Aaah.. New York!

Aaah.. New York! My mind frequently wanders there. I loved it the first time I saw it. Now, my mind reiterates, its as good a time as any to move there, to experience the arrogance of New Yorkers first hand, but also to be absorbed into the life of the city, to be part of that immense culture shock, to be a minute yet significant part of it. When I first landed there, it lifted me up from my cocoon, calling my name, asking me to be a part of it. The days pass insignificantly, yet, some part of my brain thinks about life out there. Some times, I feel like I am in a rut, some days more so. Eventually, I project myself, outside of this tiny bubble, to see life, to live it in my heart. Some days, that is enough. But, lately, I seem to realize, that is where my life is taking me, towards that pinnacle, towards that solitude, towards that anonymity, towards freedom, towards peace.

How soon will I fulfill it? Some destinations are worth the wait. Hopefully, soon.

A Good Dog

05/02/2008

If I had four legs, I would be called a dog, I act and behave like one.
But I have two legs and a heart, Unlike the four legged creature,
I wait on my master just the same.
And instead of a bone
I wait for a kind word,
Am happy when he says it
And hurt when he lashes out,
Yet, like the good old dog,
I maintain my degree of faithfulness
I come back, the kick forgotten, anxious for a look of approval
I lick his feet, as good dogs do, I whoof in a manner of smile
Am wary of his swinging moods, but dogs have no say, do they?
They never go away, their faith in their master unshaken
Perhaps, they think quietly, someday…
There would be a pat, a hug, along with the bone

Remember, the dog loves his master, unconditionally. Its not the dogs fault that the master is sometimes cruel.

Courtesy: http://sailingby.blogspot.com/2009/03/good-dog.html

Some times, love and hurt, move hand in hand. Some times, pain is love.

A smile - an act of kindness, understanding - an act of love, embrace - an act of possession - there are many emotions that humans can express, without any words being spoken. Yet in all the myriad emotions that one can show, we choose hurt - to hurt and to be hurt, yet keep licking the feet of masters! How cruel?

Wish I was a saint!

Sometimes, being saint seems easier than being myself. In a world that fights to change you every second, to be who you are is the toughest challenge. The thing is that, I am up for that challenge, with a ‘but’ associated with it. A bit of a bummer, truly. I can honestly say that I don’t enjoy being me anymore. In fact, I feel that I am as far away from me as possible. Some days are like that. I wake up and think about the purpose of this existence. Whose mere whim is it, that I exist? Whose fantasy is it that rides this boat? There are days where a coherent thought is far from my mind and days where the very next minute is an ordeal I do not wish to cross. And some days, I wish I can fly by to the next day, but the clock ticks incessantly, in its steady manner. Sometimes, that is a blessing, that says, nothing can make me move any faster than how I want to move. Like, it says, in this ever changing world, I remain unperturbed. Feel me tick, feel me tock, I love it when someone pays attention to me. And I wonder, am I the only one who pays attention to it?

I feel the pain of people around me, even if I am the one causing it and it sometimes cripples me to the extent I cannot function. I stay strong, yet I wither inside of me, despite the bravado. If I don’t feel pain, I don’t feel anything else either. Is every emotion born out of pain? Perhaps it is. It is said that a mother undergoes unbearable pain, when she brings a life into this world. She feels so much pain that she collapses and when she wakes up after the ordeal, she hardly remembers any pain. Perhaps, since life is so intertwined with the pain of the womb, pain is the strongest emotion that drives life. But there comes a point where that pain is not endurable. There comes a point where beyond that, even if it is an abyss that exists, it is easy to jump into it. Some call it quitting. But, why endure when endurance is not worth it? Then again, I think, it goes back to our birth. A mother has to endure the pain to bring a child into the world. If she does not wish to endure, she seals the fate, of her and the child inside of her. So she endures and she teaches the child the first price of endurance. The sweetness of life. As days pass by, the child eventually grows, making the mother question the sanity of her decision, as to why she endured the pain in the first place. And despite those insane thoughts, true to the nature of a mother, she endures furthermore, the bitter sweet pain of her prodigy. In some cases, despite the fruitlessness of this endurance, she continues to strive for the welfare of her child. Therein lies another lesson from a mother. Patience. For what? To be hurt all over again, to begin the cycle of those incessantly irksome thoughts of pain and endurance? Perhaps a mother’s threshold level is far more greater than that of her child. Unfortunately, I wonder, if the child were to be a boy, will he have the same set of thoughts or will he, like a father, get things done instead of feeling the need and being crippled by those fanciful emotions that do not get two cents on the road side? Perhaps, cynical of me, to think men do not have emotions, when some of those emotions, or lack thereof, are those that cause the frustration in a day-to-day life. And for every tick of the clock, there is someone counting the seconds to get through the day, to endure, to persevere until the next day. Some days, are like that for me too. Those days, I wish I was a saint.

Despite the brevity of character, sometimes, it is important to feel nothing. That nothingness being the truth that everything else is beyond the limits of the person. And sometimes, that nothingness is in feeling that everything is in one’s hands and one just has to drop that everything. To not feel the nothingness or to feel the nothingness and to not react to it, will truly be an act of a saint. Some days, I am like this too! But, I don’t actually meditate. I rather cringe internally in to a shell, being the husk of a person who could be much more. With the internal uproar a bliss to the pumping heart, which pumps reverently, like air pushing the fire from beneath to reach the sky. That in itself is meditation, to seek that fire, to stall it, to tame it, to hurl it. Some days are like this too.

True to my nature, some days I endure, some days I hurl, some days, I just wish I was a saint, with nothingness in me. Such bliss in the solitude, I tell you, is definitely worth going to the end of the earth to find it.