To, being a jack of all & a master of none!

An ever so famous, not so stringently used figure of speech- 

Jack of all trades and master of none. 

Decoding to- a person who can do many different types of work but who is not necessarily very competent at any of them. 

But here is what I feel. 

To know and brush upon a little bit of everything, is what a lifetime presents for one to grasp. Why restrict to a specific, when unfenced vagueness leads you to a spectrum of entirety? 

I read an anecdote which goes something like this- 

If you have a favorite restaurant and constantly visit the same restaurant just because it is your favorite;You will never know what other choices are available and what could be your new favorite. 

Likewise, if we master one particular thing and stick to it, just because we have mastered it. Doesn't it end there? Doesn't it stamp an end to every other possibility? 

Being a jack of all trades means exploring anew. Shedding down the comfort and embracing vulnerability. Invariably, in vulnerability lies delicate brilliance. Like a chameleon. To be this and that and yet experience each specific in its lightness and depth. Vague and nebulous is indeed the spark of everything, not an extinguish. 

To experience and know as much as possible, as far and near as possible, as vast and little as possible, as high and low as possible, as light and dark as possible within a lifetime of uncertainty is the measure of 'now' ticking inevitably. 

My little bit of everything, today. 

To, being a chameleon of art. 

To, a little bit of everything. 

To, craving of experience in life.

To, satiate the now.

To, merging into a rainbow rather than existing a bright white.

To, being a jack of all and a master of none. :)

© Deekshita Srinivas

   ( singing awfully, while writing and gazing at the magic created with wax crayons, yes, that little bit of everything.)

Surprisingly, early, this time. 

20:20 pm. 

Hue.

Hue.
How tenuous?

Like the shade, tone & texture of the sky. The hue-play with the clouds and colors against a blanket of air and nothingness. So subtle that it exists effortlessly. So subtle that it vanishes effortlessly. So subtle that I can not hold it in my hand and smother it with admiration.

Hue, in character, smile, pain, melancholy, laughter and anger.
In depths and heights, in minuscule and monstrous.
There is hue in us. In the voice in my head that reads as I type. The Hue exists in all probable physical and mental experience ever possible.

A quick smile, unnoticed by else, felt largely by the self is a Hue.
The wings flattering in air, as it soars high, is a Hue.
The iris contracting as light vanishes the dark, is a Hue.
An obvious moment meeting uncertainty, is a Hue.
How amazing is a word, that can be found in everything we know of? A Hue too, right?

An offbeat winter evening. The everyday ritual of seeing off birds fly back home was yet to unfold. I thought, the color-play wouldn't be prominent on a cold, winter evening. However, a few minutes later, what I witnessed was the most amazing color-play in the sky that I had ever seen.
A crimson orange that turned intense second after second, if this wasn't enough to stun me, the colors blended into a soft pink, calming the intense, followed by the ever so amiable blue. The rebellious blue fighting pink and orange against the dimming sky light. How disappointed was I that nobody else in my surrounding was able to witness what I did. How tragic is it to miss something as beautiful as that? A marvel so effortless that was a gift. Unattended by most.

Or maybe, a precious moment gift wrapped in winter, just for me.
For the love of uncertainty and surprises.
Yet again, a hue. :)

 © Deekshita Srinivas 
  ( overwhelmed by what I wrote two years ago on this blog and how it clicks to conversations I had today.) 
  21:08 pm. 
  A hue. :) 

Lukewarm, a quick comfort?

I want to write
I don't seem to find any other alternative
And I'm maybe glad I don't
No soul
No medium
Nothing else

It's been too long
This lump in my throat
This helplessness
This unacceptable adamant longing

I always wanted the extremes
No lukewarm
Either striking hot or maddening cold
It's maddening cold now
Maybe there is well being in lukewarm?
I have no idea

I don't seem to know what is going to happen with me
A million years of evolution
A million theories about the beauty of life
A million moments that makes me  question everything
A million uncertainties

I don't expect anyone to understand
For my side of the story,
Only I will know best
And probably, the only way out is writing it.
By myself
For myself
To myself

A billion sonder lives living their moments right now around the world
A lush green insect in a pond
A president looking at his daughter play
Lovers uniting after years
Babies smiling in their pure bedding

And this sonder?
Writing so that she could wrap herself in words and metaphors and be lukewarm, maybe for once.

Why is lukewarm, so easy to people?
And not to me?


 ©Deekshita Srinivas
   (hidden in the notes, read and reunited with the state of mind and out here, because yet again, the only escape is to write.)

01:00 am then.

00:21 am now.