Die a little to live a little.

I hate this feeling!
This laziness. Not being in control. Incapable of keeping my identity at the forefront. Without which I am anything but alive. Cause only zombies walk around with a one track mind. I have many tracks on my mind and like a playlist, I either keep repeating or keep shuffling. When it comes to life that's not necessarily a good thing if not managed well. But what's worse is walking around with a lost mind. Chugging through each day without a drive. Rather aimlessly.

That feeling of a lost soul in a body with a mind of it's own. Un-heeding to the cries of the bowels, despite. Incoherently performing tasks at whim. The contrary is true at fancy too, with tasks left unattended. Once busy with more than a plate's worth and now left with just crumbs.

Fruition, thy name can be intimidating to ideas that seldom take shape. And if you subscribe to the law of contrary public opinion, it's harder to silence the nay sayings in one's own head than those of others around. But that's just negative motivation which is always welcome. Even harder then, is not just the voices, but the state of being at the helm. Or rather the lack of it.

A certain gem of a person named Morris S. Schwartz  said, we should live as the Buddhists do. Cause when you know how you're going to die, that's when you know how to live. So like the Buddhists, 'Have a bird on the shoulder to counsel with, am I ready to die today?'

Of course I am not!

They say the apple doesn't fall far away from the tree. Consider this then: the apple has fallen into a specially dug out crevice near the tree. Dug by people and cultures, people who want to make the best for everyone but fail to, people who want to make the best for themselves at the expense of others and then laid in the ground by the cement of socially acceptable pseudo-lifestyles.

The pipe stretches out like a shallow gutter. I roll down this exposed cross-section of half a pipe. It's there for every one to see. Those who genuinely care and those who don't give a damn too. Yet it is only I who has to somehow steer myself.

The gutter stretches on and reaches a two way junction. There's scope for me to turn to a path of my choice. I roll across the beaten path. Dodge some low slung barb wires, cutting myself in the process. The wires get lower as I pass along checkpoints. Until one of them, I bump harshly into, tossing me over to a junction with more than a handful of routes to choose from.

I'm lost. I hate this feeling! But then I get picked up by a passing clay moulder. He has this long, thinning silver hair. A failing beard getting scantier as it recedes down his wrinkly jawline. Deep horizontal lines on his forehead. Eyes set in deep in a cranium that most certainly held grey matter that helped exude this intense aura. An aura of kindness and selflessness emanating through his complete physical self. By the time I got past this presence I found myself juggling in the air with other apples. Each had it's own unique features. Some were rich in red, some big in size and some small. some green and some even with worm-eaten holes. It was him juggling us and then he dipped us into this vessel containing clay. As the vessel's contents simmered on a mild flame melting the clay, I felt this strange feeling of being separated. I wasn't yet aware from what. Next I remembered getting really dizzy. I was drawn out and split into a number of small clay balls. This caring old man was moulding each of us into the smoothest shape of least resistance. And when he was done with all of us, that's when it hit me.

They were all me! The best qualities of each of those apples were embedded into the depths of myself.  It was my soul that was drawn out and separated. He kissed each of us and rolled us down each path. That was me, juggling my soul into everything I loved and chose to do. I felt invincible! Super powered with clones of my perfected self.

"We were young and thought we were invincible and we threw ourselves into the gears of history and it ground us up." - Ian McDonald

Sadly, we rolled not straight, but in a fashion that was sordid. Distracted by the other paths whenever they crossed each other. Banging against the walls and bouncing off tiny bumps, letting these obstacles get the better of us. Sometimes bouncing off onto other pipes. Our shapes were no longer spherical.

Broken, cracked, distraught. I decided to reunite my fractured spirit. As the pipes seemed to converge at yet another dual passage, we jumped in and rolled onto one, as a single ball. Much to my dismay though, I had jumped onto the wrong pipe. I found myself rolling into a swamp of crap. Helpless, I couldn't stop myself. I splashed into the shit and got lost again.

Unconscious from the unclean fumes. I woke up to find myself in the deep end at the wrong end of the line. There were faint rays of light peering through the thick layer of shit. I tried hard to float up to the surface. But the forces pulling me deeper were stronger than I could ever imagine. That sinking feeling. I hate it!

It's taken me a decent effort to pry myself out. I've had a few showers but I still reek. Like a charged offence, it's something that's hard to shake off. It's something that everyone has to live with. We all have that one dark side, that stays with us like an un-erasable, untreatable scar. At the slightest hint of distraction, it pounces back. You let one ball slip and your gracefully mechanical juggling turns into a disaster. In life, that can be much worse than a wasted ball of unused clay discarded into the gutter. In some lives, proving to be irreversible errors of epic proportions.

"I once was lost but now I'm found. Now I'm coming home." For those who aren't aware, it's a line from a hymn almost always sung at a funeral.

Home is where the heart is, where the soul lives. I may come across exemplary 5 star hotels and sometimes badly kept lodges. Ill maintained star hotels and even exceptional lodges. But they are all part of the journey. Some of these journeys I may want to forget. But cherish or discard, either way they do feed the body that carries the soul. So don't taint the soul with unclean, I tell myself. Moreover, don't get discouraged is what is called for.

I don't expect the destiny to come by easily. At times it may get painfully tough and I may lose myself again. But once I find the true home to my soul, it's gotta be fed, nurtured and loved. Then no matter how many times I get distracted, I will have my ray of belief and hope as my only spear and shield in this battle of unquestionable focus v/s uncertainty. This war of self v/s self. Or maybe it's just a small misunderstanding. All it needs is a little push in the right direction or sometimes a good ass kicking to the straightest way forward. You know what, I don't hate this feeling after all!

"Like the sun we will live to rise. Like the sun we will live and die and then ignite again." - Chris Cornell