Flow

I was to have a mellow evening dining with friends and catching a movie. We strolled by the grounds and saw a few folks playing volleyball. An old instinct drew us into the game.

Man, am I happy or am I happy to play today's game?

There was this center guy called Yagna who immediately knew the right rhythm (kinda hard because volleyball is a team sport that requires you know the rhythm of the setter and the spiker)and was setting the ball so nicely I ended with 90% of my hits converted to points and not even a single block. Mercurial was the word. I blazed through most of the opposite court. Missed a few but that only added the determination to get them right which made it sweet.

Baselines, corners,straight dips, forceful body shots and finally on-the-line-ones. Its almost like my X grade when we won our school finals. Everything in me came together as if they were mocking time (in its failure to make its impact)

Its always like this. When you least expect it, there you come into a certain flow for which you are ready to pay a billion dollars but it comes on its own and leaves on its own. No one knows how to make it fly on demand.

The sound of willow thwacking leather, the golf ball kissed by the iron, the sweet spot vibrations in the racket, the melody of rubber communicating with the ping pong ball, the thud of a pool ball rolling into its hole and the sound of a spike leaving your hand all have in common one thing: the music of your flow. It eerily borders on the divine ecstasy when you seem invincible and practically limited by only by your speed and depth of imagination.

We play for hours to feel that for a minute. Keep Playing!