Random Thought on a Rainy Day

Every once in a while,

all we need

is for someone to remind us,

to let us know

we’re not alone.

Bring Your Alter-Ego Along

There’s a crowd in my head, and it’s getting louder...

Before the noise drowns me out, allow me to introduce my selves.

First, there’s me. I need space, and lots of it. I’m prone to frequent bouts of claustrophobia, and I think mostly of running. To anyplace, as long as it’s open and vast. And far, far away.

Then, there’s me. I need enclosures to make me feel safe, protected. A hug does well. My car does, too.

And here I am. I see reality. I recognize it for what it is, and am clinical in my observation and assessment.

And here I am too. I dream. I refuse to let what’s in front of my eyes dictate to me its terms and conditions. I believe that someday, things will be alright. We will be alright.

This is me. I thrive on seclusion. I’m sadomasochistic in my loneliness and do a good job of elevating it to self-righteousness.

And me...I love company. I love the attention and I love the spotlight. It brings out the best in me.

Oh, wait, here I am. I’m unsure about a lot of things, and I hesitate and I agonize over small, insignificant things that don’t need a moment’s thought, really.

And this is me. I’m confident. I’m not given to worrying because I know I’m right. And even if I’m not, I don’t really care what anyone thinks.

Here I am, again. I can never be good enough. For anything. For anyone.

And then there’s me. I’m the best! But didn’t you know that already?

This is me. I cry over spilt milk and obsess over how things could possibly have gone wrong.

But then there’s me. I fetch a cat to get rid of the mess and then get rid of the cat too.

Here I am. I’m given to being haunted by ghosts. No matter how far I run, I cannot outrun them. Sometimes, I don’t even want to.

There’s me. I hear angels. I hear the voice of hope. I see yellow and white and gold. And feel love.

This is me. I’m dark, negative and brooding, cynical and sceptical. I turn inwards for comfort.

But there’s also me. I have corners that are flooded with sunshine and warmth. I am joyful and optimistic and reach out easily to others, to share my goodness.

I think of what Walt Whitman once said -

“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am vast; I contain multitudes.”

And I know that I contain multitudes too.

And through recognizing, discerning this multitude in me, I understand the multitude in you.

Jump They Say

“I really don't want to wax philosophic, but I will say that if you're alive, you've got to flap your arms and legs, you've got to jump around a lot, you've got to make a lot of noise, because life is the very opposite of death. And therefore, as I see it, if you're quiet, you're not living. You've got to be noisy, or at least your thoughts should be noisy and colourful and lively.”

- Mel Brooks

Some Kind of Anodyne

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. Nightmares do. That, or the umpteen thoughts buzzing ceaselessly in my head, giving birth to strange, twisted stories in black and white. I imagine that if I can keep running, even if only in my mind...if I can watch the miles disappear behind me, then perhaps, just perhaps, I might disappear too.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

It would please me to leave my memories behind, but my mind wrestles with itself, trying hard not to think about them, but trying equally hard to remember, to keep them alive. It’s an experiment in pain. I choose silence over words; words take the attention away from assessing the extent of damage. Silence controls it well. Where no explanation is required, silence heals what words never could.

I wonder if solitude chooses a precious few, or metes out similar degrees to all. I stand alone, and yet blend well into the vast multitude of those who seem to have it all together. And then, a doubt; is this multitude putting on a façade too? I do not necessarily want to know.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

Sometimes, I imagine others like me, trapped in the confines of their doubt and recurring thought, but I am at times, selfish in my seclusion. I would share, but chances are, a part of me will be misunderstood, or even judged. But then again, in rude contrast, sometimes, all I want is for someone to understand, and to accept.

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an unearthly height,

A luminary clock against the sky

And time...

I am willing it to move faster, to hasten my step forward, to take me away from this time and place, sooner. And if time is, like they say, the best healer, will there or won’t there be a day when none of this will matter anymore? Not to me, not to you...

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

And yet, I’m stuck in a moment, unable to detach from the past, and unable to move forward. I try, to honour what was, to respect what is, and to accept what will never be.

I walk. I run. I stumble. I fall. But I pick up the pieces, and keep going, because at some point, I know that the night I am acquainted with, will eventually surrender me to the light. And though the sun will continue to cast shadows, I will turn towards the radiance, and force the shadows behind me.

(In italics, ‘Acquainted with the Night’, a poem by Robert Frost, that has stayed with me ever since I chanced upon it.

In regular text, my mindless rambling, which I do not expect anyone to derive any sense from. It was in my head. Now it’s here. Soon it will be in the trash.)