Mended

A time will come when we have to surrender to the obvious, but oblivious fact, that perhaps beneath the porcelain plain of our deprived expression, and somewhere behind the masquerades of our poker faces, and buried deep within good intentions...Perhaps perfection is just the perception of what glue looks like when a man is broken.

Perhaps the only ties that bind a broken end to the part of a mended whole, are smiles and graces of wounded man, who stitched himself together with copious hours of work, and managed to hide his tears with laughter in an effort to numb the pain. And the truth is, eventually we become so used the reparations being in process, that we forget we ever have repairs to complete. Or is it just that we become so comfortable in our own brokeness, that we don't realise that we still have time for repairs?

A time will come when we have to realise that we cannot fix a thing, unless we acknowledge that it is broken. But understand that no matter how broken, there's a difference between you, and truly being beyond repair.

Desperation

There is a very fine line that sometimes separates the wants and needs in our lives. A veil between what is truly required in order to sustain a present or continuous level of being, and what our minds convince our hearts to long for in order to be complete. The divide between the desires of hearts and the restlessness of our minds. A line, a veil and a certain divide, all easily overthrown by the power of our own unwavering desperation.

Yes, the level of a man's desperation can drive him to many things, and at the same time hold him back from too many good things, can blind him from all the right things and sunder his conscience from realising which is which. For it is through desperation that he sees without sight, only the thing he wants, and not the obsession he is exposed to. And using the power behind its relentlessness can assure that man of his victory and failure in what matters most. Because what matters most is always seen from one angle, and every angle of perspective, but one perception which remains true. But even through perception, desperation lies to us, and throws what matters onto an alter as a sacrifice worth making for.

But ignorance does not excuse a man from what lies between the veil, beside the line and over the divide, for it either makes us human or in the worst case, inhumane. Desperation too has a price, that all too late, a man will bear, if he chooses it and uses it to get what he wants and leave behind what the soul truly needs. Like oxygen, truth is the sustenance for the soul, and if its not this need that desperation has led you to. In truth the thing we often fin ourselves desperate for is nothing more than a desire that's just not worth fighting for.

Flashback

There are times when I sit back and relax, and try to glance over the chapters in my life that have played a significant role in shaping and changing who I was at that time, and evolved and developed my way of thinking to the mindset I find myself living with today. And I often wonder if the choices I made were the best ones at the time, if they were only suited for that time, and whether or not they were right for my future, my current present or just the situation at that time. And like a photographer going through the stills of each deciding moment, the pinnacle of choice and the height of indiscretion, that perhaps I could've done more, or should have done less, that perhaps the quality of my results could have somehow been better.

It is in these times that I find profound meaning to Shakespeare's wise and poetic words. That "All the world is a stage, and the men and women merely players", and that in each defining moment, we pass into another simple 'act' and that each enlightening moment is just another chapter, and then perhaps each provoking choice is nothing more than a climax...standing at the brink of change...waiting for the eruption of a resolute fact. It is in this moment that we must realise, that time waits for nobody, and is always fleeting, and that whatever choices we do make, will ultimately become who we are, or at least how the world sees us.

Yes, life is like a script, a play, a film, a song or an unscripted moment. And every choice we make, we put ink to paper, song to sheets, and light to a strip along life's un-ending plain. And although life may seem un-ending, as individuals we must come to an end. So one day you'll find that heart-wrenching moment, much like pre-premier of a new blockbuster film...And on that day, when your life does flash before your eyes...the least you may want to do is make sure you're in for a good trailer. Define your life, each and every day, with each and every moment, in your own unique way.

From Where You Stand

Isn't it amazing how the world changes from where we stand. That from a birds-eye view, a mountain, is just another grain in the sand. And that as we move through our world from day to day, seeing ordinary people in ordinary places, to a man who has nothing in his own world, those ordinary things to us, are quite extraordinary to them. That a simple line in the sand becomes deeply dug trenches to the ant journeying through his day. And until we learn that the only obstacles that are placed in our lives, are only there on the condition of our very own perspectives.

So it baffles me how easily it is to exert so much energy on stress alone, then using all your reserves on fixing a problem, that from another perspective, was never a problem at all. And that's not to say that life is not filled with problems, but only the reality that we simply need to change the way we see and deal with another everyday thing. There will always be problems for as long as there is change, and as long as there is change there will always be solutions. Yes, as long as there are problems, there are millions of perspectives, and to find the right solution, you will have to apply a change. Because the size of a problem changes, depending on where you stand against it, and as such, a solution changes it feasibility depending on which perspective applies.

It is through change that we encounter problems, but change is inevitable in order to promote growth. And if change is the catalyst for an ever evolving problem, then change in kind must be the solution, to solve a problem evolving with change. So change your perspective, and change your solution, for it will change your problem and your life from where you stand.

Rekindle

Like a spark awakened from an ashy past, it only takes a cinder from a spark to ignite a flame. And in an instant a flash is seen, and a searing fire is heard, biting through the cold and damning the night. And just like that something small was motivation enough to bring this blog to life again. It was hard tearing my fingers away from the keyboard, or my hands away from the ink in my pen, but as a writer I feel far too compelled to do what life calls me to do, and just write.

You see frost slips through silently, and is strengthened by the night, and the dark of the evening sets the icy cold alight. And in the morning when you wake, you find your world frozen...without life and without growth...inside you fall apart. And yes frost slipped through the cracks of a strong wall, that I built with my own hands, but failed to support. And even through the darkness I tried to maintain all the upkeep on a wall that should have remained intact. But whether it could, or that it should is not a matter of fact, but a high hope that fell from my own naivety.

So once again the wall is rebuilt, and come the day it was needed, it shall be rebuilt again. Till my hands are no more, and used the last ink in every pen. But still I will remain, with all the words in my heart, and every syllable in my head, and every movement on a page that becomes a blog out in cyberspace. No, words cannot be killed, and like a cinder in the air, it will always rekindle a flame in the hearts of those out there.

The Sieve

There will come a time in life where we begin to understand, that the art of perfecting and of creating something great, is not only in the detail of a grand design, but simply in the persistent scrutiny of finding its imperfections. Whilst many appreciate the steady hand behind the talent of an artist, using his knowledge of his own craftsmanship, and in knowing exactly what he wants to achieve from his stone colossus...Nobody understands the wisdom behind the sieve that passes through the finely crushed powder, extracting each impurity it finds, and casts it out to the sand.

For if the sieve had pores much larger, only to seek out the obvious imperfection, what good would its purpose be to the grandeur of a statue with a hairline crack caused by a stubborn grain found somewhere in the batch. And if the sieve weren't given enough time to tediously go through the same layers of the batch, then how would the mixer differentiate between the perfected and the less than obvious problem in the mix. And even if through all its sifting and separated, the sieve were not meant to cast out the impurity but to leave it there lying, what purpose would it serve at all if not to perfect the fine powder used for the cement, used in the mixture to build up the stone, moulded into a structure the artist can work with, chiselled down to his work of art?

For nobody can understand the true work of a sieve, and the purpose it plays in a much grander design. Yet it remains humble, and still does its job to bring forward the grains with potential and to cast aside those without. But if not by it wearing itself slowly down, or that time and circumstance should wear its pores out, then simply by choice it can step aside, and let an artist with talent shine...but in his artwork remain with doubt.


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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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