries and operas. I have oceans in me that are bluer than cobalt. Beautiful as they are, they are nothing compared to my darkness. I embody the darkness, that is older than civilisation, the primordial womb, where the stars are born and die, where the time germinates and perishes, where universes manifests and sublimates, where the gods are consecrated and desecrated, where all is. 

 Meet me here, in this darkness, beyond which nothing exists. Meet me here, in my Isness, untouched even by the most poius of hands. 

- bhushita

nepal:

नवबर्ष २०७२ को उपलक्षमा सुख, शन्ती, समृद्धि तथा सुस्वास्थको लागि हर्दिक मंगलमय शुभकामना।

On the occasion of the 2072 new year, I wish you happiness, peace, prosperity and good health!