The beginning

A new beginning can represent many things across multiple universes spread over different times in infinite space. For a person such as myself - a worshipper of infinities, it is hard to ascribe what a beginning actually is. Yes, in the sense that a person begins his life when he leaves his mother's womb or begins his college life or begins his new job the above mentioned title needs no explanation. But for a poet, the word is a like a border between two countries - an imaginary construct contrived by folks of a canine disposition to mark their territories.

As I am writing this the Julian Calendar reads 6th July 2021, the Vedic calendar reads Shukla Tritiya Samvat 2078 and the Mayan calendar 13.0.9.1.12. The ancient astronomers and mathematicians who made these calendars had a very precise understanding of the title of this essay. Too precise if you ask me but the present day time keepers are hell bent on making it even more accurate using their newly acquired powers of sub-atomics particles in their atomic clocks. May god bless their temporal senses and with this prayer in mind I shall now proceed to describe what this beginning brings forth for a poet such as myself.

Jorge Luis Borges would probably define the beginning as the moment when our dreams and reality coincide. The dreams - messages from the deep yes, but also our desires which shape the course of our lives once we start receiving them, eventually coincide with reality whether we like it or not. They turn into nightmares if one desires wealth for the sake of wealth, love for the sake of lust, power for the sake of power and other vanities. Such intertwining of our dreams and reality can be assuredly described as 'The End' - the opposite of what the title suggests. Since this essay not titled as such, and since I have struck into 'The End' head first several times in the past, truly learning the meaning of this phrase, it is safe to assume that today is a new beginning indeed for the writer of this essay.

A poet simply dreams of poetry and the methods of bringing it to the precipice. A pen & paper, canvas & oil paints, a guitar & 150 Watt Amplifier and at the apex of of these tools of creation - what Abbas Kiarostami called the most unnatural object that exists in nature - A film camera. The most sophisticated and expensive tool of creation, a culmination of millennia of human suffering and evolution is being added to the arsenal of this poet. This dream I had of acquiring this dream-making machine and the technicians that come along with it is now merging with my reality. A continuation of my life's strife from the past several years, decades, perhaps even centuries may be termed a beginning of something new but the Laws of Poetics ( Yes, they exist) prohibit me for describing today as such because nothing has ended for this new beginning.

A poet's flame is an eternal one and I will end this essay by quoting Monsieur Gustave H from a dream titled The Grand Budapest Hotel - "My dear Zero, the beginning of the end of the end of the beginning has begun."