Tempest

Thursday, 7 June 2007

Solitude can be excrutiatingly silent.

For a few days I did nothing.
I sat on a rock and stared into the sun until it faded into a red sky.
I watched a grasshopper jump for as far as my eye could follow.
I sat and heard the gurgling of water in a dam until blended into my natural existence.
I watched a gardener laboriously plant seedlings in a long row in the hot sun.
I stared at the way tadpoles attach, then detach and then again attach themselves over and over again for hours.
Time stood still and I welcomed the slow infusion of a very familiar feeling spread through my body.
It hurt more than anything this time because it was alright to allow it to hurt.
I watched reality in slow motion until all things real in my life zeroed in on my spirit.
It hurt because I accept it was alright to let it hurt.
It hurt because I realised that acceptance is the most painful yet the purest of feelings.
It hurt because I realised that inspite of facing the truth I was still lying to myself.
In realising the lie my walls of self deception were crumbling.
I confess to still holding onto them for temporary solace
I accept that not all things are my fault.
I accept that by nature I pay for what is my fault but I also accepted that it is wrong to accept blame for what one has not done.
I accept that this has been the hardest to accept because I would then have to be finding fault in those that found the blame.
Those that I give every right to put and hold me to any blame.
It hurt most to accept that the pedastal never is and that the Gods also become mortals when the mind desires.
It hurt to go against my every instinct and accept this simple alchemy that blind respect and love is infact neither love nor respect.
It hurts to accept that ones religion could be wrong.

I bit my tongue and tasted blood.

The taste hurt more than the sting.
A murder is a murder. Would I consider my dearest who committed the crime a murderer?
I drank blood as I realised I would. I would condemn my dearest a murderer.
But I would also protect the murderer from the world of judgement.
I would go against all the written laws on right and wrong and beg for thy forgiveness.
I would feel a heinious crime has been committed but I would still unabashedly stand by.
The throbbing exploded as I accepted that my love would weigh greater than any moral right

The blood tastes bitter as the I face the depths of my own depravity.
The blood is a proof of my acceptance.

But in the solitude as I accept the onslaught of painI understand another cliche...a cliche as old as the sands of time. Life is about choices. There comes a time in your life, when you must decide with no help from anyone; Between right and wrong, between black and white, between good and bad, to walk or fight...

To be honest and true, to be open with your heart, or to hide your feelings, play it safe from the start. To sit back and watch, to listen and learn, or jump into the fire, taking a chance on a burn.

To stay, to move, to not care, or always prove.
To be strong, to be weak, to be agressive, to be meek.
To laugh out loud with all your might, or smile a little just to be polite.
To stay together, to live apart, to think with your mind or trust with your heart.
To live in the past, to always look back, to look ahead to the future, with ambition you won't lack.
To dream, to hope, to quit, to cope.
To be a lover, to be a friend, to be real, or just pretend.

There's much I haven't done right, many a bitter mistake I have made.
All choices made true to the moment, yet to accept the hardest blade.
Accede tis' human to make mistakes, to repeat them raises the stakes.
In denial lies the blasphemy.

"Life is about choices...not because we have to make them,
But because we have to live with them until the day we die."
- annonymous

And I refuse to have it any other way.

Posted by Pavitra :: 10:27 :: 9 comments