BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATERS

"But examine well your motive, for in the majority of instances where money is desired for the admitted object of blessing others, the real underlying motive is a love of popularity, and a desire to pose as a philanthropist or reformer."

-James Allen

Selfishness, I must admit, has clouded my writing, from time to time, fueled by the greedily anticipated reverence of the audience to the author and his creations.

This marks a time when I stand at the foot of a bridge, the Bridge of Truth, fortified by an unbreakable deck of virtue, and suspended over the rushing waters of impurity and suffering.

And all I can think of is the fear. As much as the deck may be unwavering, I feel I may slip off at any moment. The voices of temptation lie ever in wait, and I feel the walk as though an effort to drown out their cunning whispers, and in place to occupy my mind with thoughts of affirmation.

Suitably so, true life, as Allen put it, is really "the Life of adjustment to that Law (The Law that "Every soul attracts its own, and nothing can possibly come to it that does not belong to it.")"

Simply put, life is meant to be scary and challenging, for it is throughout "a life of adjustment to that law." The Divine Universal Law.

As much as every breathing moment is a potential moment to relapse, it's more intentionally a moment to grow and to learn, as "the obedient student in the school of experience."

After all, what is life but an accumulation of experiences and, in turn, an accumulation of lessons learnt?

The fear of renouncing self is greatest, I guess for most of us. Adopting a spirit of servitude and selflessness (of course to a reasonable extent) is arguably one of the greatest, and possibly most important, challenges in life. And it is rightfully the key-pass to crossing the aforementioned bridge of Truth.

I have a long way to go, but I know that now is as good a time to take the first step as I'll ever get...

-Jude.

 

THE PRODIGAL BLOGGER

I open my eyes,

And to my greatest surprise,

my greatest bewilderment,

Find myself standing in front of an infinite crowd,

Attentive, waiting,

The air of silence and expectancy is almost suffocating,

My legs and back - stiff as a stick,

as though a bolt of lightning has just struck me;

My hands shake incessantly,

And I can barely muster the strength or courage,

to tilt my head by one degree to either side of the lofty hall,

"What am I doing here? What am I supposed to say?"

The sudden realization that I must say something,

something innovative and productive,

is an unwelcome pressure,

weighing heavily upon my conscience.

Hello reader,

It's been a while since my previous post, but I'm back. I'm here to stay. And I'll do my best to serve you, to offer useful insight and eye-opening inquiry into the state of human existence, from a spiritual and psychological perspective.

I'm back, and I wish to serve you.

-Jude.

 

THE TIMELESS RESOLUTION

The New Year is upon us.. and I write to you on its fourth day.

Conventionally, this is a time that necessitates the formulation by each person of a particular 'resolution'.

I haven't come up with one yet. It may just be along the lines of not compromising from a strictly vegetarian diet, or perhaps something more general like not procrastinating under any and all circumstances.

And yet, aren't these things the very same ideals we, or rather the often ignored voice within, have tried to remind ourselves of, whenever we veer off in some way or the other?

The inherent purpose of resolutions, when you think about it, is to negate the internally borne challenges we continue to face to this very moment.

And so I wonder, how weak are we, that we give into emotional or physical stimulants the moment they arise? How weak were we built, that it is through these very minor indiscretions that even kingdoms have fallen? They call us humans. Humans who have done much in furthering themselves across every imaginable field, and yet the very same ones who succumb to the most minute provocation or temptation.

And so I echo the wise words of James Allen in saying, "Characters, like houses, only stand firmly when built on a foundation of moral law - and they are built up slowly and laboriously, deed by deed, for in the building of character, the bricks are deeds."

In light of the above revelation, I can't help but think to swallow my early judgments about humans, and instead affirm that we do indeed have the capacity to inspire internal growth even beyond that which we have inspired in our external surroundings. And it takes courage.

A simple word, and yet an answer, a key, a shield you may wield when faced by the Goliath that is temptation and provocation. For it is in that moment that many concede, raise the white flag. And it is at the same moment that leaders are made; that true warriors, not of the blade, but of the heart and mind, are born.

I'm buying myself a purity ring. And I'll put it on my left ring finger, to prove my marriage to the worthy cause of self-realization in this very promising year, as well as to remind me of my strength. For we are indeed more powerful that we even know. And we can endure the discomfort of a temporary sacrifice, that we may enjoy the lasting returns that are indeed promised to us, to those who fight the worthy fight!

You know what you need to do now. What works for you. Tis' upon you, therefore, to allow yourself to flourish and be and realize your potential!

To conclude, I wish to share with you a few Divine words of counsel that brings together today's message, and that are posted on my bedroom wall.

"Keep your heart with all vigilance,

 for from it flow the springs of life.

 

Put away from you crooked speech,

and put devious talk far from you.

 

Let your eyes look directly forward,

and your gaze be straight from you.

 

Ponder the path of your feet;

then all your ways will be sure.

 

Do not swerve to the right or to the left;

turn your foot away from evil."

 

Proverbs 4:23-27

-Jude

ON LEARNING...

WHILE AT A CYBER CAFE IN THE MORNING:

Good morning to all and sundry,

To begin, I cannot fail to apologize for my long absence. For all who write or take up some recreation or the other, you notice that once you stop something, there is a growing sense of inertia, of contentment with the status quo, and of ever-growing excuses for which you are 'unable' to get back on the horse, so to speak.

Today, let's talk of education: learning in particular; Not of the conventional classroom sense, but rather that borne of daily experiences. Our entire lives are shaped by what we learn, and what we truly learn and absorb is influenced by our preconceptions, opinions and upbringing. It is a selective process wherein we absorb what may stand out as important to us. And what's universally most important to each person? Acceptance. One may find themselves subconsciously highlighting which of their behaviours and of others' behaviours is acceptable, applauded, or deplored. From this personally relative and questionably subjective learning, we self-educate and shape a significant part of our characters.

Based on this argument, one can't help but wonder: Is there such a man as he who has attained straight As in the social examination of character? None. Of course not.

The other day, I was watching a TED Talks video on "Creative houses from reclaimed stuff", and the speaker, Dan Phillips, was questioning the social norms that too often dictate architectural design. At once, what struck me was his very true interpretation of the state of affairs in the modern world, which is as follows:

" ...We have confused Maslow's hierarchy of needs just a little bit. On the bottom tier we have basic needs -- shelter, clothing, food, water, mating and so forth. Second, security. Third, relationships. Fourth, status, self-esteem -- that is, vanity. And we're taking vanity and shoving it down here. And so we end up with vain decisions and we can't even afford our mortgage. We can't even afford to eat anything except beans..."

And so, to reiterate Phillips' wise, woe-inspired words, an obvious concern is that our self-image has taken priority... (to be continued)

BACK HOME IN THE EVENING:

 (continuation) ... over, or at least as much priority as, the primal neccessities that determine our very mortality. From his words, and from what we see and experience every day, it is clear that self-education is a deceptive yet redeeming double-edged sword, whose blade ever threatens to slay us while at the same time serves to fend off malicious and destructive elements.

How therefore, you ask, should one wield this fine sword of his smithing? Even more importantly, how should one forge this fine piece of armory that it may prove to ultimately serve him?

It is, quite plainly, a matter of being courageous in trying times, for it takes courage to learn from an experience; courage to humble oneself and silence the egotistical, self-serving voice whose speech is inspired by volatile emotions of desire and nothing else. It is only through such silence that the less pronounced, yet steadier and more affirming voice of wisdom may arise and guide thee towards the path of righteousness, the path paved by wholesome, objective and most importantly selfless learning.

And so I bid you happy learning!

-Jude

A NOTE TO ALL WRITERS

A REFLECTION WHILE WRITING MY FIRST NOVEL

 

 

A victim of the classical tale of romance with the even more classical "happily ever after" ending - I have discovered myself to be...

How much worse this is for a budding (prospective) writer of realistic works - works that are honest and reflective of the true nature of the world they seek to describe!

How heard yet muffled is the cry, the plight of the novelist, the dramatist, the poet, and even the narrator - whose  dynamics of craft have been misconstrued by the overly commercialized, over publicized lies of beguiling Disney fairytales, light family comedies, and the misleading conventions they stand for! How pitiful and even contemptible is the state of affairs in which we, as literary artists, have found ourselves in!

I look to George Bernard Shaw, who, in his time, looked to Henrik Ibsen, as did he look to another thence, for inspiration and guidance into how a true 'realistic' honest peace is to be structured. Not as if to dictate a strict, rigid set of dynamics, but to offer insight into the nature of a revolutionary and creative work of literature, that is not only true to the artist's creative intentions, but also to the audience, hungry for something true to life, for something reflective, constructive and even discursive of the issues of society.

The need for a "Neo-Renaissance" literary movement that stands for these ideals is long overdue, but today, or rather now is better than later. For as the creator came before the creation, so must the writer come before his vision to change and to inspire (a consequence to which every wielder of the quill must feel obliged to realize).
 

-Jude.

THE BEE TOLD ME HE "'AINT GON' BE JUDGED"

            As I set the microwave to heat up a soothing cup of green tea for exactly the next two and a half minutes, I tilted my focus to the landscape beyond the grated kitchen windows to take in the majesty and splendor of midday, noting in irony, the stark contrast between my world of 'books and boredom', and the world of freedom that flourished outside. "Hmm..," I thought, as if to dismiss the senseless thought.
 

            And, just when I was turning in impatience to confirm how much longer I was to wait for the 'brewing' cup of green tea, I chanced upon the sight of a proverbially 'busy' bee, buzzing away with not a care in its mind (if it has one), and was, just then, simply awe-struck at how ridiculous, and even ludicrous the whole scenario was! How ever could an individual bee dare lead such a simplified existence, driven by the mere incentives to feed, reproduce and survive; and yet I here am utterly consumed in a swirl of multidimensional circumstances which I am unnervingly conscious and aware of, even down to very irrelevant details. What mockery, natural injustice, is this?

           And yet I realize, at that moment, that we humans have been blessed with the double edged sword of consciousness; knowledge of the world around us that allows us, to mold it as we desire, and choice - to decide whether to do one thing or the other. The same sword that we may use to slay our inner demons of greed and fleshly desire is the same sword that threatens to pin us against the cross of our very carpentry, to suffer the consequences of our misdeeds, bearing us ultimately accountable to the ways in which we wielded the very sword.

           And so you ask me, "Why, why are we, humans, "blessed" or "cursed" with consciousness?" I don't know, and yet I may have an idea (as per creationist teachings), but 'really' I don't. What I do know is that the fortune can outweigh the misgiving, if we only allow it. The bee itself said it, "I bzzz.. have no care beyond my immediate duties, and I am contented with my services to nature; bzzz.. You're different ..bzzz… because you have a choice."

           I'm different ..because I have a choice. These words continue to echo in, and even haunt my mind.

(to be continued)

 

Oh busy bee,

You sing to me,

You look at me so carefree,

I wish to live,

And dance and see,

Through your puny eyes,

And body,

This life of glee,

Oh if only,

I could enjoy it's beauty,

I envy you,

You creature you,

Who lives so free,

And happy!

 

-Jude.

Thank God! Thank the Good, Amazing God for freeing my voice - for freeing the voice - the spirit within, whose true voice has for long enough been muffled by deception from the evil one.

Readers, everyone, I have for a long time avoided addressing the topic of my Christian spirituality, perhaps because I have been falsely made to feel 'ashamed' to do so, or to feel that this, as a blog, is an inappropriate context/ domain in which I can express my spirituality, and belief in God, in Christ. I've been made to think that people in today's world don't really tune into Christian blogs (on spirituality). But I speak the word now and shame the devil! I shall because I have been blessed with life, with choice, with an opportunity!

I write no longer for people's approval or amusement, for His glory. Bear witness to this testimony, for I wish to take it up not only in my writing, but in my life in general! :D

Eternal glory to Him!

WHEN YOU FALL IN LOVE

"Being Vulnerable...

It's the best and worst of worlds."
 

When you open your heart slowly, reluctantly,

undoing the strained shackles,

of whose introverted impermeable insulation,

you have come to bestow a skewed sense of pride.

 

When the walls of fortitude you dissolve,

and those of self-preservation you more than halve,

and welcome the outpouring of pure,

proverbially 'true' love,

that almost threatens to overwhelm you,

not as the tempestuous hurricane,

but as an enlightening brightening spring,

that sweeps the boulder-strewn bosom anew.

 

Oh how joyful, tearful,

Thankful is thee!

to finally, finally..

find the needle in the hatful of haystacks;

to find and be found,

to join as one,

as though a key to a lock,

seamlessly matching.

 

And so to He who aligned our paths,

marvelously matched us,

in a spark of utter unforeseen chance,

I bestow my unceasing, untiring, unwavering graces,

and openly offer my profound reverence,

and endless embraces.

 

Lo! As the scalded cat is cautious of cold water,

so is the burnt boy dreadful of fire.

For indeed, as one enters the once trodden realm of romances,

Painfully conscious of the two-faced card it is,

It all narrows down to the one fateful choice,

Yes, that grievous choice, rooted in pessimism,

...of whether to take the plunge,

..or withdraw thy feet,

from the still waters of love,
the still waters that run ever deep.

 

A LIFETIME OF SORRIES

Sorry God.
Sorry Jude.
Sorry Mum.
Sorry brothers.
Sorry friends.
Sorry everyone.
Sorry life.

I'm.. sorry.

It feels like a stab,
on a wound hardly healed,
when I do the same wrong,
cause pain instead of pride,
oh how it pains me within to forget what I've just learnt!
To dig the same hole I'd just resolved to refill with earth.

How foolish I am!
Painfully foolish, oblivious, no, ignorant.
How many times have I gone through this, must I go through this?

And my mouth trembles,
but my lips dare say nothing,
for they are alas stuffed with bitter, scorching guilt,
jaws worn, weighed down
by the burdening shame of faults repeated,
for the umpteenth time!

My heart cries out, to everyone and to no one at the same time. To God, but.. why do I yet feel void, hollow, dumb?

How many more wrongs need to add up to make a right - A right that can never be wronged?

What, when, how, where does one attain purity -this precious undisturbed gem that's all but obscured by the lies that permeate the very air we breath?

What ever happened to self-respect, principles, values? Were they eroded by the compromises we so readily make for our worldly desires? Ultimately satisfying, filling nothing, but really just picking slowly at one's very soul until only echoes of what was once a living, loving human being are heard within their now morally vacant corpse.

So again I ask, I grumble and scratch at the earth, like the pecking chicken, in search of a mere morsel of purity, of that feverishly sought-after gem.. in the hope that it does exist. The hope that keeps us going.

- Jude.

 

WHEN YOU MEET THE ONE...

When you meet the one,

Your eyes meet .. and say,

"Alas! My search is done!"

And your heart melts,

And your hands shake,

And you look away,

For your cheeks make a rosy display..

You trace your imaginary fingers,

down and around those tender teasing lips..

You imagine, yearn, beckon the warm embrace..

"Come to me, please. 'Tis you!"

You're the one..

The one whose hair,

rugged and rowdy as it may be,

Ev'r pleases the eye,

Whose hazel eyes speak to you, sing to you,

that lovely lullaby,

that sends you into sweet slumber,

into those loving arms,

From which you seek solace, affection,

warmth and protection..

When you meet the one,

From a million miles away,

In a picture,

a chance digital encounter,

And playfully think, "Hey! let's imagine our union,

..Just for fun!"

CONSIDERATION (A CONTINUATION OF "THE PLIGHT OF THE WOUNDED ELLY'" )

CONSIDERATION:

A play by Jude M.

Casting:

Hassan

The Hills

Amir

The Injured Elly

and, Man

The Man, a tourist at a five-star Safari Lodge is enjoying lunch at the garish dining hall overlooking a picturesque panoramic view of the Savanna outback, in all its wild and rugged glory.. animals roaming, exotic birds chirping, and... an injured elephant.. limping sluggishly to a nearby water hole. And just as it takes the first refreshing sip, it turns, and, as if aware of being watched, looks right in Man's face.. and their eyes 'connect.'

The Injured Elly: Man! Hey! Man! You, yes, you... looking at me so apathetically, so dismissively, so indifferently, from your lofty lodge.. Are you not unlike the walnut I trample beneath my feet, all dark and hollow? Have you no droplet of remorse in your heart, if at all you possess one? Are you not as barren and starved of emotion, as this dry red African earth I call 'maskani,' my dwelling place?

Man: Why do you call to me, you lonesome, pathetic, down-cast excuse of a beast ? ..with those weary eyes, as if begging me to toss a morsel of my 'five-star' Hors d'oeuvre  in your direction? Are you not but a prop in the Savanna landscape before me?.. Do I not pay to watch you roam and chew and tousle trees? Aren't you, if I'm not mistaken, but an object of my entertainment?

The Injured Elly: I am indeed, if you say I am. For clearly you see not beyond my grey, scaly casing ..as do the birds, that mock me, taunt me so, with their cheeky chirps, and sneering chuckles..

 A lack of connection.. is that not the definition of 'insensitivity' ..of a lack of consideration?

TO BE CONTINUED..



THE PLIGHT OF THE WOUNDED ELLY'

Let's sail away into forever, said Amir to his loyal friend, Hassan.

...TO BE CONTINUED.

And the school break has began

"...Call it magic, call it true..."

That's what's playing in my head as I write this.

I'm not really wondering whether there is such a thing as magic, on one hand because of my Christian faith, and on another because this is indeed one those points in my life, in our lives, where ...there isn't a whole lot to be immediately hopeful for.

I'm not complaining. I've come to appreciate all the blessings in my life. As we all should.

Magic.

I ended my mock exams yesterday on a poor note, with a predicted failure in my math exams. It used to be my thing, but there's something about the IBDP that just.. leaves no room for indulgence.

I sit here wondering what my future will be, for my initial hope for applying early with my MOCK exams are now next to dashed. And ..my heart breaks, for things.. a lot of things are just not going as planned.

As I look above me there a whole bunch of slogans and mottos that I put to encourage me when working.. and one in particularly reads: "YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO SUCCESS; YOU HAVE TO WORK FOR IT!"

In essence, there is no magic. At least not in the world of schooling and education.

You DO have to work.. and the same applies for life in general.

And yet.. and yet I shuffle through. Uninspired. Trapped. Dishonest to myself and to the world.

I sometimes fantasize about 'the one' ..

".. call it magic, when I'm with you..."

Is that where the 'magic' lies? In relationships? And what do they have to do with success in school, work, life?

If only I knew!.. Me, who isolates everyone around me, breaking advances, bonds.. but really I'm isolating myself. It kills me to know and yet do nothing, out of perceived powerlessness.

I think.. if I can't have power on relationships, if I can't control them.. then I can at least control what's controllable - my grades, my Uni application, my future!

The musings of an African boy... one who seeks to travel to the 'Western world' and take in their superior teachings, which will somehow pave the way to a successful future.

And when I get there, then what?

I'm doing that thing again, where I escape from now, and travel to the future.. where all my hopes and dreams and plans and successes are stored.

And what do I have to show now?

What's so good about now to appreciate it?

I look around me and all I see is work, and assignments, and daunting chores, and an endlessly growing to-do list of things to cross out.

Is life really all about this? Is there no magic?

Recently, I've been asking myself: "Who am I really if not for my perception of self, for the memories I've made, and for the physical encasing I have assumed as my body?"

What do I have to claim as 'me' after its all said and done? After ..life?

And yet, at this moment, a slave-driving part of me thinks: It doesn't matter; you're way behind on today's assignments and the last thing you can afford to do is start veering off asking essentially unanswerable questions!

And I agree. It's so in my nature to expand my thoughts from the immediate to the intangible. And so I concede. And say goodbye for now, for indeed my assignments will not finish themselves.

...

Jude.


P/S:

Magic for me.. is an insight, a hope for good, for beauty and possibility and colour and a greater purpose, and as it stands, the burden of menial obligations is extinguishing, even drowning, that flame of magic that keeps us all going.

PROFOUND REFLECTION #1

"...And the way to be happy is to make someone happy and to have a little heaven down here.."

What if I were to tell you that life and heaven were intertwined? That life, as we know it, as we live it, and as we experience it, is really all about finding happiness in self-actualization?

Just this morning I was listening to a RadioLab podcast, from season 1; the 1st episode, actually. And a woman, a mother was recounting here experience during and after a mental breakdown of sorts* (I'll have to listen to that bit again).

Anyway, it was all a sudden 'attack,' and she'd lost grip of herself, that is, the reserved and orderly personality she'd so meticulously cultivated her whole life, and which her daughter had grown fond of.

The interesting thing is that, when asked whether, at the moment of her 'breakdown' or 'attack,' when she fell out of consciousness, she had one of those hyped, famed 'near-death, end of the tunnel' experiences (whose narratives Youtube is all but short of nowadays), she said, "Not really!" She actually has speaks of having been a farmer in Vietnam (I think). It was all very strange and questionable if you ask me.

The point is, she changed. She was now oblivious of her past reservations, her innate restraints. The daughter confesses that she's always happily singing, especially if there's an audience. What does that say?

A moment ago, I was thinking about an casual acquaintance of mine. She posted on Facebook yesterday evening about her long lost late sister. "Long lost" because she only just found out they were biological sisters. "Late," well, that's obvious- she only recently died. Anyway, I liked the post, to vaguely confer my condolences.. and right now I was just wondering, "What does she think about me liking such an intimate, personal post?" Granted, she's been known to, quite publicly, shame people on Facebook, so my concerns were warranted. "But," I thought "at least I didn't comment below something like, "that's what you get for being a mean b* on Facebook."

I'm getting to the part where I link the two scenarios.

Well here it is:

Being free may include being bold, but only in a good way. It means allowing yourself to be happy, to enjoy, to love and embrace life! It doesn't mean having the guts to post a hurtful comment on Facebook, or undertake any such destructive behavior.

The mother, as I mentioned before, didn't have or 'conceptualize' any near-death experience, or envision heaven, as we conventionally perceive it.

That's because she's already 'IN' heaven. She has here little heaven down here.

And so, what I'm saying is, "we must abandon, and in fact, forget, our inner repressions of self."

How we do that, I hope to ponder upon in the coming days.

Stay tuned, and LOVE "YOU."

Greening Green Greenness

"Fuck YOU!," I think, as I hold my middle finger out towards the moving school bus.. that happened to pass just as I was leaving the house.

"They enjoy leaving me- that driver," I reflect, scornfully, for the umpteenth time. Oh, that bus with its erratic arrivals, ten minutes early today.. who knows, ten minutes late tomorrow, when I'm ACTUALLY on time. Stupid.

So, as has now become a ritual, I muster the courage, and plastic enthusiasm, to brace the next few miles of walking, up and down slopes and through dusty terrains, with as much grace as can be managed in such a dampening occasion.. talk about a sour morning! Thank God it's not Monday though!

Music. Beats. Melodies.. all whirling and whizzing in my head, just to make me forget the reality of the situation.. and so I enter.. barricade myself into a world of my own creation.. a whimsical, musical, and all truly fantastical universe.. where everything falls into place in colourful harmony.. where the green of the trees, the grass, the bushes, turns into a mosaic of hues.. of the fifty shades of green.

Yes.

"John Green," I randomly note.. or rather a random 'shout' in my mind does.. how immersed in the psychedelic experience I am!

The same shrewd voice reminds me that I'm yet to finish the book.. after abandoning it halfway several fortnights ago..

Green.. the leaves.. the blades of grass, all so many.. individually rendered insignificant, but together set the very atmosphere of this particularly cloudy morning.. one of gloom, and yet with an infusion of underlying hope, for something ..new and healthy and natural.. for something life-filled and life giving..

What is it about the fifty shades of green, that makes me wonder? Perhaps it is the peculiar fact that it is just now that I have began to acknowledge its presence, its complexity..

Green .. why won't you speak to me? Reveal to me your many secrets..


 

The first step into a year of self-discovery

#19

My heart has been stabbed a million times over, by fucking society! And I want to cry.. again.

I want to blame you.. yes you, who walks past me with your judgmental eyes, your judgmental thoughts.. you piercing slicing words of absolute cruelty! I loathe you.. all of you!

I've said it!

But.. no. That's not the right approach. Fine, I was young and weak and gullible.. and was a casualty of the rules of social conformity.. and I lost myself.

It's not enough to acknowledge this and to stare blankly through the coffin glass, at a cold, still corpse of what was once a vibrant, self-loving, self-accepting personality.. I have to recover myself!

I have to re-discover myself! ME

Who the fuck am I? To be 19 (as of yesterday) and to not know who I really am (not who I'm 'supposed' to be in the eyes of society) is, in the least, depressing, heart-rending.

There's no one to blame.

All I seek is closure with the demons of my past, and acquaintance with a future in which I am free, I am me (whoever ME is), where I am unencumbered by shackles, where I am carefree, unconscious of social scrutiny, utterly a living being.. LIVING and BREATHING and BEING.. me.

Thank you, Charlene, for indirectly inspiring me today.. by offering me a glimpse into what being true to oneself and to the world really is.

 

The Journey of a Thousand Miles

A lot has happened within the span of this one week, that makes it seem, in retrospect, more akin to a fortnight, full of wonders and surprises, lessons and mistakes, packaged specially into the span of days... days that fly so quickly one can hardly keep up... you're here today and a millions miles away.. the next!

It's been a weird week, with its own confusions and feats of 'delirium.' And indeed, there's something about not learning from your mistakes that keeps you.. on edge. There is, quite literally, not a moment of rest. Blessed is he, indeed, who records his mistakes and applies solutions every day.

There's nothing worse than digging a deeper hole than the one you're already in.

And yet, and yet!


"I think I'll sleep now. Forget the world at least for a moment.." That's what we tell ourselves, afraid to acknowledge the depth and scope of our pit of problems, of wrong habits and wrong 'stuff.'

"Yes, I think I 'could' use a little power nap.." NO.


That's all I can say for now, and have been saying the entire week. No. A weak NO, but a NO nonetheless.

Sorry... I'm just too tired at the moment. Eye lids droopy and dropping, and the world is... fogging up ..as the senses retire, and the mind slumbers, in a world where all is free.

See you on the other side.

P/S: I just want to be held.

 

I LIE IN BED

 

I lie in bed. Totally overcome by a persistent flu, and the helpless feeling that comes with a blocked nose is in a word 'unbearable'. I'm not one to complain. I'm one to dream. For it is dreams that give me comfort when I'm bombarded by life's chores, life's cycle of struggle. It is dreams that tell me, reassure me that there is a greater purpose to all this. It is a dream that grabs my arm and whisks me away into a fantastical, flamboyant world of freedom. Where the sun is always shining and the grass is ever green. Where the flowers always flourish and the rivers run blue and clean.

 

 

I dream now, of myself as a bird. Small but swift, singing merrily as I embrace the skies, taking it all in. The rush of air between my feathers. The freedom and unbounded possibility. I can spin and glide and whish as I please. And my very soul smiles. For I am free. Free to chase after the setting sun. Free to sing and dance and be!

Me.

 

 

 

 

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I lie in bed. An untidy bed. In an untidy room. All of which mirrors the inner turmoil that has swept through my mind. Utterly devastating the landscapes of my conscience. Of my being. My inner peace. If the flu is an agent of discourse, the all-consuming avalanche of procrastinated work is a ship-turner. And so, the non-primitive workings of my brain ask, "So why are you lying in bed?"
 

And I have no answer. 

Only the plethora of excuses I have been so keen to devise.

The room has now assumed a grey tint, signaling dusk and the loss of another day to say, “I’m finally done with work!"

And for the umpteenth time I wonder, and doubt as to the existence of such a moment.

I clear my throat and rub my eyes. My face flashed, as though from a steam room.

Sigh. They say silence is therapeutic, balancing; but at times like this it is nothing short of the contrary. It is mocking, unsettling, and every tick of the alarm clock beside me is another piece of me, scraped away by the cold unforgiving silence.

 

RANDOM RAMBLINGS OF AN INSOMNIAC

Risen from the ashes of silence. That's one way of describing my return to blogging (after my 40 days in the wilderness).

In a sense, it is almost consequential. Why? Well, at the moment it's pitch dark, with the drowning monotonic screech of crickets, the occasional bark of a lonely dog, and, of course, the breathy mechanical 'respiration' of my computer, all enveloping, intoxicating the atmosphere all around, and in fact perpetuating the inevitable drowsiness I battle.

On the topic, have you had those days when your computer has just been on for days on end, almost wondering, "Boy! I'd be complaining right now!" That's the beauty of machinery. It doesn't necessarily complain (unless perhaps your antivirus is out of date).

So... back to the thought process. I am (so shamelessly) writing as a means of fighting the 'sleep pangs,' which almost ritually come at this very same time EVERY NIGHT... just as sure as the sun doth set.

And so, surrounded by inconceivable clutter all around me in what is the aftermath of my periodic art projects, I lay restless, heavy-eyed and wondering why I, we, have to suffer so much through the (arguably pretentious) drudgery of school and job and family and retirement!

"If only I were my own parent... Oh the things I would do...," I think to myself

In retrospect, and within the orbit of 'If only.." thoughts, I guess I can choose whether to be sad or happy about the outcome, as it is, of my 18 years of 'exo-uterine' (sorry if that sounds too graphic) existence. Yes, a battle is waged almost as soon as we phase out childhood and step into greater self dependence (or, in some cases, independence). A battle between blaming everyone and everything for our seemingly damaged selves... and deciding to love ourselves as we are.

To quote a philosophical prodigy, "You can only reach perfection in the frame of imperfection."

Our world is imperfect and varied. In consequence, t's okay to be you, flaws and all. After all, there was, is, and will certainly never be another you.

Anyway, there's a lot to say and express... as you could imagine from a blogger risen from extended recluse.

So.. let's just start with a claim that equates the number of extra hours of the night (in essence, how much of the midnight oil I burn) I spend working, with the measure of stuff, of  will power, within me, just for tonight (for as an eternal claim it would endorse an unhealthy, self-debilitating habit).

Wish me luck!

 

CONFESSIONS OF AN INTROVERT: PART 4

That moment,
When you shut the door,
And it all comes rushing,
torrential, merciless,
Hot and heavy
Bubbling and brimming,
Scolding and steaming.

Argh!
I thrust the towel,
The clothes, the objects,
To the ground!
And an inexplicable fury,
Like a hot coal,
Delicate, dangerous,
Rises to the surface,
Angry at the world!
Angry at life,
Unfair, unseemly.
Do the heavens mock me,
The spirits find jest in my groveling?

Lost in the tousle and tangle,
I plead to Someone,
Look to the azure sky,
Expectantly,
All the same,
And always the same,
Silent,
Torturous in its indifference.
"I beseech thee, speak!"

And for the umpteenth time,
I wave the white banner,
In blatant concession,
No more! Please!
"Thou could'st endure no more!"

Pure, unconcealed, unrefined
Torture!
Rains upon me,
Every morn and night,
Springing to life seeds, weeds
of suff'ring.

When till the calm,
When till the calm I say!