Need some inspiration – to draw out the hidden thoughts from the rusty corners of my mind. Words refuse to form sentences and the shackles holding my brain refuse to break and let go. The intermittent flashes of sense just about evaporates at the thought of “self-time”. As I struggle to form coherent thoughts that pull me into a protective wrap, I sense a desperate need for freedom. I want to go out and shout at the top of my voice, with not a care for the passer by. I want to stand in the middle of the night – in a down pour and feel the cold water rush through me, cleansing the fiery distaste for sanity. I wish to feel the warmth of the fresh morning coffee on a curvy road, surrounded by mountains and fog and take comfort in the rare luxury of such time in hand. I wish to breathe in the air of fresh blue berry muffins, as the vapor reaches my nose, feel the sense of deliciousness and be lost in the delicacy of the flavor. I wish to sit in peace in the isolation of an island, away from the humdrum and buzz of the city life, where the warmth of the morning sun promises a lovely and relaxed day, in the comforts of my glass house. As the music plays on, I wish to close my eyes and let go of myself into the soothing food for soul and just be lethargic. I wish to have a leisure lunch of tasty food, in the luxury of a cottage inn – take my time chewing it, while the timeless classics and endless romance plays on and I can laugh. I wish to stretch back on the bed – with a smile on my face at the fond memories going back in time and spare a moment for the people I loved and cared. I wish to have a dreamless sleep – free of nightmares –that which unwinds the day’s strain. Ah, how I wish I could clone myself and leave her here, while I travel the galaxies of stars and constellations, exploring the outer space and meeting new life. How I wish I could bury myself in a room full of books, not having a need to eat, drink, sleep and be lost in the world of books. How I wish I could meet people with whom I can have conversation without the care of being offended or offending someone – the unguarded thoughts flipping off the mind, letting go of myself and being free of shackles – of mind and soul!
Why need comforts? Why need things in life that should have some meaning? Could not happiness be found in the insignificant trivialities of mundane? Is finding sanity such luxury? Why have things for the heck of having them, when they offer little comfort? The thoughtlessness of actions, that define the course of life, seemingly difficult to fathom, are not so difficult, once stripped to the bare essentials of truth and classifying the need – necessity and petty. Breaking the shackles is not that difficult either – who cares if I have that cast iron round my leg, that holds me to the pole, when I refuse to move an inch- with or without the cuff? And if I really want to break that manacle – will the cuff stand a chance at the power of my will? No. Yet, the shackles are there – invisible and invincible, held by the figments of imagination that have little clarity.
I sit comfortably, thinking of life and seemingly feel the despair of the monotony that irks me to the core. Am I a part of the herd, guided by the invisible whip of the monthly paychecks – the higher, the greater the dissatisfaction? What, if any, is the point of earning bread and butter through the channels that have so little to offer? Yet, I find myself drawn to the possibility of vision, mine and theirs, together, to make a better product. And I still cling on, in hope of deriving the pleasure in creating something – however repetitive it would be. The process of creation itself a journey towards fulfillment. There is no self-discovery in this process. There is no higher conscience here, that which can be looked up to. Yet, the journey goes on. What a waste!
Why need comforts? Why need things in life that should have some meaning? Could not happiness be found in the insignificant trivialities of mundane? Is finding sanity such luxury? Why have things for the heck of having them, when they offer little comfort? The thoughtlessness of actions, that define the course of life, seemingly difficult to fathom, are not so difficult, once stripped to the bare essentials of truth and classifying the need – necessity and petty. Breaking the shackles is not that difficult either – who cares if I have that cast iron round my leg, that holds me to the pole, when I refuse to move an inch- with or without the cuff? And if I really want to break that manacle – will the cuff stand a chance at the power of my will? No. Yet, the shackles are there – invisible and invincible, held by the figments of imagination that have little clarity.
I sit comfortably, thinking of life and seemingly feel the despair of the monotony that irks me to the core. Am I a part of the herd, guided by the invisible whip of the monthly paychecks – the higher, the greater the dissatisfaction? What, if any, is the point of earning bread and butter through the channels that have so little to offer? Yet, I find myself drawn to the possibility of vision, mine and theirs, together, to make a better product. And I still cling on, in hope of deriving the pleasure in creating something – however repetitive it would be. The process of creation itself a journey towards fulfillment. There is no self-discovery in this process. There is no higher conscience here, that which can be looked up to. Yet, the journey goes on. What a waste!
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