She misses the Self she used to be
The one in her tower
The one who hid behind walls
The one who trusted in blocks of independence and solitude.
She misses the nostalgic landscapes of her inner world
The expansive fields
The idyllic hills
The vast oceans of unparalleled depth.
No one in sight.
She misses being so sure of what the Self was so sure of.
Where is she now?
Learning new ways of being.
Uncovering new ways of seeing.
Discovering new ways of building.
She is grieving the loss that comes with change, even as they bring her learning and growth.
She realises she is still the same.
The Self remains.
Why, and how?
Again and again, the questions we ask.
It’s so easy to give in
to the weight of our “problems”
To think that we are the only ones
who have pain and suffering.
Maybe it’s just easier
to focus on the narrowness of one’s world
than to dwell on the galaxy of questions and seeming unfairness
the inexplicable suffering and unequal lots in lives everywhere.
It’s easier to think of what is in front of us
than to look at the too-big picture
So big we can’t even see the ends.
Life goes on with questions,
and perhaps their unanswerable ness somehow makes the journey
For if all our questions were one day answered,
what else would we live for?
The stories come,
Slowly at first.
Then widening, bursting,
into rivers of memories.
An article, a report.
The latest projects.
A new highway, a new line.
For development, convenience, growth.
The side effects:
Nostalgia becomes fashionable.
Old is hip, vintage is artistic.
Memories transform into profits.
Some stories are saved from oblivion,
But many slip away
from the shelves of memorabilia.
The world spins on her toes,
giddy with happiness,
marveling at the sights that fly by so quickly.
When she stops,
she realizes – she’s back where she first started.
Have you ever felt –
We’re just floating around,
With the soundtrack of our life
Playing unceasingly in the background?
Every accent, a little bounce
On this Rhythm of life.