I am increasingly becoming like village folk these days. My mind is taking a holiday in Timbaktoo.
The mental vacation package consists of :not being bothered with impressing people, not being bothered to search for entertaining things to say these days.These days have mostly been about listening to friends and their lovely verbal banter,which, makes my day.
Interestingly, Im not caught up with making a presence anymore.
I used to think of conversation as a ball game.Love the high speed rebounds, the way my mind would try to run three steps ahead of my opponent, and how I REFUSE to let the ball end up flat in my court.Im actually quite turned on by people who can “bounce” conversations as effortlessly as a mirror reflects. The content doesn’t really matter, it’s more the art and a sense of maintaining power in the game.Conversation and dialogue, is more than noise to fill a silence.It is the field for power struggles.Every line either builds or diminishes an individual’s power.
Recently though,I haven’t been hard up with these power things that exist in conversations.I decide to be very natural and let whoever take the upper hand.
Back then was also the phase of sports, discipline, motivating people: everyday my mind was an active athelete reigning itself in.
but NOW Im leaving my mind in Timbuktoo, being rather hang loose abt all these mental disciplines. I hope to get them back though—when I decide to get them back.
Weirdly, a friend just branded me as one who doesn’t seem to lie much.That means a lot to me,because it is a quiet reminder of God’s healing.It’s truly Him and Him alone who liberates me to live without falsehoods and pretensions.
I don’t need to be a witty conversationalist to be loved, I don’t need to be exceptionally fit or enthusiastic to be loved,though these are things that I am full well capable of when I want to do them.But nothing compares to just being honestly me!
Come to think of it,this break has been a good long one, and terribly comfortable. I am afraid of receding into negative growth when I’m too comfortable with things.Then I remember I am loved for my being and not doing.
Somehow I feel a kettle whistling, an alarm clock ringing, a nudging at the back of my head. Perhaps it’s God rapping on my hotel room door, saying that I need to get my mind out of Timbuktoo, and hit the road again.
