Morsels Of Joy

Look up, look down, look left, look right. What do you see? Some of you might say your room, or your workplace, or any other place where you have access to the internet for that matter. I daresay you'd be wrong. If you are reading this post, if you have the ability to stare at the screen and understand what's written, then what you see when you look around, what you experience all around you, is life. Not your room, not your place of work, but pure, unadulterated life. You can be sad, you can be happy, you can be depressed, I am in no position to judge, but the eternal truth is doubtless: life, is beautiful.

Let go of all thought for a moment. I am not asking much, just a tiny moment. Now move your pointer to the red fish on the right (that is if you have flash enabled on your browser, if not, keep reading anyway). Play with them, click and see how they rush towards the food. Fun, isn't it? See how they gave you a morsel of happiness, a happy moment, a reason to smile!

You can not change the world, but you can certainly alter life's tiny moments. You can change the way you look and see how beautiful everything turns out to be. I saw these words being delivered in a movie and they immediately struck a chord, "Lord! Give me the strength to change what I can, the courage to accept what I can not, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Look. Move. Sense. Feel. Dream. Eat. Sleep. Laugh. Cry. Celebrate. Skip. Jump. Cycle. Imagine. Draw; anything can be drawn, grab a few color pencils and fill up a blank page, anything. Play music, doesn't matter if you can't play very well, sing. Dress up. Go naked. Make silly faces. Spin; yeah you get dizzy, but just do it. Do yo-yo. Check the time. Swing. Dance. Kiss. Hug. Make love. Have babies. Take the elevator up and down. Go against the escalator. Drive crazy. Hop; I don't know why, but its fun so do it anyway. Ruffle through your hair. Make fun of your friends, point at them, annoy them. Hate. Forgive. Love...
Smile...

Breathe...

Live!

Moments of life.

Like Bob Dylan once sang,"... he not busy being born is busy dying..."

Zen's Journey

10:30 P.M.

He had never felt like this before. At first he thought he was dying, slowly losing grip on his heart and his conscious mind. The more he thought about it, the more he was plunged into it. It was weird, yet insanely calm. He felt like a helium filled balloon, rising, and rising, and rising, up towards the never ending sky. He closed his eyes in an attempt to understand all this. He saw nothing, yet he saw everything. Imagine yourself being lifted off the ground as if you were weightless and in front of you was a huge screen showing you the happiest moments of your life. Hard to imagine I know, but this is how he described it.

We're back to our protagonist and his strange journey; let's call him Zen. Our friend Zen felt more and more confused. He was having an incredibly joyous time, no doubt about that, but he was unsure as to why or how was it all happening. Just as he had this thought, a voice came from all the fog that was around him, more of a question really, "Does the 'why' matter?", and even though he felt uncertain about everything, he couldn't have been more clear  about the point that voice was trying to make. There is a reason to everything, every experience, but these experiences don't wait for you. They don't care if you want the reason or not, they just knock once and move on and when it is too late, when you may or may not have understood the reason, its all gone.

Our friend Zen smiled, and watched his first conscious thought, a birthday cake, the birth of a sibling, the zebra at the zoo, the view from atop the elephant, his first bunk with his friends, the first time he danced, his first girlfriend, his first date, the first time he danced with a girl, his first kiss (he calls it one of his happiest memories), his first break up ("What a relief!", he says), his first driving lesson, his father's hug, his mother's kiss (the happiest of all memories) and just like that, as if a vacuum had sucked out all the fog, it was all over. He fell and looked around. He pulled up his pillow closer and looked at his watch.

10:35 P.M.

Hope or Despair

This is the time,
When nothing is right, nothing is pure.
The darkness is heavy;
Knock of sorrow at the door.

The world, a barrage of sounds.
Sounds of anger, sounds of fear,
Cries of help,
Followed by the flow of tears.

Sounds of agony
Amidst rising clouds of dust.
Power hungry warlords,
Minds fogged by lust.

Nothing is human,
Nothing has value.
Peace is the vice,
Violence is the virtue.

Happiness is barricaded,
Considered the foe.
Driven by hate,
The people are sore.

Hope still remains,
The choice is still there,
Throw away the hatred,
Leave no room for despair.

Silent Whispers

In the corner
I lie with my pillow
I make no sense
To the sound in my headphones

'Cause all I hear
Are your silent whispers
And I won't shake them off
As they are music to my ears

You're my special drug
The drug I couldn't quit
I'm having withdrawal symptoms
I miss feeling high

I'm tired of pretending
I'm sick of trying
I'm not strong enough
I've even lost the privilege of crying

I see a unit sawed in two
Blood splattered everywhere
The two halves go separate ways
They represent my worst fear

I am cold
My blood is dry
I miss your warmth
I miss being alive

I did this to myself
I made you turn and go
But still I whisper "I love you"
To your ghosts in the shadows!

The Joke We Call Trust

I am securely surrounded by a network of just a single friend. Paradoxical, isn't it? But that's how my cards were dealt. Just this one person engulfing me like a phagocyte ingesting a filthy bacteria, but in my case, I am being protected - unlike the poor germ. Or is that really so? I, for one, am not sure. That one person could be my guardian at one instant and my bloodthirsty foe at another. Trust is a virtue that's really hard to find these days. As the cliched saying goes: "its like finding a needle hidden inside a haystack".

Consider a happy couple making love: are they really that happy? The husband is imagining that his wife is an American porn star he watched in the movie he bought from the video shop down the street, whereas, the wife is imagining that her husband is the tall, muscular and sallow faced Russian she saw in the news. Both are unhappy, but the melancholy on their face is well-hidden by the orgasm they experience. Both lying to no one else but themselves.

The doctor, who was leading an honest unhappy poor life, discovers the promises of the organ trade. He indulges himself in this money-making profession. Here he is busy making his family not realizing that, in another dreary part of the world, another might be experiencing theirs going down to rubble. His guilt flawlessly masked by the greed shadowing his face. He lies to himself; he cannot even trust himself.

It seems unfair, don't you think, that in this wretched sinful world, I am blessed with a friend I can actually rely upon. Surely there should be something that might make me distrust this person. Some point, some weakness that might expose his treachery. By hiding his evil, I'm cheating no one else but myself. I am not just Me, I am the two of Us.