before the applause.

karen armstrong, one of my favourite religious thinkers, said that god can in no way be defined, but can possibly be compared to that pregnant silence which ensues in between the ending of a symphony being played in a concert hall and the beginning of the applause. such meaningful slots of outward emptiness and inner fullness are the portholes into the unfathomable depths of existence, and they leave us awed and puzzled. the glimpses into the deep ocean of metaphysical meaning occur spontaneously, even throughout dull daily routines, not just amid superb artistic or spiritual events. they can be seen as the dots which connect the outlines of what really matters in our lives. taking a shower, waiting at a check-out line, being stuck with the workload - instances just happen when i lose track of who, or where, or what i am. it takes a few moments of resetting to come back down to earth. but during those temporally brief moments there's an intimation of something greater, something comprehensive, warm and dark, deep, essential, illogical. does it mean that we are constantly floating on an ocean of deeper truths, and that sporadic reflections of its shiny surface on our minds reassure us about why it makes sense to live? or are those just sparklings of our own jumbled thoughts and emotions? i would love to believe that the first, not the second question can be answered positively. however, i do not have any proof for it, neither does anyone else for that matter. what remains is to either believe or not believe, both of which is perfectly fine.

taste vs. texture.

texture is more important than taste where my appreciation of food is concerned. i've always known it, but i was recently completely convinced in it. there are two food items that are almost tasteless, but that have completely opposite textures. one are water chestnuts, the other the finnish leipäjuusto, or cheese-bread. chinese and thai food are my all time favourites. however, even though i am not a picky eater, for some reason i cannot stand water chestnuts. tasteless as they are, they make me feel sick. on the other hand, the finnish pancake-looking cheese-base for either salty or sweet spreads, also with almost no taste, is something i am mad about, and prepared to pay for dearly when i come across it outside of finland. and i never put anything on it so as not to spoil the 'taste'.

a leash.

i do not know what the following feels like: to live a life that is easy and uneventful, to live a life filled with pain and suffering only, to live a life that is utter happiness. in my case, i am usually wedged in between the very bright highs and the very dark lows.

the highs and the lows of my life do not refer to my moods or my feelings, but to concrete life events. some of them extraordinary, to be dreamed of, some, on the other hand, scorching with pain.

the only way to keep some kind of balance and stability in such a position is to step back at times from both the good and the tragic facts of my life. to watch the things unfold as if taking place on a theatre stage. to get away from the burning heart of happiness and of suffering. to cast a gaze over my shoulder to the distant hills.

sometimes i take this vulnerable soul of mine on a leash and walk it in the streets of stockholm like a dog. nobody sees it, it leaves no paw prints, it does not pee or poop. it just weeps inside, and when the tears clear the chest and the nasal passages, i put it back into myself and head home.

i do not think i am able to choose which frame of life i would like to fit myself into. it is more likely that the frame of life chooses us. if i could, though, it is the easy&uneventful that sounds so enticing. yearning for it. but then again, i would find a reason to complain about it. nearly everybody does. so, it seems there is no other option but to pigeonhole ourselves into the appointed niches. and take a step back when the going gets tough.

chapters.

a year ago a new chapter started in my life, a chapter i thought would never come to a close. but it did. its ending overlapped with the beginning of a new one. other undreamed of endings took place, too, as well as some undreamed of beginnings. there are, in fact, no chapters, just branchings out into the unknown and unforeseeable. the multiple streaks that run parallel, and intertwine, and disappear, and come back again.

it happens frequently when i walk around stockholm, which beauty always hurts, that i become aware of the multifaceted nature of every moment. just like in indian yards where saris are dyed, there commences a fluttering and heaving and waving deep within me, and the threads get loose in every direction - my loves, my homelands, my dreams and my secrets. the music, the adriatic, the hands. the beauty around me. the nordic air. the rain on the windscreen as the radio plays 'sto si ti meni'. the whole world.

if i gave a conclusion now i would betray the main point of the text. novels with open endings have been written for centuries. although i prefer a neat closure when i read a book, missing epilogues are much truer to life. my preference only speaks about my immature desire for certainty in a world swaying on shaky legs.

eighteen years.

in a week i will have completed eighteen years of teaching. the first class i taught was on 'sir gawain and the green knight' back in 1995. i remember feeling at ease and loving what i did. i still feel relaxed in front of the students and i still love it. i guess many things have evolved in the meantime; some may have devolved, too. but here i am, ready to go on, hopefully with more excitement and with new insights. at times i had a lot of zeal, or love; sometimes i was filled with anger; sometimes utterly exhausted. but i've never ever been indifferent.

the photograph was taken in march 1999

disfigurement.

there's a point when the edges of a long nurtured body suddenly get blown away and all the pieces of the whole fall apart. things explode and implode. the world glitters its new scales. then a knife cuts through to the heart of the body. the pain blunts the reason. but the scars soon heal, and new scales, stronger and shinier, grow back. until the next cycle. and the next. and the next. the scars are plentiful, but callous and beautiful. the disfigurement reflects the forces of love and life.

the wire and the pyramid.

the new story has been out for a couple of weeks now. my attitude toward it is just like the one i had toward my previous book when it came out. i am indifferent. it's something i got out of my system and no criticism (good or bad) can overly touch me. i fought with my past demons in it, and i have a feeling i am purged of them. until the new ones come along.