Life ahead is for memories…
For reminiscing precious emotions that had touched my soul a long time ago…
Emotions that I shall perhaps never again feel in real life.
How naive I was! I used to believe that I would see all around me the same world that I had read about in books. Books and movies treated me to the spectrum of those sublime emotions that characterize human life. It was with a jolt that I realized that they were inspired not by the 99 per cent of the world we see, but by the one per cent that stood out- that held on to its inherent beauty.
Emotionally, Man is the only creature I have given up on. Intellectually, it is still inspiring to share thoughts and ideas. But emotionally, I have given up my garb and I only don the garb of a writer now- one who feels the throbbing of every soul-
The throbbing merging into and echoing the throbbing of his own soul.
There are no attachments in the real world. Like a twig floating on a river, I am happy being carried by the river to wherever it wants to deposit me. It is only external turbulence I dread. For it breaks my reverie. In the absence of external turbulence, my mind is at peace. I have no expectations of people, for they are what they are. I am happy to recoil into an inconspicuous corner where I do not come in the way of any passing soul.
Like a butterfly, oblivious to the beauty of my own soul, I long to bask in the beauty of the world I see. I long to fly and flutter, sampling every bit of nature. In my eyes, I long to carry the beauty of the world I see.
To me, dusk is the most overpowering phenomenon in this world. I treasure every dusk- the changing colors of the sky, the setting sun, the last birds on their way home, the last flutter of wings, the last signs of the receding day. The evening star appears in the sky and darkness descends on earth as night sets in.
And I think to myself- ‘I have collected another dusk to add to my memories of life on earth.’
Every dusk speaks to me powerfully. It is a time when I can gaze up at the evening star and perceive an ocean of sorrow within my heart. If I ask myself what that sorrow is, I have no answer. For it is the collective sorrow of years of life on earth, the collective sorrow of all the aching lives I have encountered in this journey of life. A deep, diffuse sorrow, mixed with the awareness that it can never heal.
But then, it is this failure to heal that makes every simple joy immensely valuable and beautiful-
A child-like joy at every little phenomenon that percolates into my heart.
It is from these broken places within me that I write and dream…
It is these broken places that help me belong to that one per cent who hold on to the inherent beauty of their souls.