Not Quite Stories
1. My name is Sampson. Chester Sampson. People call me Sampson.
“But how did you know about me and Danvers?” the conniving little blond called back to me, as they were taking her away.
“It wasn’t difficult, sweetheart,” I told her. “Considering.”
2. Daisy hadn’t given him a second thought, yet there he was, on her doorstep, carrying a potted plant.
“Remember me?” he asked.
3. “Things was hard back then,” the old man told the visiting nurse.
The nurse, who hadn’t asked a question, didn’t bother to wonder when “back then” was.
4. The brothers hadn’t seen each other in over 20 years. Identical twins, they’d had a falling out, and they lived far from each other, on opposite coasts. This particular day, Tom had gone to shop for khakis at the Banana Republic in the mall near his home. When he entered the store, all eyes turned to him. He wondered why.
Tim came out of the dressing room to look at himself in the full-length mirror, in his new khakis. As he looked into the mirror, Tim noticed Tom behind him, in the distance.
Tim wondered how the reunion would go, but to his relief, still staring into the mirror, he saw Tom turn around and leave the store.
5. My son-in-law found me in the kitchen, after my husband was gone. I asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee. He sat.
We sat together at the table, drinking coffee. Not another word passed between us.
6. “It was after the war,” she told him.
“So, all of a sudden everything changed?”
“No,” she replied, “not all and not so sudden.”
7. After weeks of indecision, Cora finally decided to call that number. She pulled the piece of paper out of her purse and made the call. When it connected at the other end, she was surprised to be greeted by one of those pre-recorded menus. The choices were very confusing. She relied upon her instincts to tell her which path to choose. Unfortunately, it was the wrong one.
8. “Mr. Thorndike will see you now,” the secretary told the man sitting on the blue-upholstered bentwood chair in the anteroom. The man’s palms had been sweating, and he’d been rubbing them along his slacks above the knees.
The man got up and knocked on Thorndike’s door.
“Come in,” Thorndike yelled, in a neutral tone of voice.
The man went in.
He never came out.
9. He was driving. On the freeway. He looked up at the sign, above and ahead. Belford 20 miles, Grainger next exit. He got off at the next exit.
She’d just have to wait.
10.
Self-Realization
Gaurav Ojha
My quest towards understanding the concept of self-realization ran along circles of debates, discussions and doubts before I read the writing of Jiddu Krishnamurti. Before my encounters with the works of J. Krishnamurti, I also used to think of self-realization as a spiritual experience of the inner spirit or soul that culminated in the eternal spiritual quest of a seeker. And, as a free thinker with my non-theistic world-view, I was always a bit skeptical of all those ideas that relate self-realization with inner spiritual awakening.
However, J. Krishnamurti’s insights on self- realization emancipates the concept of self-realization from the narrow dimensions of significance it derives from religious dogmas, spiritual exercises, mystical experiences of spiritual seekers, and from spiritual masters, gurus, saints, sages and their esoteric interpretations.
With the radical insights from his works, I have come to realize that it is utter nonsense to think that one can know one’s self significantly, completely and fully, through isolation, exclusion, through regular practice of some kind of spiritual exercise and introspection in some solitary state away from all the hustles and bustles of life.
Similarly, it is not at all necessary to be a religious or a spiritual person, practice renunciation, give up your social life, live in caves and monasteries, and perform ascetic rituals regularly to comprehend the notion of self-realization.
To put it in the words of J. Krishnamurti, self-knowledge is a process, not an end in itself or a conclusion; and to know oneself, one must be aware of one’s actions and reactions in one’s relationships. Further, he argues that you discover yourself not in isolation, not in withdrawals, but in relationships: in your relationship with society, your wife, your brother, your mother, friends and family, and with other beings. Hence, self-realization is neither a spiritual achievement nor an isolated mystical experience; rather it’s an endless process of learning and re-learning where one becomes aware of one’s own self in relationship with others. Therefore, it’s nothing more than a self-illusion or ego-trip to transform your identity, take up a spiritual title and boast one-self as a self-realized person.
Besides, nothing exposes us wide open than our relationships. Our relationships provide us a mirror to observe our being along with its pretensions, denials, fantasies, inner torments, selfish desires and unconscious motives, inner insecurities and repressions by allowing us to see the projections of these hidden aspects of our inner lives in our relationships.
Hence, it’s our relationships, how we relate with our self and with others, and how we unveil our thoughts, emotions, actions and reactions in our dialogues and encounters with others that truly allows to us discover, acknowledge and understand ourselves better than any form of spiritual exercise, solitary meditation or religious escapism.
Yes To Life
Gaurav Ojha
Being a one-world and one-life person, I don’t like to think of my life as a rehearsal or a preparation for something better, behind or beyond this world that awaits me after I die. As a biological creature, I know, I am not going to be here forever. Hence, before death removes my character from this world, I want to play my part, become more conscious of this world and its exhilarating beauty, pursue knowledge, understand myself better and improve my character.
And, finally, when this brief drama of my life comes to its close, I wish to depart from the stage without leaving behind a sack full of burden, guilt or regret.
Human life is utterly transient. Hence, my life is only a brief spark in this vast universe, and soon the spark I am carrying will flutter and fade away. But as long as the spark lasts, I have promised myself to carry on with my passionate commitment to taste all the impulses of life in its utter recklessness.
I have come to realize that I am part of a universe that is utterly unpredictable and indifferent to human concerns; however, I can’t remain indifferent because for me my life, my search for knowledge and especially my relationships with other people really matter to me. Life has been unfair to me many times, and there are those usual days of languid confusions and vast sorrows, but I keep up with my constant solace knowing that the universe lives its life with me.
Moreover, human life is rather plotless. And, with all the tumbling experiences of life bubbling around us, we might feel that our human life is utterly meaningless without the presence of another world or an afterlife beyond this world. Similarly, we imagine a supernatural being that constructs and directs the narrative of our lives. And we also like to project unscientific, superstitious and meta-physical beliefs like destiny, laws of karma, sins of past-life, God’s will or grace, damnation and predestination to make meaning out of our lived experiences.
However, our life only appears to be meaningless only if we consider the source of meaning to be outside of us. Whereas, our life is a continuous dichotomy of joy and sorrow, gain and loss, presence and absence, perfections and follies put together in a single package. Human life has poured itself out from this world, and it also passes away here. Hence, to live, enjoy and understand our human life authentically, without mere pretensions, prejudices and projections, we need that courage to say yes to life in all its shades and shadows and also embrace its utterly transient, random, unpredictable and contingent nature.
Waking Up
Gaurav Ojha
Many people are languidly happy with their religious beliefs, superstitions, hollow and insensitive rituals, hence it’s rather difficult and at times even dangerous to challenge and question their unscientific and irrational assumptions about human nature, human life on earth, laws of nature and about the mysterious universe. Therefore, I must confess, it’s not easy being a naturalist, humanist, free thinker, skeptic or non-religious in a culture context where many people take the concepts of spirituality, religious values, beliefs system, rituals, myths, astrology and the esoteric ideas like reincarnation, liberation and salvation for granted without ever doubting or making an inquiry over their validity.
Our universe is outside-less, and we human beings are finite creatures placed against a vast, infinite and mysterious universe. I find it rather ridiculous to believe that we get thrown into the infinity of additional existence judged from our less than a century of human life we spent in this tiny speck of dust among millions of galaxies dancing in the sky. We human beings like to expand the briefness of human life with the concept of eternal life because we are still too afraid to confront our mortality. Without our fear of death and nothingness, it seems rather unconvincing to argue and believe that our finite human existence and its experiences, errors, memories, imaginations, actions and reactions, choices and decisions have those lingering impacts that last infinitely.
There is only this flux of life and nothing else apart from the sparkling sensations of being alive. I find myself living in an ever-changing world that is vibrant and alive. For those people who wait for eternal realms, heavens, Shangri-La, mystical worlds, paradise and other spiritual planets after their death, human existence may appear less meaningful to them than their ultimate destination. However, I recognize my death as my final destination. Hence, for me, the journey of my life is far more meaningful, exciting, vital and vibrant than my destination.
As a finite being, I want to live my life with utmost care, joy, gratitude, creativity, courage and understanding, as I find little pieces of delights that keep on pouring out from the immediate experiences of my life. There is always music, dance and poetry in the organic rhythm of life. Whether it's paradoxical, complex, confusing, mysterious, painful, unknown or overwhelmingly beautiful, nothing can be as delightful as to wake up from the slumbers of our self-conscious delusions, to express our thoughtful love for actual life and to be alive, here and now.
At the first meeting of a fiction workshop
with Lydia Davis, one of the students asked her if
she believed a short story could consist of three
sentences or fewer. Lydia said, “Yes, I do.” He
nodded, stood up and without a word walked out
of the classroom and never came back. We all wondered if something happened to him.
Fact or fiction?
Dark comes early in the mountains. They were climbing up there, bushwhacking as they went. Their headlamps cutting zig zag patterns
into the night. Gladys gave me a corkscrew once.
She insisted, “You never know when you might need of those. Tonight, was one of those nights.
In the wake of the storm, the night was charged by downed electrical wires. The streets sparked and the few remaining trees ignited shooting fingers of flame along the branches. The air smelled wet and feral, alive like an animal no one had known of before.
536-
Tour Concentration Camp Erased
I have carried
The United States the gas chambers of Auschwitz
A splendid visit
small white- wood oblong
mausoleum white oven knobs
switched off
lights. Darkness killed as much as the gas.
I went in
Right away I
Attempted to escape
Hid in a niche
I veered
the crowd climbed , doubly mourning
yesterday’s anguish
everyone joined in a sad
funereal picnic
Helene Cixous
538-
Random. Boring Post Cards. Phaidon.
Atomic Post Cards. The Lochgelly
Centre Complex or SAC Headquarters
Offert Air Force Base. White Rock Los
Alamos County or Actual Pictures of
Dreaded Bomb Blasts. Frenchman’s Flats,
Nevada. Convalescent Home Broadstairs.
Looking Across Solway Firth, Silloth
(With coffee ring stain) The City of the
Atomic Bomb: Cedar Hill Elementary School
Oak Ridge Tennessee. Dead Men Reading
Post Cards.
558-
Dream on with Joseph Cornell
The Parkway Dream. Utopia that is.
Film strips. And air guitars. Monsters
in a Box. Neither black nor white.
Gray. Domestic tableau. Not an
American Tragedy. My Brother’s
Keeper. Dreams of old toys. Broken
music boxes. Jack (s) in. Scrapbooks.
Vandalized, 1906 Sears Catalog.
When is a Franklin Stove not a Franklin
Stove. When the canary from the coal
mine escapes. Sings. Like a jailbird.
Vonnegut. Shoeless Joe. All those
boxes filled. Many times, over.
561-
Back List Book Titles Arranged: a found poem
If Night Is Falling. The Moon Rises
in the Rattlesnake’s Mouth. Night Farming
in Bosnia. Weightless Earth. Carbon Dating
Hunger. Infinite Days Teaching Bones to Fly.
Travel Over Water. The Sky’s Dustbin. Light
from a Small Brown Bird. Blue Swan, Black
Swan. Kissing the Bee. Painting the Egret’s Echo.
Reembrace of Water. Ancient Maps and a Tarot
Pack. All the Beautiful Dead. Bitter Oleander.
562-
The perfect fiction is reality.
(Life). Gilbert Sorrentino asserted.
In a book of poems. A day book.
Of sorts. Perfect fictions. All.
A deck of 52 involved. Not
necessarily playing Cards. Weeks.
Are. Not in an Orangery for sure.
That book with the word orange
embedded within. Not a rhyming
Simon, he. El Gilberto. Le gran
orange. Trusty Rusty. Not the poet.
The ball player, “Everything invented
is real.” Flaubert.
THE MESSAGE OF ART
By
Aisha MLabo
I want to be an artist, i love to paint the world
I want to be an author, i like to write pages
I want to be a poetess, i love to compose poems
I want to be a naturalist, i love to study vegetation
I want to be a musician, i love to compose music,
I want to be a pianist,i love to play piano
I want to be an actress,i love to act play
I want to be a fashionista,i love to design couture
I want to be an orator,i love to address the public
I want to be a bibliophile,i love to read books
I want to be an animator,i love animation movies
I want to be a photographer,i love to capture moments
I want to be a critic,i love to analyze artistic work
Art is my source of happiness.
Aisha MLabo writes from Katsina state, she is currently studying at Umaru Musa Yar'adua University, Katsina state of Nigeria.
My hand is shielded and my eye was fortified
my eye is a pharos in the sea–
that my heart jumps to the bottom,
my hand is dipped into it
the waters were coldly hot,
with a sensation that stole
my senses, my hearing then my sight.
I tried to escape with my sight first,
my hearing and my sense,
I waited second after second
and a year after year
for the rescue from no one
still my hand dance for the hot sea waters.
let me snatch my sight
let me remove my hand
from the mouth of the hell
& not to let its eyes marry the hell light,
now, let them see the sky's womb
& see how sun and moon were born.
Mubarak Said is a poet, an award winning essayist and a short story writer from Funakaye Local Government of Gombe state, Nigeria.
Said was a winner of 2020 ANCOPPS essay writing competition in Gombe state. He participated in many secondary schools competitions , including FRSC essay writing competition and so.
His works have been accepted and published by different Nigerian and international News papers and and literary magazines as World voices magazine, icefloe press, literary yard, beatnikcowboy, teenlit journal, ILA magazine, the pinecone review, Susa Africa, Applied worldwide, Opinion Nigeria, Today post, daily trust and daily companion.
