Melancholia

The morning dawned on a clear, crisp start-of winter day. The white horse by the river (I affectionately call it my unicorn) was cold so it was wearing one layer of some kind of horse coat around its back and belly. It wasn't looking particularly white today, its legs and neck were covered in slight yellow. Its companion the black horse, which would usually graze on the same ground, was nowhere to be seen. There are a few patches of lawn fenced off for these two horses at the point where my bus rides down to the river, as a backdrop a narrow bend in the river, and on the other side a hill with a little castle ruin perched on it. Sometimes a ship carrying construction materials glides around the bend up the river smoothly, causing the water to ripple beautifully. Wolfgang Krieger and similar names are written on the bow.

The snow yesterday had left its powder on the coniferous trees on the hills and as I took the train to town I realized what a beautiful morning it was, with icy hills and golden light shining on the tree tops that were not completely bare yet. The passengers' faces, flushed with the cold, revealed that a new season was beginning. Features shone out clearly on the pale skin, with blushes on the cheeks and a freshness in the air that only winter can bring. I found myself wondering why the same is not true of February. Lighting conditions had to be similar, I concluded after a moment's thought, first wondering why I did not have the later months of winter in my mind as equally beautiful. Probably the leaves make up a lot of the effect.

The change of seasons is an ever-current topic in the temperate zones. My mind is full of the glow of the previous season and as I move into the day looking forward to the new season I realize with a pang of pain that the old one must end first. Movement means leaving things behind, with memories trickling and fading away like arpeggio chords on a piano.

Fearless

My last few posts have been so limited in their language and content. I always think I need to produce beautiful sentences inside this text box. Then finally I end up crippling what I am saying by form instead of writing whatever comes to my mind.

How do so many blog authors and journalists write countless articles on "Self improvement" and then publish those things? If I write something like that my first thought on re-reading it tends to be "Ugggh. What a pile of disgusting crap. Hang on, let me go and throw up, then I will be back again." 

Some real stuff happens, but it is too unspectacular to be writing about. For instance: "Today I was sitting on the floor in my room, working on an assignment. I was feeling cold all the while even though I had already had a bath and put on warm clothes. Then I realized winter was closer than I thought, and decided to put on a pair of leggings in addition to my jeans. As soon as I had done that, I started feeling a lot warmer and comfortable."

Who will read this kind of crap?

How to fool astrology

About two years have been spent by me in believing that the signs of the zodiac have some meaning in our lives. It started out with personality first. Meeting a new person was OK, but I would feel that I had actually met them only once I knew when their birthday was according to the Roman calendar. Once I came to know of it, either by chance or by deliberation, my mind would go "Oh... so that is who they are and that is why they are the way they are". One of the advantages is that remembering birthdays became extremely easy for me. But I think that more often than not, the knowledge of their zodiac sign has tampered with my acquaintance with this person and biased me. Sorry folks, I hope you are not upset.

Not always, though. Sometimes I had more interaction with the people than I could infer from their sun sign. That was lucky; I actually got to know them. But a person who was elusive or who did not seem keen on interacting with me was usually "explained away"- "She's an Aries"- or "Oh, Capricorns are bound to be vain", or whatever.

At some point the urge to defeat this habit arose in my mind. I have stopped asking people for their birth dates- but even then ended up knowing some (time does pass after all and peoples' birthdays keep happening). But now I think I have caught hold of the ultimate weapon against astrology. When you see a horoscope for the coming week (or for the week that just passed, doesn't really matter), in case your eyes jump to your own star sign the first thing, follow your eyes and read your "forecast". Then compare it to what actually happened last week. Quite accurate, isn't it? Now move to another star sign that you "sympathize with" and read that as well. Hmm... actually much the same, isn't it? It happens often enough that every star sign's forecast roughly matches what happened to me last week. I am then able to dismiss the horoscope as "nonsense" and forget about star signs for a couple of minutes. I lose interest in the horoscope.

This new habit is helpful. Every time I am sitting in the bus, my mind occupied less than it would like to be, drifting away into comparisons of people's behaviour, I am able to tell myself : "This is bullshit. Stop now." Amazingly my mind actually listens.