The Pretty Worry Marbles

Photo by Artem Podrez on

The train honked in the distance. As I looked through the window of my bedroom, I tried to truly feel what it was to be stuck. The curry plant about the height of a toddler stood underneath my window. It shook from the gentle breeze. Stuck in a place, yet movement shown, my thoughts observed.

“Maybe I was doing it wrong. Was there anything that I ever did that was right?”  I contemplated.

“Ha ha! Nope. Not a single thing in your entire damn life!” The Inner Voice inside me replied.

I did not protest. Much like the horn that honked when the train engine driver pressed the honk button (a medium-sized, red in color, dome-shaped, “destructs everything –do not touch” kind of a button is what I am imagining it to be)

The horn on top of the train had no choice, it honked, be-Cause, the driver pressed its button.

Like so, I had no choice, I did not protest. I honked, I agreed with the Inner Voice. That I did not do anything in life that was right.

“Interesting…” Another silent voice felt.

I, being the horn that agreed to be tampered with, beyond my will, was passively listening.

So the voice that feels, continues. “They issued a warning that a storm might pass today, 11th of November. The air is icy and the branches of the curry plant are now shaking a bit more than the poetic nods of a daffodil.

Every moment, we measure. Measure with what we have seen before.

When the moment arrives, imagine not living in that moment. Instead, we sit down and spend that arrived moment in absolute comparison, milking of validation, of scratching and testing out the presence of gold like an athlete in ancient times.

Contemplation can throw marbles, like really pretty ones, made out of worry, born out of intensive measuring of simple life’s moments.”

At this point, the idea of being a horn on top of the Vagai Express did seem appealing to me anymore.Marbles, to be honest, the existence of these marbles bothered me.

“And when I say pretty, I mean like mysteriously pretty types.“ The Felt Voice continued. “Human nature is to spin between the grooves of a phonograph record. The priority stylus, which reads the track is sometimes acknowledged of its presence. At times, the importance of its presence is forgotten. In such an instance, The Pretty Worry Marbles track gets played. And before you know it, the vinyl glitches and that track about marbles get read, again and again.This is done in an attempt to try and understand the mysteriousness of these worry marbles.

And soon you are convinced that anything you ever did in the past or your present actions nor your future dreams possess any value.

The stylus cannot be blamed. It is the marbles you see, they like to be played with, admired… when you throw them at someone… ooh it can hurt! “

I responded. “What do I do?”

“Maybe try and not play with marbles.”

The curry plant outside now bowing down like a monk, the wind was getting stronger.

“Do I stop measuring?” I asked.

“Appreciate maybe.” Replied the felt voice.” Now when you are aware that you are stuck, it makes no sense to measure, yet work can be done. Work, that right now the “Inner Voice” will claim,  is useless, that your efforts do not matter in the present matter…and you will, with all your might, will want to turn into a train horn after listening to it

Put your head down and work. Do whatever you can.

The Inner Voice will proclaim that no progress has been made. Here you appreciate even the smallest piece of work that you were able to finish, keep adding them like stones. It is like building a fort. You keep going, you know the warships are on their way to your coast. You keep building that fort. One day, when there is no storm and you are no longer stuck, you will look at your fort and appreciate.

Appreciate that you made it out unstuck, appreciate that your fort fought those pretty mysterious marbles that were relentlessly fired from the worry warships.”

Another train honked.You see, I live near the railway lines .. No, I do not live near a marble factory, just in case any of you are curious.

However, I do live near a beautiful shore where I am building a fort now.

…And it looks good.



Letting Go- A conversation between the Mind and the Soul.

Photo by Josh Hild on

“You look dead to me!”, Said the Mind.

The Soul, was used to receiving such sarcastic derogatory commentaries,  from its supposed partner in life- Mind.

Mind sat on its high chair of Logic, crossed its sharp directional legs, and said   “Abandonment of an idea does not mean total loss.”

“I never said that giving up would mean a loss.” Replied the Soul slowly.

“Yes,yes.. you did not say so. Yet, over the years, I have learnt how you might feel and perceive situations that sadden you.”

Soul stayed quiet.

“Then maybe loss is not the word. Forgive me.” Said the Mind as it looked around the room.
Logic the chair stood on peach pink floors of Empathy. Mind looked down at the floor, frowned and said “If only I had the power to shift the chair to another part of the room.”

The floor of the room was divided into two sections, one half covered with pink tiles of Empathy and other half covered with orange tiles of Boundaries.

Mind looked at soul, “Disappointment… That is what it is, not loss”.
“You are feeling disappointed Soul. What you need to see is that, it is okay. It is okay that what you desired did not happen despite all your good intentions and my efforts.” Said the Mind, kindly.

Soul quivered and shivered. Its glassy eyes, filled with water memories…looked sad.

Mind got down from the high chair of Logic and stood near a picture of Nostalgia, which hung inside the room that they were in – room of Contemplation.

“Do you remember our trip to floor tile store , how we fought that day..!“, Mind fondly smiled.” I wanted orange tiles and you wanted these pink, Empathy ones. We finally decided to use both of those. As Mind was still looking at the picture, Soul started to slowly drag the chair of logic across the room over the part where floor tiles were orange , made of Boundaries.

Mind saw this and quickly went to Soul’s aid. They both placed the Logic chair onto the floor of Boundaries and then looked into each other’s eyes.

“Are you ready?” Asked, the Mind.
Soul gave a firm nod and sat on the high seat of Logic upon the tiles of Boundaries.

Soul then took out its beautiful tiny purses , beautifully embroidered with such intricacy…each weighing in tons of uncertainty.

“Purses of Expectations?”

Soul gently nodded as it handed them over to Mind. Mind took them and cast them, one by one, into fireplace of “Let Go” beside him.

Flames burned bright blue, black, then grey …

Then as the fire grew to become gentle white, Soul looked at Mind and mouthed,”Thank you.”

Mind smiled and said,

“Feeble you look , Feeble you are my soul..
But each of these battles has made you much stronger
Than the world will ever know.”