Bliss is an Art - Perfected by Practice


The digits on the cell-phone clock contain a rhythm of seconds in steps and I can feel tiredness seep into my pores like a rising tide. My body sinks into the faded off-white bed sheet, tiredness making my legs at once jumpy and leaden. 


As I snuggle back in the dim lit silence. I watch the digits choreographed in block steps moving forward and listen to dawn gathering. And, watch the white haze on the windows. 

I can feel myself out there somewhere at the peripheries of things, like a jellyfish that is present only in its own pulsing.

The staccato episodes of life that's me - keep panning in and out… there was, me in them and there was me, outside them. A non-judgmental viewer. A viewer who was inevitably taught this:  growth happens when the moments are bitter and slow, when night happens early at the edges of my soul. When breathing keeps getting interrupted claustrophobic thoughts.

And then this happens:  morning comes again. Bright and Sunny!





In my core I have resilience. In me there is a swift restorative sap that tells me again and again to have faith, trust self. Trust intent. The power of true desire. The walk towards 'the north star'

I see myself lately in a different light and recognising this feels a bit like finding a Polaroid shots of me in a shoebox and being unable to place the context or the time in which it was taken.

I have things to work at, in this new inning. Somehow I’ll make it through. 

From one day to next with grace. 

I’ll sip good chai, and make good food and work at being a good mother, a brilliant professional and do justice to all these titles. 

I’ll read poems that fill me up and write more. 

And I’ll wait… till the new me is recreated… and woven into the, me-now. 

A holistic me!

Till then I’ll breathe in the warmth of my son and my dreams... where the difference between being and being together fades.

Happy Happy Birthday, Nee! 


Copyright © Neerja Yadav

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