The truth is rarely pure and never simple.Common Sayings

Epilogue
Life is magic. Full of deceptive acts on never ending roller coaster. It keeps going on and on forever. The wheels never stop. The roads never end. And the deception will go on.

Rants of the Absurdist

Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.

Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.

?Excerpt from: The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Sunday Thoughts

LOVE AFTER LOVE

*The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self,
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love-letters from the bookshelf

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.*

?Derek Walcott [The Poetry of Derek Walcott Collection]

Check the reading here?Helena Bonham Carter

Wednesday Treats

The Shenanigans of Healing*
Through patience and pain, we learn to surrender to life.**
I would say many are surviving the days with all the power they could master. Most are in a mere existence mode. So much so, that many would relate and empathize with the sentence I have marked. Pain is the new normal, perhaps. Or maybe there is no normal anymore. The equivalent of hunting and gathering is, perhaps, surviving and existing.

Nevertheless, it is not all foolish to wonder if there is a horizon beyond the insurmountable pain most experience. Pain powered by patience is a powerful tool to push anyone to the edge of healing. And that specific moment to open the wound marks the fight for healing whilst escalating the pain.

What if there is no healing? I, sometimes, wonder. If there was no such a state called healing, it might be easier to wallow in the pain forever and ever. But then, what if there is? It’s all ifs and wonders after all, isn’t it?

Despite all the ponders, I would like to think that healing could be a journey. In a mere romanticization of pain and suffering, one might succumb to the idea of living in constant pain. But that can be a bit of an extreme. Nor that I am saying all should believe in joy and elation. It is, yet, a mere fact that all need a balance in life. Perhaps, that balance is defined as healing.

These days, more often than not, I feel that constant pain in my bones. It is not a physical pain per se. It is a pain of crossing the boundary of living in constant pain to the paths of healing. My body feels the trauma shatter in every piece of myself. O the trouble of finding the neutral version of yourself while feeling the pain to cease your own death!

In all truth, I believe healing is a constant journey. I do not think it is a state you achieve at some point. It is rather unresolved shenanigans of life itself. Well, it is life after all!*Shenanigans of Sunday

Why ask to know what date what clime
There dwelt our own humanity
Power-worshippers from earliest time
Foot-kissers of triumphant crime
Crushers of helpless misery
Crushing down Justice honouring Wrong
If that be feeble this be strong
Shedders of blood shedders of tears
Self-cursers avid of distress
Yet Mocking heaven with senseless prayers
For mercy on the merciless
It was the autumn of the year
When grain grows yellow in the ear
Day after day from noon to noon,
That August’s sun blazed bright as June
But we with unregarding eyes
Saw panting earth and glowing skies
No hand the reaper’s sickle held
Nor bound the ripe sheaves in the field
Our corn was garnered months before,
Threshed out and kneaded-up with gore
Ground when the ears were milky sweet
With furious toil of hoofs and feet
I doubly cursed on foreign sod
Fought neither for my home nor God

?Excerpt from: The Night is Darkening Round me by Emily Brontë

What it is to be a Human

Holding

In an attempt of existing,
And an occasional living,
I am holding my breathe.
Receding to my brace,
Flailing to my loci of reality,
I'm holding my breathe.
Dearly. Closely.
Warming my being incessantly.
And when I breathe,
I see the holding fading,
The fog unveiling,
My life unfolding.
Saturday Sequel