Solace

One of those days, everyday passes by, so little productivity, held back by mere feelings, like a girl.

Moving the same limbs, the same lingering thoughts occupying the head, knowing a solution, not understanding the situation, thinking but not acting. Over analyzing and coming up with an outcome in the head, puts an end into trying.

The head so restless but the body unable to move, the war between the mind and body. Most of the time not coming up with a solution but introducing more materials of diversions adding more weight and burden.

Danger is everywhere, death can happen anytime, feeling rather safe and sound as if nothing can harm me. I am immortal. Engulfed by the everyday comfort of a private home with little disturbance. Rather taking things for granted but at the same time trying to remind the self of what may happen.

Self pity is a pity; I don’t need your sympathy. She said to him when he showed affection. Being alone with the quiet seems like a perfect combination, taking the things around for granted, until it is gone. Then the quietness becomes hurt and the loneliness pain.

Bringing logic to illogical things is self deception, it is faith not realism. Knowing but not understanding.

Not knowing the fundamentals and haven’t yet reached, knowing the self, as if staring in the mirror, just staring.

THE THREE ANTS

Three ants met on the nose of a man who was lying asleep in the sun. And after they had saluted one another, each according to the custom of his tribe, they stood there conversing.

The first ant said, “These hills and plains are the most barren I have known. I have search all day for a grain of some sort, and there is none to be found.”

Said the second ant, “I too have found nothing, though I have visited every nook and glade. This is, I believe, what my people call the soft moving land, where nothing grows.”

Then the third ant raised his head and said, “My friends, we are standing now on the nose of the supreme Ant, the mighty and infinite Ant, whose body is so great we cannot see it, whose shadow is so vast we cannot trace it, whose voice is so loud we cannot hear it; and he is omnipresent.”

When the third ant spoke thus the other ants looked at each other and laughed.

At that moment the man moved in his sleep and scratched his nose, and the tree ants were crushed.

(Note: This too was written by a real writer and is one that I like.)

My Friend

My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear- a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence.

The “I” in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.

I would not have thee believe in what I say not trust in what I do- for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound and my deeds thy own hopes in action.

When thou sayest, “The wind bloweth eastward”, I say “Aye, it doth blow eastward”; for I would not have thee know that my mind doth not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.

Thou canst not understand my seafaring thoughts, nor would I have thee understand. I would be at sea alone.

When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; for thou canst not heat the song of my darkness nor see my wings beating against the stars- and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I would be with night alone.

When thou ascendest to thy heaven I descend to my hell-even then thou callest to me across the unbridgeable gulf, “my companion, my comrade’ and I call back to thee, “ my comrade, my companion “- for I would not thy see my Hell. The flame would burn thy eyesight and the smoke would cloud thy nostrils. And I love my Hell too well to have thee visit it. I would be in Hell alone.

Thou lovest truth and beauty and righteouness; and I for thy sake say it is well and seemly to love these things. but in my heart I laugh at thy love. Yet I would not thy see my laughter. I would laugh alone.

My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art perfect- and I too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously. And yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.

My friend, thou art not my friend, but how shall I make thee understand? My path is not thy path, yet together we walk hand in hand.

(Note: this work was written by a poet, not me. I liked it and therefore I posted it.)