#64

The universe conspires to make things happen. Always. It’s interesting to see things unfold, although it takes a whole lot of courage to give up trying to be the mastermind. Because, let’s face it, we usually grow up and grow old staunchly believing that we are the doer. And it comes as such a slap in the face when you realise how far from the truth that is.

I was scrolling through a few of the previous posts here, and bits and pieces about frets, hands moving freely and sound of the heart gave me tiny little jolts. I’ve been experiencing a lot of the sound of the heart lately. And I am not sure how to describe it. I’ll try.

It’s like a ball of knots in the pit of my stomach slowly untangling itself each time I hold my sitar. Like little branches and creepers they undo themselves, moving with a gentleness which reminds me of the soft breeze on a warm December afternoon. They then either get together to form a bouquet which slowly explodes into tiny fireworks; or droop and disintegrate into little puffs of smoke; or reach up to my throat making me almost choke with longing; or bloat up, making me wonder how things so big could lay dormant inside?; or they will light up with little twinkling lights, and start moving like a little dance party was going on.

And the beautiful thing about it all, is that it forms part of me. The good, and the not-so-good. The pain, and the joy. The free, and the imprisoned. It’s so simple and so complicated at the same time.

I’ve been hearing the sound of my heart a lot these days. And I am thankful to the universe for that.

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