Beware of Sailing

The seas are wide, wild and unforgiving. And if you're gonna sail it's rough waters, be mindful of the wind. It'll raise your sails and keep you moving forward, but just as quickly it can change direction. And there's nothing worse than capsizing in open waters.

But the real trick about sailing with the wind is learning how to control your rudder, knowing when to hoist your sale and when to bring it about. And if you don't keep a firm grip of your rudder, you'll end up losing control and the sea will take you, claim you and break you. Because the truth is, unlike the sea with its tides and it's beaches, it knows where to end and which way to flow. The wind, however,  it has no rules, and can't be told what to do and where to go.

And just like life, in its rough and unforgiving climates, be mindful of the breeze that keeps you steady, it'll change direction quickly till all you're left with is the gail. So learn quickly, the rules about sailing, because you never know which way the wind will blow.

Pain & Pleasure

As a good saying goes - "One man's junk, is another man's treasure". But it's very rare that one hears the saying "One man's pain, is another man's pleasure"...

Similarly so, I find it interesting how one thing can bring good memories flooding back to an individual, whilst they sometimes only remind us of much darker days. And ironically, the same memories of those darker days in our lives, are sometimes shared with the same subjects that now finds only solace in the blurred memory of its happiness. Who mistake the undeniable wrongs for vague rights.

And like scars remind us of wounds, it's always the painful memories that you remember quite vividly, and the good memories that become only shades of shadows in the blurred silhouette of memory. And that's not to say that those wounds haven't healed, but rather that scars are so easily torn open once again.

But it is in time and in love that we must slowly learn to place our trust. After all, it is time that heals all wounds, but it is up to love to dress it it, tend to it and protect it. It is in love that we look to for guidance when we make those same mistakes and show us the line that divides pain from pleasure, and how feint that fine line becomes.

Autopsy

Living the type of life I've lived, having grown up and matured as quickly as I did has taught me many things about life, love and most of all...compromise.

I've never regarded the glass being half empty or half full as any matter of concern, I have always only seen the glass and its condition and probability for being either a positive or negative force. That's about as black and white as I've ever been able to deduce particular facts in and around my life. And with all the wisdom I've gained, I've never considered myself in these regards, but rather that at least the majority of the affected be affected in the best possible way, whether that included me or not. And even if after dissecting my perspectives, my understanding is undermined by the deterrent of my compassion, then my wisdom will not forgive the scars that my compassion leaves behind.

So yes, I may reason and rationalize things in a manner consistent to that of running an autopsy...But the fact remains that the last thing I should be called is inconsiderate. The tears that filled the wells of my life have all been rich in the nourishment they got from all my considerations, and those wells have turned to dams which no strength in a wall can further contain. Yes, life is full of compromise, and once again I find myself at the end of one. And as is true to my nature, I have the choice of choosing to understand and decide based on what lies at the end of the microscope, or follow what my compassion drives me to believe but cannot quite clearly see through a blurred spyglass.

Seasons

As the last of the warmer seasons leave us, we suddenly feel the cold reality of life, moving swiftly by like a sudden rushing wind. And as the memories of our liveliness, so suddenly, fade to pale browns and greys, the bite of winter's breath reminds us that the old season is gone, and that its time to let go and face the even greater, frosty horizon. So too in my life I feel the sudden plunge that turns to a fast free-fall, as if my soft, leafy landing had vanished and all that remains is the deep and long abyss of simply living.

And there are times it seems that the elements of winter, such as deep chill of a quiet hush, and the crackling of frost as it envelopes us, all too quickly takes over the place that we once felt the warmth of the season we grew too used to being in. And like a thief in the night, the bite of winter has silently changed our surroundings, stolen what was left of our beautiful summer, and left us with the cold, unending night. But stepping into a new season is never easy, especially when the evergreen are all too fond of reminding us that we're simply out of place. Nothing more than bits of twine and twigs, without the lush of the green we once were clothed with, and completely fruitless in a season we suddenly realise we do not belong in.

But the truth that rings out is that with winter comes the rain, and the deep silence required to mourn the passing of a good season. A chance to rebuild and to regrow for the harvest yet to come. For there is no room for new beginnings, without letting go of the past. And there cannot be growth after a harrowing winter, if we're weighing ourselves down with the memories of a summer's past. So I'm appreciating the warmth I'm blessed with through the frost, to endure me beyond the winter till spring comes at last.

Equation

Its an interesting thing to consider, when one thinks of how to reason "purpose" in life. That if everything in the world can be summed up, rounded off, multiplied and divided, to a fraction of 'heaven', and somewhere in that enormous equation, still manage to find you. And if, like Einstein suggested, the world is simply made up of compressed, recessed, recycled and re-used energy, then how does one find purpose, for a purpose that is truly significant and special to you?

With all our mistakes, misdirections and imperfections in life, how is it we manage to find space for an unreasonable thing like love? For it in no way has an equation, or a reason or quantifiable reaction, nor does it have perceived methodologies that define it or bind it in any way. So then how do we describe it, define it, compose it or refine it, if there are no compounds to collate its unique sum?

The answer is simple and the equation is this, that love has no fraction or part in its whole. It can therefore only be defined by the source we find it most in, and can summarize its equation from the results we find in ourselves. And that no matter how the measure of your life seems at any point, that even the positives and negatives add up to the perfectly rounded you.

Hope For Courage

There are many things in this world that we may learn to fear. Especially when we live in a world that teaches us the value of things and exactly how to use people, how to treasure possessions and how much to love ourselves. But when we learn that fewer things give us courage, and that love gives us hope, then why place your love in a thing that decreases in value, and hope on a time that soon enough will pass?

Well, I've learned that the best place to store love, is to store it in people. The ones that can build the things that money cannot, and that can never decrease in value for as long as there is love. Yes, people can build memories, and hardly ever decrease in value, even if in their humanity, can make mistakes and turn love to hate. Then the key is to find one person who stores as much love in you as you do in them.

And I can say that at least I have a bank that treasures the thing I treasure most...My hope, my favourite memories, my values and my love. Because, courage is not the absence of fear, but the realisation that something, someone, is more important than fear. And that something, and someone, gives me something more than courage...Something to be courageous about...Hope...

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.