We can walk but there may be limping, we can fly but we can be wingless. It all percolates to how we face and see the present, the hard yards of life test us and make us strong for the tough skies to look into. A life that’s measured in advance is never lived.
The real essence comes out in facing the new and uncomfortable truths and how we hold our poise in those situations. Rushing through has been always the vehicle of devil which kills the beauty that crosses us in the trials of time.
What we expect and how it transpires puts our authentic self to test and at the outset this binary spills the beans of cruising along the endless steps of time-travel called life. In the wonder and amazement of what it takes to meet and face the estranged voyages within, the dance of hope and despair starts to unravel.
It feels a tempest within when the rush deepens down and all the thoughts cramp up to the shore. The daily and uncertain tides that life takes, we start to contemplate over the tempest ebbing along. But then the hardest climbs have most profound comforting beats.
It’s like the quest of choosing the best weapon for this war within. In the breath-taking 35 minute masterpiece “The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse ” when the scene of storm hovers over, the Horse tells the overwhelmed Boy “When the big things feel out of control, focus on what you love, right under your nose. This storm shall pass” .
There is a sudden yearning for reincarnation of the values like compassion, patience and kindness that become our sailors throughout the odyssey in the trials of time. In the course of watching along the see-saws of happenings there comes a moment when it all takes a rest.
The questions become the answers and the long haul of taking on the craving to the wholeness unwinds itself. Then the echoes get deafened out to the relaxing ticks of the time.
We live many lives during our life; become different persons, sighted at one point blind on the other. This myriad color of our existence always keeps on treading the light on one side of mountain and cruises along the valley of dark on the other.
This struggle of walking along the crests and troughs sharpens our will and being to be what we want to be. Our struggles are like art wherein we have the brush of free will to create or destruct ourselves.
This realm of artistic freehand of our existence has a different gradient of creation and destruction. We can create by de-creating and recreating the paths we anticipate.
How can we not cherish and explore this wonderment of being ourselves to be good and live the mysteries and secrets around us.
Enough has been said of the condition we are currently confined in when it comes to the cusp of civilizational and moral ‘divide’ wherein a 30 second idiocy is preferred to a sentence of existential experience.
But on the other side of the tunnel there are some good things sprouting up and we never know where and how it would fare and how long it would continue to bloom.
We have heard of rather academically obtuse line of ‘end of history’ but surely we are in the times of ‘end of being’ of embracing the times, of finding the ‘meaning’. Sometimes it feels like we are living in a horror move wherein the monsters are holding on to the robes, pointers and chairs and we are left to watch the horror that is ubiquitously ominous.
This triumvirate of political, secular and being then thrusts us into our positioning in the cultures that are swiftly turning into the commitment of trolling the good and eulogising the bad.
Cilian Murphy masterfully voices over the frailties and resilience of life in “All of this Unreal Time” with this hitting epilogue dialogue ‘I just came here to say that every day is a last day and that is more than enough’. And that’s how we tend ourselves to the oscillations and erratics of this ‘postmodern condition’.
DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed in this article are the personal opinions of the author.
The facts, analysis, assumptions and perspective appearing in the article do not reflect the views of GK.