Derailed

Its often that we find that life can seem like a mighty hurricane, flying so speedily past us, leaving us dizzy and our world thrown upside down. But every now and then we realise, its not life, but us, moving like a bullet train, seeing only the glimpses of the life we've lived, from a beginning, without a middle, to an end too soon and die. And like a bullet train, never taking the steady scenic route, in which you can slow down for a moment to look out and see the wonders of the world. Instead all you see is just a blur, and the shaking of a speeding train.

And you'll find that moving at such great speeds, that life can get noisy, and feel so unsteady, and that the pressures of living weigh more heavily down when we're moving at great speeds. And yes, you're places, but you've not stopped to look at the places you've passed by along the track to a destination you hardly know yourself. Until you reach a point where you're craving silence, only to realise the noises are coming from you, and the only pressures you're feeling can only be stopped when you stop, for just a moment to take it all in.

So now I've run so far from the world and all its pressures, and its social calamity and its devious repertoire. And I have lengthened the space between myself and the graces of friends and frequent acquaintances, in all their mediocrity and dramatic declines. I've never been much further from the familiarity of family or of traditions and the roller-coasters of their precious demeanour. Only to find myself, even after all that, so far from all the pressures and chaos, not in peace or in quiet, but the unmistakable sound of my own stresses and prejudiced repose...All by myself, deep within myself, so far from myself...with the sound of a speeding track...about to be derailed.

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