(Inspired by a song of Shambhu Vineberg)
The sound fills the entire space around me.
But, it is fragmented in pieces and is discontinuous—the notes do not get the backing they need to bind me.
With feeble touches of their diminished powers, they receive interrupted attention from my being.
Among the clamorous stimuli of such sensual pleasures, there is a feeble recognition of something that appears to be native to my nature, but long forgotten.
It sings in melodious streams of endearing notes—its wavelength and frequency fall within the definition of music, yet, it requires no vocal chords or instrumental assistance.
This unwavering and unflinching phenomenon exists on its own. It is not fuelled by something and therefore does not exhaust. Like a perennial stream, it flows on its own.
Deep down the unexplored realms of being is this continuous call. It is the call of spirit. It is ignored but is unfailing.
For long enough, it has been ringing the ‘attention bell’ and wants me to concentrate my total energy in exploring it.
For a split-second when I feel it, it sets my whole being into a dancing-mode and unmindful of the elemental bindings.
It is beyond the ken of existence and can’t be ascribed a name, for, I am not able to match it with any lexical expression.
The garb of my own body, a limitation put on my free-flying self, helps me to mark its location—peace is inside; outside are pieces.
It consumes me.