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Juggernaut

“The next time he sees me, he should look the other way, pretend he never met me one day in his sorry life. “

He looked up.

“Nooo, you don’t know. You haven’t seen. He’s different now. Calmer. The last time he saw me, he bowed when he greeted me, bowed! He’s seen things since then. Different roads- life has humbled him, you’ll see.”

She snorted.

“People like him aren’t humbled. The soonest they get a chance at recovery, they jump into their old bullshit, treating people like dirt because they believe they are better, deserve better. That’s how you know his circumstances may have changed but they haven’t changed him.

Life has halted him, not humbled him.

For humility, life would need to have taught him some lessons, ones he actually learned. But he didn’t come to be a student of life. He came to conquer it.”

Prose et Poesie
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The Win

My hope for you today is that you recognise the win.

That when your continuous labour of love finally folds amidst your constant push – removes the occasional stumbling block and lets you stand a little straighter, you feel that relief;

My hope for you is that you breathe that moment, that the reprieve seeps in and reignites the hope within.

That the fear that barks around your ankles – urging you to venerate the strain we call the hustle, rolls over and plays dead to your victory lay.

That you take your moment when you have won;

do not bury the song.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie
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Warrior, You Are

Do you know what a tough road it is?

Life,

I mean.

 

One truth is none of us do. In the manner that looking across a vast expanse cannot immediately tell us if the terrain will take a lot from us, or a little.

 

Sometimes, we grow by an oasis.

Sometimes, we are lost in a sea of sand.

The vehicles we all move through dictating

if we will crumble or stand strong.

 

We cannot know how tough this is.

Life,

I mean.

Not, surely, till we get to the end of the road.

 

What a warrior you are, Adventurer, facing the unknown.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie
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Strength

Hi you. Yes, you.

You’ve been telling yourself that you aren’t strong. A direct contradiction to the face you put out every morning; the one others filled with their own expectations and emotions judge you by. And that contradiction is killing you. Slowly.

You’re strong! You’re strong. Not every time, now. Not every hour of every day, and certainly not every day of every week.

It’s okay that you struggle with yourself and your mind, and the anxieties of work, which you can’t stop conflating with the anxieties of life. It’s okay when you feel like the people in your life with whom you can be vulnerable for their strength, no longer have their own secure foundation and so cannot carry you. It’s okay to want to take a break from them then, as you learn. It’s okay, too, to forgive them for being human, even as you forgive yourself for being the same. But then, remember, you are strong. You’ve just gotta pick yourself up.

 

Inspiration Journaling
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Gifted-Public-Figure Has Died at Aged-age

“Gifted-Public-Figure has died at aged-age.”

 

Seldom do I swim in a sea of envy. I lie.

Envy waits patiently for me at my door each night and stands sentry till morning. It accompanies me – walking ahead on my route each day, morphing into fantastic shapes of alternate states of being. It pops out at each corner to say “I’m an option, if you’d heed it”. It draws in with play-fighting and truth-meandering; faux soul-searching.

Envy fears all things

Gnaws all things

Seethes through things

Corrupts good things – envy never mends.

Gifted-Public-Figure has died and I, I was inspired. And envious.

Not of their death, or even of their life. But of all those who are finding or have found their purpose, and are thriving in pursuit of the thing, even at 39. And then, I was envious of their mind.

But then that left no space to grow!

That left no space to ponder my own issues and grab my own weights.

It left no roads on which to be bare-back, worn down, weary, and soaking.

It left no reason for me to find a valley to fill with a sea of my pain and dive into, so I could swim to the other side and sing. All it did was encourage me to drown.

All I heard were songs at the corner with tempos of mourning, of cries to drop down, dig a hole and bury my soul. Then use all my powerful potential to water the seeds of waste and prune their poisonous vines where I had laid them.

All it showed me was waste when all I desire is grace.

 

Today hit’s different. Because I saw a light, just the one.

Then others quickly rose to affirm it. So I knew it was the light at the end of a tunnel and not a train hurtling towards me on the tracks.

Gifted-Public-Figure has died at aged-age. And I took my envy of perceived accomplishment and I put it on the road. I shaped and carved and filigreed till I was sure it would hold. Then I set it beside my other fears and worries, anxieties, doubts, and excuses.

I set it with no spaces between the cracks as my next stepping stone.

Journaling
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Change

People say that people don’t change, which of course, is preposterous. I will admit that getting there is a series of missteps, false starts, false middles and shaky continuums. But if a person does something to surprise you one day – just once – there is change in that. The absolute beauty of the the thing is when they never repeat it. Because from time to time we have to remind ourselves that we are human and that change is a process we haven’t quite wrapped our heads round yet. I have spent the better part of two years trying to change three things in my life. I am now so changed from the person I was back then , I am only now slowly trying to come to terms with it. But would you believe it? None of the things I focused on changing have moved even a little bit in any direction…

It’s the focus on these three though that did the other things, I think.

Journaling
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Dreams III

The alchemist turned to the boy. ” This is for you. To make up for what you gave to the general.”

The boy was about to say that it was much more than he had given the general. But he kept quiet, because he had heard what the alchemist said to the monk.

“And this is for me,” said the alchemist, keeping one of the parts. ” Because I have to return to the desert, where there are tribal wars.”

He took the fourth part and handed it to the monk. “This is for the boy. If he ever needs it.”

“But I’m going in search of my treasure,” the boy said. I’m very close to it now.”

“And I’m certain you’ll find it,” the alchemist said.

“Then why this?”

“Because you have already lost your savings twice. Once to the thief, and once to the general. I’m an old, superstitious Arab, and I believe in our proverbs. There’s one that says , “Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.”” They mounted their horses…

– The Alchemist

Inspiration
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Organic Burn

There are things that have begun to burn.

Save those you can while they in any part

remain

We leave what we cannot take. We trusted

What we did not make

After all, and went ahead and claimed it –

Love.

No, we did not make love. We made,

well…

We did. But we did not create it. God did. God

is

Love. So how could the creator become in any part

the created? No.

So when these things that have begun to burn

can not be salvaged

We leave them and run. We haste from the embers that become

We are followed in our turn but the scarring is

localised to a minimum. An infinitesimal organic suicide

Heartbreak.

We labour with the remnants of our burn

To plagiarise and live in reruns.

Tomorrow we make again what we did not create

And trust again what we did not make

Our memory heals enough so we replicate.

Love.

 

Prose et Poesie