Stepping up

When all's lost, all over, all endured, all past.. When all that's to be has been and all done, what is left to be done? What, but to rise again? 

From the deepest abyss must you rise that much higher. Strength is not a trait, but a habit you learn, from lack of luxury of weakness. It's not a choice you make, it's a stroke of fate that chooses you, when it shows you how strength is the way out. Call it a survival skill, if you please. 

Cheesy as it may sound, there might actually be some takeaways from movies, for lack of a more practicable life guide. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start loving yourself. 

What do you love doing? What do you love about you? Let's seek, and we may actually find it!

Musings

The simplest lessons in life are often the hardest. In theory we may be familiar with things like humility, equanimity, grace, magnanimity of spirit, simplicity. When it's time to demonstrate, we surprise ourselves when we fall short. It's easy to believe you're the best you can be, easy to be lost in your own mind. Easy to think you have all the answers. Easy to believe you're always in the right. Easy to feel misunderstood. Easy to feel wronged. Easy to take offence readily and extremely easy to blame others for everything always. Easy to feel victimized. It's hard to find out the truth about yourself. It's hard to maintain your grace and composure on your worst day. It's hard to smile when all your insides are screaming at you to let it all out and cry the thing off. It's hard to step off your self erected pedestal and see what you're actually doing and see that you may actually be wrong. Pride comes easy. Humility wrought by understanding, comes for a price. A price we often would've never paid, had we known. When you're still reeling from the aftershock of the payment, it's a little disconcerting when you realise you've learnt your lesson and there's a lot of time ahead (probably) to apply that learning. There are somethings in life that should never be lost. Walk a mile in another man's shoes before judging him. How simple and true. Yet why do we always need to experience something to actually understand it. With all the options we have for living, which do we choose?

Far better than necessary

This is the tag for a recent jeans commercial - Levis, to be specific, that got me thinking. While some of us are still struggling to get the basics right, to understand the what and how of what we choose to do, there actually are some people out there who have gone beyond that. There are people who have set standards and benchmarks for others to follow and have constantly broken their own records.

With a population demographic that's not worth boasting about, with such vast human 'resource' and such reverence across segments of society for education or achievement of some form, how is it that we're not out setting benchmarks and standards for others? Every once in a while there's a Mumbai Dabbawalas or a Venkatraman Ramakrishnan. Could our obsession with the intellectual elite be part of the reason? Intelligence, though, sadly, is not about figuring out the mysteries of the galaxy, or the human body, or the atoms or god particles alone. It's also about finding something as simple as an everyday piece of clothing like the humble, but now exalted jeans, and taking it to a level of performance and perfection that is a trail blazer for so many others to follow.

From the little I have known and seen, I know there is no dearth of people who have had visions and the courage to pursue these visions into reality to churn out successful businesses out of nothing. But like James Collins has said, we're too content being good to bother about being great. I remember reading somewhere that Homer never wrote more than a few lines of his Iliad a day, because he wanted every word he put on paper to be epic. He could not and would not compromise the sanctity of his work by simply putting in everything that crossed his mind. He did not give in to an illusion of vanity. Instead, he paid an ode to it. That's such a far cry from the verbal diarrhea ( to borrow from Bridget Jones) we see turn into movies like Twilight that come to haunt our sanity.

Beauty

Beauty is measured not by colour, not by skin texture, not by frame, not by name. Not even by posture, grace, or long finger nails. Ever wondered why it is said that 'beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder'? One could say that each man perceives beauty differently. Why do you think that is..

Many poets and aesthetes of yore spoke of the beauty of trees and birds and spring and bloom. You would be blind not to see beauty in those. It's there for all to see. And you're not really pushing your god given perceptive ability in attempting to see and appreciate that. Ironically though, it seems to take a herculean effort for man to see the beauty in his fellow beings. Our generation, it seems, has taken superficial longing and attraction and love to a whole new level. Sad part? No one sees it for what it is. 

One can philosophise about the whole damn deal and say, karmically speaking, each gets only that which he deserves. That has to be true. Does willingly walking into a hell hole make it any different? 

Or maybe we're too well informed and are hence more critical, judgmental and cynical. We see the superficiality for what it is, squirm and complain about it, yet participate actively and promote it, even if only involuntarily, philosophise over the futility of the whole endeavour and then indulge some more in it. 

The endless cycle of cynicism, useless perceptive awareness, inevitable helpless participation and hence retribution. Is all of this enriching our journey and quest for purpose of deviating us from the course? But then isn't the point of this whole journey self realisation to the extent possible and maybe even more? Sometimes it seems a lot easier to be hard on oneself than to be hard on someone else. 

Truth

Do not speak, unless it be from experience. There are so many people to speculate, who lead second hand lives, accept what's handed down to them and have no clue what life as an adventure means. They're not worth listening to. Instinct and gut feeling are severely underrated. Individuality it seems is a murky word. No I will not conform. No, I will not listen to someone's solutions for my life, because I really don't think you have the answers I need. Because you barely even know what my life is. As much as I appreciate your involvement, over indulgence and over interference in ways you think I don't suspect, I don't need that.

Every parent wants only what's best for his / child. Of course, they're parents. They don't get that you can perfect and improve only what the child already is and loves; NOT what they think the child should be or should love. Is the kid argumentative? Does he back his arguments with logic? Have you ever, casually, just run a movie about legal practice across him? Does he like it? She loves prancing around the place all the time? Has she ever been to ballet? Has she experienced the emotions in it? Has she seen a story unfold and has she fallen in love with it? Does your child seem socially awkward, hate conversations, social dos and people in general? But you at least accidentally discover he's a closet writer? Did he pour out his heart and mind in ways very few can think of with words only some may think to use in that way? Did he take to making patterns in the sand and fool around a lot with the crayons you got him? Did you show you things you hadn't thought of before? Did he paint things in a way you wouldn't have thought could be painted?

THAT..is your child. That and that alone is what can be perfected. But not by pushing them into it. By teaching them to have fun with it. Teaching them to love it. Please don't insult my intelligence or anyone else's by saying that's exactly what you did, as a parent. You know better. But more importantly, WE know better.

Mud

Is it me or is it you or is it just that me and you make sense together? It's always easier and better when I write it down.

She: Hey..

Me: Hey.. what's up?

S: Are you still angry with me?

M: Me? Angry? I thought YOU were the one pissed with me. Remember, YOU were the one who never picked up any of my calls. I would've called you a million times. And you couldn't reply to even ONE of them?

S: I was sick okay? I was severely down and was going through my own personal hell.

M: You couldn't at least message to let me know you were'nt okay all this while?

S: I've been busy! I was sick, and then came my friend's wedding. I've been so damn jam packed, I can't tell you. It's just now that I've got time and breathing space.

M: Well should I be honoured you took time out of your busy precious schedule to talk to us mortals?

S: Stop being such a bitch! Come one! I thought you were pissed and that's why you weren't calling me anymore.

M: Um.. du-uh! After calling you a million times and not have you pick any of the calls up, I would be pissed and not want to call you up anymore. .. Anyway, all okay now?

S: Yeah, pretty much. Actually, I need your help.

M: (Awesome.. was wondering why the glitch didn't surface yet.. ) Go on..

S: There's this thing I got to do and I need your help with it.

M: Sure..

I may or may not meet someone worth my while, ever. I'm supposed to stay optimistic meanwhile, right? Despite the fact that I'm surrounded by people who don't get me, won't ever get me, don't care to get me and love their land of denial and shove their perceived right paths in my face and force me down them. Awesome sensation, really, losing yourself altogether and desperately looking for signs to know things are still okay. But really, it's just a progression of denial. It's like a life gone waste. It is, actually, if you haven't had a clue about what you were doing and why you were doing them, in a long long while.

Every stage, every step of the way, if you can't answer where you are, what you're doing and why you're doing it, that's the first sign things aren't going in the right direction. But that's a tidbit for those at the beginning stage of denial. Progressive deniers need something more sophisticated to realise they're in denial. To the above questions, they'd have answers, fantastic sounding ones too. But that's what they sound like, and aren't. Do the answers satisfy you? Are you happy with those answers? Do they make you happy? Are you , not ecstatic, not eclectic, not elated, not deliriously happy, insanely joyous; are you just content and at peace? Are you at peace with the answers that came up when you were introspecting?

If not, my friend, I have bad news for you. This is not your path, this is not your destiny. No matter the monetary costs, no matter what other people think. All the just doesn't fucking matter. You're silently dying inside and your insides know it. And they're trying to tell you that. You're denying it won't make it go away. Interference is the biggest enemy of self reliance. Don't be so lost. At least don't be so morose about it. We'll find a way. With a tune on our lips, a beat in our heart, headed in the direction of the wind, against the tide of faceless humanity pushing and eternally shoving us to go their way. When feeling lost, close your eyes. Focus on what you want to do right now, and just do it. This might just work, who knows! We shall..

People we leave behind

Today, I deleted one of my former bffs from my phone book. Well, she was more than just a best friend, she was my confidante, my philosopher, guide etc. But the operative term here is 'former'. There was no sadness as I did it. There was some bitterness up until this point. But not anymore. No matter how horribly insanely pathetically screwed up things get, people you call your own would still be there at least to hear you, even if it be for the last time. And in turn, would most certainly be able to talk to you about what's bothering them. The day that doesn't happen anymore, they're not worth a second glance.

So yes, metaphorically, psychologically, stupidly, I've considered myself a person of few friends so far. That's been rendered even literally now. Strange how the more people you meet in life, the more your circle expands, the fewer people you discover are worth retaining. Maybe it is for the best. How many relationships can we do justice to at any given point of time? And I'm not talking about having a relationship with your audience at a public meeting sort of thing.

It's not worth regretting ones we've lost. This is where their part ends. Let's be more aware of our story now, shall we? And so the heroine takes charge of her not so praise worthy life style and makes teeny tiny changes, building upon them, as she goes ahead. Uphill it is, from here. But she knows she has herself to rely on, always, no matter what. 

The time gone by

What does one seek, when seeking an ideal partner? For me, from experience now, I can say it's someone who's as strong as me or stronger than me, emotionally, for one thing. In life, when you're with a person who's emotionally not as strong as you are, you end up becoming the stronger one who handles the situations. If the person is worth taking the trouble for, that is. If you come across a stronger person, you're thankful for their emotional stability and steadfastness and gratefully hold on to them. But when you meet your ally, in strength, you rejoice and derive strength and stability from each other. You support each other through all the thick of life (thins wouldn't be a problem anymore, eh?). You become each other's partner in crime, a true companion you can count on to be your friend always, guide, when you need one, philosopher when there are things you need to hear. A whole and complete companion, one you would not want to let go of for life, or death. 

This, in the Indian setting, (not necessarily always orthodox) is expected to happen over some 'kundlis' and busy body elders brain storming. And in a parallel universe, some of us expect and hope for this in the form of 'love'. What if you fail at it? What if you suck at identifying the needful and knowing when to say no. What if, you prolong for longer than necessary and discover that all you're left with is some memories, quite an amount of pain and you're stronger than before. What if your pain threshold for tolerance and your sense of balance in life has only been elevated, where do you go from here? 

Not before long, you realise, you've been travelling the wrong seas all this while and have lost too much time in discovering that. Time, is lost for ever. The experiences you've had have made you wiser. The persons you've met have made you more cautious and wary. Have all these made your quest in life that much harder? .. 

Who's to know!

Part IV

So she thought she had him all figured out, like the rest. Wasn't she by now accustomed to meeting a million of this kind every other day now. The moment someone showed who he or she was, the moment they let down their guard and got all plain and simple, as the poor things were, that was the moment she lost all human interest in them. A read book, an open page, a fallen leaf, a glass of water..These were simple things. Simple everyday things. These didn't need exertion on her part. But a novel, a memoir, a poem from the depths of being and understanding, a dried parched leaf with only traces of fiber showing there once was something there that resembled life, the ocean..These were more her. These were the things likely to hold her interest. What story does that fallen leaf tell you. What secrets of time does the ocean whisper. What did the author want you to see when she spelt out her emotions unabashedly for all to see. What mystery does your heart hold. What ability does your mind have, that your eyes shield so smartly, letting only flashes of brilliance escape occasionally, thinking that no one would've caught them anyway. It was that spark and that spark alone that kept her interest in people. The social niceties with all others were just an obligation. The social price one pays for being in a society. Not that she was mean to anyone, not that she meant harm. Neither was she prone to ridiculing someone nor shunning some old hag. She was the friend of all, foe of none, unless by your own making. She hated none, loved some. But in all these people, her kind, she found only few.

Crave as she might, wish as she might, her kind, she found, were but few. It needed a different bent of mind. A certain madness, if I may say so. A certain agility, a swiftness of mind only few can claim and a sparkling wit very few possess. This she craved and seldom found. And this, this young man, certainly promised naught. So off, she wrote him and bothered not, to dig deeper or search harder. He was, for that matter, a simple bloke. A common fellow with no sharp stroke, of mind or body or language or wit. And so she wrote him off, with good reason, she thought.

Too late..?

It's easy to mistake a serious demeanour for a serious mind. But not necessarily pardonable in a thinker. It's easy to lose oneself in the world we perceive and build walls of, around us. It's not necessarily the truth. What then is the truth? What we perceive is our truth. But how sharp our perception is, depends on how far we're willing to go for the truth.

Art is beautiful, cinema and theater sublime. Music is divine. But life...is a study. It can only be understood by experience. To think most of us (me included) are so blithely unaware of the lives around us. Of the causes, people and issues. It's easy to be swayed by the glossy section of the magazine / paper and read about the latest on Katrina and Ranbir's promotional relaionship, or talk about Angelina's pout. It's hard to take our attention off the gloss and shimmer and force ourselves to look at the people in Vaddithandra and their plight. It's hard to be concerned about some fishing village folk in Santabommali. It's so easy to forget that we ARE a part of all that's happening to them by not being involved and voicing our opinions. By not using our independent free mind to understand all of this, we're against them, by default, and pro - industrialisation at any cost. We see the majesty of a factory. We think man has achieved so much. We forget the lives at the grassroot and force our views of development on them by leaving them no choice. We believe we can decide better, what their lives should be and if they're worth anything and whether they need be included in the whole debate or not (it is after all, their land, their source of livelihood and their life). But these don't seem important. Not in the path of development.

And we're living in a democracy. An ineffective, inefficient democracy which a substitute to monarchy only in that the royalty has been replaced by the vested interests of conglomerates. And most of us are still only concerned about the ipad / tablet / xbox.. It's a pity our choices and lifestyles impact the livelihoods of others even whose existence needs to be forced into our awareness, let alone conscience.

Part III

Could these eyes really be eking out sincerity as she felt they did? No, she mustn't doubt it. She was seeing it. As plainly as she was seeing the din yonder. As plainly as the sun who was now completely gone, wiping all traces of his being there a little while ago, with him. She saw how surprisingly vulnerable he was willing to feel, in her presence. This was not something customary to him in front of the others. She never saw him at a loss for words, in rebuke to anyone who did the preliminary honour of hurling them at him. Or at anyone who gave a friendly nudge. Never, was he ever someone who showed, he could be dealt with easily. Never had his face ever betrayed, any pain or emotion he may have felt. But that was with everybody else. This was her. It is perhaps an honour, this sort of emotional nakedness. But why was she still wondering. She was still thinking rationally. She was doing her customary analysis, dissection of facts and trying furtively to reach a conclusion. But conclusions of this sort are seldom attained through a rational analysis. You shouldn't always think, if you need to get ahead in the emotional realm, she once heard someone say to her. The non-logic didn't appeal to her then, it couldn't appeal to her now. She stood still, expressing all these doubts in her mind through the solemn stillness of her face. He could perhaps read her mind. Perhaps. But he couldn't! Nobody ever did or could so far. Not accurately at least. And so they stood, facing each other; he watching her expectantly and she, looking at and beyond him at the same time, contemplating how to decipher the stirring of irrational ideas within her.

And then it struck her, like a bolt of lightning across the dark night sky studded with heavy, soggy clouds. It cut through the fog of the somber stillness brought about by the heaviness in the atmosphere. The sky that stood staring them now was of course calm. Then it finally hit her. In all this time that she knew him, as a friend, as one of the others, it hit her. She realised what it was that was nagging her. He was one of the compartmentalisers! He was a part of that tribe of them, who thought, that mind and feeling needn't be confused amongst. They were separate entities that needed no mixing. They were independent of the existence of each other. They needed not, the other, to survive. They both drew fuel from two separate reservoirs. They never needed to have anything to do with each other. That was what ALL of them felt! They all thought the same (she couldn't say 'felt' anymore, now, could she). "When you find a chick attractive, not you of course, you're one too, well, When you find a chick attractive, she's attractive. Dot. What's to think anymore?", said one of her friends once. But there lay her fundamental problem. She never felt someone was attractive that way. She never thought, oh that amazing height! Oh the stature! At least, not by themselves alone.

She never felt someone was purely attractive because he purely was. She needed an element of tenacity to think, the endangered commodity these days. She could not stand, that someone could just feel attracted to the person of someone based on the show they put up, of their body. That was what it was, a show. None knew what dressing like a gentleman was, anymore, or for that matter, a lady. They all seemed to wear shards and rags, they called clothes, and passed them off as if they were sacred. Disgusting! None bothered to put any element of elegance in their dressing. None had a sense of it anymore, anyway.

He's one of THEM, who doesn't know how to distinguish between that base popular sentiment based on shoddy imagery and that, which emanated from a true sense of deep understanding, respect, desire and oneness with the other. He does not know me! He thinks he does, he doesn't.

How easily she'd written him off!..

Part II

There was a certain genuineness of appeal in those eyes she was now looking into. They lacked the ferocity of passion that was so often mistaken for a mature sense of warmth. They lacked that childish glee, similar to having discovered a new candy store round the corner. They lacked the deception, which many unfortunately fall for. They had nothing but sincerity; Sincerity born from the deepest crevices of emotional being that is humanly possible. It was this she saw in his eyes. It was this that made her pause to think, instead of garrulously writing off what he just said. True, she wasn’t given to admitting her mind, or as some may say, her heart, in this fashion. But, this wasn’t some everyday random happening now, was it. This, surprisingly, was something else.

Nothing, ever starts in the now that people think it does in. there is always a history, a past, a background, some grounding to everything that happens. Some have tagged it karma. So why then, should this moment they both share be only in the now. It is not.

//No individual’s life is like any other’s and no one’s experiences can be compared to any other’s. Even if we brought two identical individuals passing through similar situations in life and attempted a comparison, we would fail, miserably or otherwise. I’ll explain why; perspectives. No two people may look at a situation in the exact same way – the colour co-ordinations, settings, dream sequences et al. and that is the beauty of uniqueness, of individuality. And perhaps that, is the reason why, even after all these years of evolution and so many centuries of emotions, we can still read more stories on them. //

It Begins..

She stood by the railing that was on the top most floor of the building on the hill overlooking the panorama below. She stood gently sipping her drink as the wind played around with her hair, tossing it in different directions. The wind felt good. It had a slow, comforting rumble, unlike the ferocity of the gusts of wind that came sometimes. It was the evening, just before it begins to turn completely dark. There was still some light. The Sun had just gone down leaving orange traces where he had last been. The clouds around had taken a similar hue. There were no visible birds in the sky to disrupt the peace of the moment. There was only the distant murmur from behind, behind where all the action was happening. Oh yes, there was a lot of action happening there, but none of which concerned her. Anything could have been going on there, for all she cared, but she didn’t. She was basking in the peace and calm of that moment, quietly, gently sipping her drink. Nothing seemed to bother her, right at this very moment. No one seemed to bother about her either, right now. All, except this one guy. He walked up to her so quietly, that she barely noticed him coming. “Enjoying the moment all by yourself?” he asked. She was shaken from her tranquility, but she didn’t seem disappointed with the company. Perhaps she didn’t seek it, this particular one; she wasn’t averse to it either. She gently smiled at her new companion but said nothing. That was her way, she barely spoke sometimes and at times, it was hard to get her to stop. This was one of those quiter moments. “What a day it has been”, he said. “It’s been one long, tiring day. And the guys aren’t stopping at anything for fun”. The week had but just ended and he was referring to the weekend revelry that was in progress behind them, where the entire din was. “Yes, the week has been strenuous. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about showing up at work tomorrow”. He was contemplating the pros and cons and wondering whether or not to do it, for the millionth time. This is it, he thought to himself. If I don’t pop the question now, I never will and then what if I never can? This thought scared him. It took him a lot of introspection and guts to get to this point, this point where he stood now, ready to blurt out. After what seemed like ages, or could’ve otherwise been just a few minutes in human time, he cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “I wanted to talk to you about something” he said. She turned in response and said, “Yea?”. “I don’t think I want to contain this within myself anymore. I love you. And honestly, I don’t see why you wouldn’t already be in love with me either”. This was amusing, the way he put it. But it was after all what she had in her mind all this while too, except she did not come to the moment of realization where she could articulate it. She felt as much, as hard, as deep and as strongly for him as he had for her. She wasn’t adept at emotional communication, that’s all. She stared back at him, with those distant, hazy eyes of her. It could’ve been eons ago, that he popped this question.

But it was. It was all those eons ago. It wasn’t customary for women of royal breeding such as hers to freely and unabashedly express emotion. It showed vulnerability. But it felt like a million firecrackers were bursting within her, all gushing out as fiercely as the waterfall, flowing in all might right below the portico they now stood on as they spoke. The attendants were all a reasonable distance away, but on this fateful day, luckily, they were far away not to over hear this particular conversation.

A New Day with a New Tune! :)

Pleasant morning it is, despite the sun already glaring his way into the day. Today is different from any other, because for once, oddly enough, I decided to check my mail before I went on with the shower, dressing up, breakfast, leaving for work protocol. And a good thing that turned out to be. I could read one my dearest friend's blog! I love movies. They leave very little to the imagination (at least the ones that come now!). But I love reading more. And that is one love affair I keep rediscovering on and on. Reading opens a window or door (or a ventilator, depending on the writer) to the mind and eventually world of the writer. It paints vivid pictures of what's depicted in those words. Words, I find, can be more elaborately descriptive than any picture. To me, words speak a lot more than pictures. It could also undeniably have quite a bit to do with my hyper active mind. Whatever it be, I thoroughly liked and was consumed by the words he put in to his blog. Boy am I glad I started my day this way today!

For All That Seems...

For a fire that burns deep within

For a force that cant be expressed in words

For intensity I am grappling to be able to take

For a struggle that never seems to die within

For a smog that’s filling my lungs as we speak

For all the gravity I feel within

In that area, that so called place

Which houses all these things

Which are but a waste of time, if you see it that way

Words? Sound? Tune? Breath?

What can come out

What is it that’ll finally at least make an escape

What is it that the eye outside will finally see

Assuming, it does, of course

I am as eager as you

If this wasn’t such a struggle its made out to be

I would be sitting back with a pile of popcorn in my hand too

Oh! If only I had ever wished to be so conveniently fathomable.

I chose not

I wished not

I hoped not

Not this, not anything else

But I crave, yes. Unfortunately yes, a million times over.

But help it, I cant

To a Common Chord Then..Lets All Sing.

After a certain point, you have no idea what gets those precious drops rolling. A little something of your own or something that belongs to someone else? What does it matter, I say. It’s all the same, isn’t it? Your own, a borrowed one. The point is… the point is that there is one underlying thread that’s common to all of these stories. A common thread that speaks the same language that your story speaks. Its that language you understand and respond to. A revocation of the past? Whats to revoke? What remains? Why is this such a routine farce of living it up or living it out? Is that too harsh an expression? Is this so bad a thing? Rather, I should be asking, if this is how bad it can get. Why does it have to be? How long can deviations fill up. That’s what they all ultimately are..deviations. true. You never know what touches a chord where. You never know what invokes what. What lies beneath is common. The faces with which it comes into each of our existences varies. I know it as a lost dream, you know it as an unrequited love, or a passion slighted or whatever you might want to call it. The point is… it stays on.

One fine summery saturday evenin..Wen al's chaotic n jammed in pearl planet

Wats bad and wats not

Wat warrants apologies

Wat warrants confrontations

None I guess

The whole point of the story is that

I cant always be left to myself

And expected to turn out full bloom

Well maybe I should, ideally speaking

But fact remains

I cannot just go on just because I have to

Not now, not forever

Is there a pattern building up in all of this?

Of course not

There is a definitive difference

Between a one time fling

And a full time affair

And then obsession is an altogether different thing

Th point is.. well

I really don’t kno

I will not let this build up

That is for certain

But yea it was a crazy thing t do..

I gues.. J

I love nor hate

I pray nor wait

I sing but not

for someone I ought

I ought? Are you sure?

I look no more

To see if he’s coming

There’s no one there

Don’t you know?

Cant you see

As I see it?

There IS no one

There wont be him, that I’m sure of

What’s it you say?

There ought another, to be?

Oh yes? That’s what you feel?

Well, I know.

And this you should too.

Sit up, straight, you there

And listen, to what I say to you

I will not tell you words you’ve already heard

I will not chant sermons of life oh so sweetly

I tell you this, instead

Life, is too long

Too weird, not always a song

I wont preach I dare not teach

But live it all

As t’were the last

For most are, until they really are

The last, but then its too late

And you remain a lesson

Only for some other

Who wont, mightn’t and perhaps even shouldn’t, learn

For each his life has his own set of lessons

Live yours

To learn yours

Go on living

Keep showing up

Disheartened, yes

Desolate, yes

Alone, yes

Totally lost, yes

But keep living

Keep showing up

Keep going on

Until one fine day, you walk here no more

And walk elsewhere, where, we shall see