At odd intervals I am afflicted with the sordid disease of 'thinking'. I withdraw from the world, nay - perhaps, I'm going too far ahead of myself - the world recedes from me. Yes. That is a truer statement. Truer? what sort of a word is that? can there be shades of truth? am I implying here that there are multiple layers of one reality? I suppose I'm digressing.
As the world escapes from within my grasp, and folds upon itself and I am left in a vacuum, a large empty cavern of my own being, a hollowness, a resounding emptiness unfolds itself, and I can feel my soul fill up with breath and release its pent up tension. I relax... and I reflect.. and my thoughts take wings, and fly on fantastical flights of delight and sorrow.
The essential condition of 'man' is to be alone. We are born alone and die alone. But, to live we need harmony and essence, links and bonds, love and affection for without these we are nothing. No matter how bothersome we may make these worldly bonds out to be they are essential to our well-being, to our very sustenance, to our existence. How then does one feel when such close relations betray us or let us down? The pillars of reality tend to rot and crumble away, that which 'existed' starts to become 'doubtful', trust takes a nosedive, truths adorn the masks of half-truths. What 'is' becomes isn't, what 'isn't' becomes probable. Life enmeshes dreams, and dreams can't be weeded apart. Mirrors reflect the real world, and the reflection becomes reality. Shades overlap shades. Time overlaps time. And those who feel deeply - hear something softly break in the deep recesses of their hearts - softly, very softly like light footsteps on rose petals....
Why then do we feel sad at times? sad at being left behind? sad at being the one's to have all the memories, sad at having the energy to relive the past each moment over again, sad at having so much to remember. Someone may break your heart by an unkind word and trod along not even thinking again what he has done while you may keep standing there wondering at the hanging words and their echoing silence.
I want to fly away like a bird. I want to take a vapid, nonsensical, unaimed, wandering, gypsy like flight into my fantasies and back. I want to visit a garden of all colors, a garden where green blooms into hundreds of shades of lime, lemon, khaki, peacock, brilliant, sage, celadon, and dark green. I want my garden to have aspects of yin and yang, positive and negative, white and black, male and female. I want it to be expansive, encompassing the surrounding scenery like Japanese gardens are supposed to do. The mountains, the vales, the sky, the clouds, the trees, the wind... especially the wind, the water, the birds aahhh the birds.
There may come a time when I am too old to remember all that makes me who I am. My memories may become blank as a clean sheet of paper, I may become a stranger to myself, I may even forget my name and what I once thought.. and it is for then I'd like to pen down whatever I write now...
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