What is that which needs expressing ? Things inside you, facets of your personality, that are, because of one reason or another, subdued, lie suppressed. At least that’s how writing, ,or keeping a diary, works for most of the amateurish writers out there on the “interwebs”, on corners of our common collective consciousness, where people seldom visit them and where the plain merit of the content has less importance than the cathartic value it holds to those writing it. Same goes to hundreds of thousands of blogs published on a regular basis, and also to this one that I am running here.
Very rarely, writing brings out the best and the most developed parts of a person’s persona, so to speak. And when it does, then that shines through, as a diamond amongst the heap of other coal blocks. These are ‘ diamonds’ whom we follow and adore as writers and poets and storytellers and visionary thinkers.
As for those other ones who are left, those other blocks of coal, don’t for a moment make the mistake of confusing them with the ones that hold promise or hope or potential of any sort of beauty or shine, but rather, see them and acknowledge them as blocks of darkness, which are hollow shells of complete blackness absorbing any and every spark of light, joy and positivity in and around them.
Life is tough. Its hard to get by in life with any certainty for what fate awaits you. Its a burden which is borne by each and everyone of us. But some of us chose to, or rather try to, “opt out”of it. Try to become fence-sitters and watch it from a distance. Never partaking in it , but only commenting, speculating for what it is actually. The plethora of “writers” you see, the ones like me, writing away their nights on their pretty, little blogs which reach , in comparison to their efforts, virtually no one , are doing just this. Speculation and observation. But the thing about life is, its not supposed to be tackled that way.
Granted life is misery, and not just that, its a relentless affront on your sanity, but all that is to test you. To test your limits, your braking points, your potential. Beings which don’t labour under the burden of misery are more vulnerable to destruction than those which have survived all forms and kinds of suffering in the past. In the end, at a point, you have to ask yourself this question, “Given a choice, what would you want to be, a Cockroach or a Dodo ?”
There is a certain hue to the winter skies. Even on those sunny days, when its all blue and vast in its mejestic expanse, as you look above at it, standing alone, or with friends, somewhere in an open field, with mildly cold, but pleasant, winds surrounding you from all sides, you can feel the skies having this, kind of a character, to it.
Like faded color on a canvas, with the blue giving way to the yellowish and white on the edges, as your vision moves more towards the horizons, you notice them actually covered in chrome, or a dull blue at best.You see the whole sky filled with twirling particles, atleast in your vision, and beyond that, a sense of well being prevails in your soul,something that which you can not shed, atleast on these sunny days, which might’ve come after a streak of gloomy, clouded months, during which you were struck in your house as the world outside went into a quiet slumber.
But even now, on these sunny days, its as if that sullen world overlays itself , as a weak filter from the past, on your frame of the here and now, and makes you feel sad thinking about it, yet cheerful in a way… grateful , thay those days are over and now you can bask yourself in the winter sun and spring might be just around the corner.
You are sitting in a vehicle and always looking toward the front , of things coming your way, or you anticipate them coming your way. Never looking at the things passing you by.
Those things which you are anticipating to come, approach slowly at first, then rush towards you and pass you by in a blip, but by the time they approach you, you have already lost interest in them and your focus of attention has shifted towards the next upcoming thing. This is the basic difference between a child and a grown up travelling in a vehicle. While the child is mostly enamoured by his immediate surroundings, the thing passing him by in the present moment, adults are not. And even for this they are not to be blamed, they have already lost their keen senses of perceptions, needed to live in the here and now, long back, and even if they try to focus on their present surroundings, they won’t be successful due to their short attention spans.
There is a redeeming value to Love. Even if we might be unaware of it, it exists.Requited, unrequited, accepted, unaccepted, distant, near, even fake love. Yes,even if Love is faked, just for the jest of it, would start changing you in ways you could never imagine. It would start opening neurological pathways in your brains and would make you look for possibilities and options and hope in places where you might’ve overlooked it, or not even thought of could’ve ever expected to exist int the first place. It gives you courage to grapple with the meaninglessness of existence in constructive ways.It gives you a motive to exist in this cruel world,giving you mode to exist in all the absurdities of life, it makes existence and thousands of its discontents, bearable.
A lot of troubled and resentful people around the world who do all kinds of horrible things to themselves and people around them, are just unloved, seeking it in their own ways, no matter what that might mean to them. Unloved people do things which make the suffering of existence worse than what it already is. Our aim should always be to lessen it, not to add to it as it is as bad as it is, in itself.
I see a spider dying on the walls of my bathroom. I open up the shaft and lights of my bathroom for that whole night.The next day i see 5 dead flies in the web of that spider. What is it?
Have I done a sin or a virtue? or above all, What I’ve done ,given or taken “Divine Life”?