March 2021 : I can already feel the churns, the burns of this coming moon. It gurgled all day. An uprising venue to the collective pain. Nurturers and pain- The connection still perplexes me. I can’t do much to wish it away. I sat with it for few minutes all day. I yelled at it, I cried. The pit of the stomach, it won’t shift with walks, songs, breaths, work. I opened it when it was safe – to know and now it won’t go. We are the emotional portals of the planet and somehow it collects in us. Somedays like full moon, it roars and you can’t silence it unless it says what it has to say.
So, whose pain is it, I am suffering. Mine, I actively monitor. I dose it well, I take it out for walks and pass it through rings of truth and call out loud – its impermanence. It’s us, isn’t it? – it’s our.. we have no petty corners to take our share and make do alone and away. We sure act like that.
I feel it like a stab,
A wound yearning for scab,
I push it down,
It bumps up with a fiery dreadful dance,
No one is restful tonight,
One acts in compulsions,
One coerces for peace,
Some still catching up,
Some confused,
Whether to hold still or to pace,
Some disciplined and desensitised,
They will yell a bit late,
Some just bargained,
Trading self realisation for a moment’s amiss,
One lapse of pain cycle,
I know of just one way,
That doesn’t puts me in trouble,
After the storm,
Observe and allow,
Allow it in and allow it out,
With minimum restraint,
As soon as it effortlessly effectual,
You would know,
The lid breaks periodically,
Powerful upsurges of light waves,
When you can’t keep it in,
Let it through,
Pass it through,
One of us,
Then all of us,
holds the cure,
Only one needs to apply and alchemise
The churning will stop,
what’s in that pot?
Does it needs sharing?
Is this our poison?
Or is this the cure?
– Rupika Moitra
Flutter and Glide 