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  • These days I feel very conscious.
    It’s little hard to explain, but I’m conscious of the passing in the present.
    I feel in these times that I am truly young,
    living out these stories that I will remember.
    Come to me through smells, sounds, damn foolish grins & words.
    Words that in my 20’s seem to be popping up over & over, courting my mind.
    I’m left with knowing that I’ll be carrying these teachings for years to come, into the cycling of growing old.

    She says “I think India is the beating heart of the world”
    I chew on this into the night.
    It’s true, much like your heart it’s constantly going, giving, taking.
    Pumping away so fast that we almost forget it. Get lost in the chaos, only to grab breathes in the seconds where life & death find place to sit on your skin.
    I dip my feet into the Ganga.
    There’s this feeling like she’s welcoming me, & all that I carry.
    How much have we unloaded on her?
    All our inward cries for purity, spirituality, & health.
    At first I just stand there, feeling her flow through me.
    The wind picks up to catch & press her in its playful way,
    the current taking on the form of twisted sheets after a night with a lover.
    She’s all over the place.

    -Like a dancer-
    -Like a dragonfly trapped in a greenhouse-
    -Like my mind-

    Look at her!
    In all that intensity, she still manages with such ferocious grace to pull herself along, staying on her path.
    I touch her to my lips, I think of her now as a vein.
    As real as the ones in my body, she is family, she is a part of who I am.
    How many generations of my bloodline have had raw moments with her?

    I invite my grandfather into my thoughts.
    I wish we were closer, though I really don’t think we’ll get there in this life.
    All I know is that I now stand in the place that he longs to be,
    to live his last months in his birthplace.
    They say that he’s too weak to make the 24hour something journey, so I carry him with me.
    -I picture him-
    I think I’ve always been a little afraid of him, never truly comfortable.
    When I shed my memories of what I’ve known of his past, I can remember him.
    Showing my cousins & I how to eat mango in the summer heat.
    Or running to his garden too go see how his peas were growing.
    These moments of him being kind & gentle I want to focus on.
    He is much like this river, I know of the destruction it can, & has done.
    In the safety of this bank I stand on (or memory bank I look through) I can see the power, & find a place to respect it.
    Respect it but not let it own me, weigh me down, drown me.

    In this moment I am truly young,
    truly wise,
    truly dumb.
    this is what I’m feeling as I stand here, as a


    The things I am ready for.
    This is the time for so much.

    O- Life
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