The Pull...Again, The Pull
My soul is restless again. It struggles - not valiantly, not desperately, but enough for me to notice - to go some place where it will be replenished. Where the beauty of sights and sounds will act as a healing balm, a bandage, over its invisible undiagnosed wound. The mind knows that beautiful distractions are not the answer, but the heart remains insistent.
Kanyakumari keeps slipping into my mind these days. Three years since I caught that little article about its charms in a newspaper while I sipped my morning coffee on the veranda of a wooden beach hut. Three years since I tacked it onto the noticeboard in my study, where it patiently waited until its edges turned yellow. Three months since I crumpled that article and tossed it away during the move to my new apartment. And as though it is determined to not let me forget, Kanyakumari has been haunting me.
A month ago, I was the emcee for PDN's dance performance. During rehearsals, I noticed the backdrop. It was a temple surrounded by crashing waves. I had never seen it before, yet a name popped up in my mind like a jack-in-a-box. Vivekananda. I asked the producer what the temple was called. The Vivekananda Rock Memorial, she replied. And where is it, I pressed. Kanyakumari, she answered.
India has always had this silent hold over me. Every once in a while, it pulls at my heartstrings, asking me to come back. And everytime, I promise that will sometime soon.
This evening, a sweet breeze blew as I sat reading on my balcony. I lifted my head, inhaled deeply and something in me begged me to go back. I have tentatively planned a pilgrimage to India next year and I think I will definitely be going back this time.
Until then, my soul remains yearning and restless. Reaching out for the unseen in the unknown.
My soul is restless again. It struggles - not valiantly, not desperately, but enough for me to notice - to go some place where it will be replenished. Where the beauty of sights and sounds will act as a healing balm, a bandage, over its invisible undiagnosed wound. The mind knows that beautiful distractions are not the answer, but the heart remains insistent.
Kanyakumari keeps slipping into my mind these days. Three years since I caught that little article about its charms in a newspaper while I sipped my morning coffee on the veranda of a wooden beach hut. Three years since I tacked it onto the noticeboard in my study, where it patiently waited until its edges turned yellow. Three months since I crumpled that article and tossed it away during the move to my new apartment. And as though it is determined to not let me forget, Kanyakumari has been haunting me.
A month ago, I was the emcee for PDN's dance performance. During rehearsals, I noticed the backdrop. It was a temple surrounded by crashing waves. I had never seen it before, yet a name popped up in my mind like a jack-in-a-box. Vivekananda. I asked the producer what the temple was called. The Vivekananda Rock Memorial, she replied. And where is it, I pressed. Kanyakumari, she answered.
India has always had this silent hold over me. Every once in a while, it pulls at my heartstrings, asking me to come back. And everytime, I promise that will sometime soon.
This evening, a sweet breeze blew as I sat reading on my balcony. I lifted my head, inhaled deeply and something in me begged me to go back. I have tentatively planned a pilgrimage to India next year and I think I will definitely be going back this time.
Until then, my soul remains yearning and restless. Reaching out for the unseen in the unknown.
posted by starlight | 6:34 AM
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