Haunts & Dreams
If there is a way consumed by irony, it would be this way that points to you but leads me away. As I turn to see you find your path, my regret clouds your face and I can’t see beyond my own nose. So this is what it means….that I have to decide to say goodbye to my dreams and hopes.
And now, the yearning, the damned yearning which is banging against my resolve…...circumventing in an existence of plain will. I know yearnings are an integral part of being human, and sometimes challenging nature can cause so much unnecessary pain. Yet, my confusion doesn’t lie in the fact that I am yearning for the things I have lost. No, not at all- everything happens for growth. Otherwise, what really is the purpose of it all?
What is life, if it is coated in ego, which in turn is coated in inhibition? And what is inhibition when expressed as indifference? I sit now crouched with a desire to let know, but tied down by inexplicable fear of general hostility and indifference. Everything, everywhere and everybody feels indifference or hostile till proven otherwise…again the banging on walls. Yet it’s funny how we require proof for everything, and demand total ‘unseen’ trust. How does one capture faith in times of ignominious display of trailing drool and slob? And why are we so bent on proving our faith, trust, loyalty and even love? Is it a show by way of action that amounts to proof? Or should we just stick to our guts?
Giving up hope feels like accepting defeat. Yet, there is no proof as to what defeat is in this circumstance. There is no prior experience to this life I am living. Should I base it on my feeling and emotions? But as feelings go, they are subjective and individually bound. And emotions are sometimes baseless; in the sense that I have nothing concrete to base it on without a counter display of proof.
But again, a gut feeling is as instinctive as it is baseless. What is our destiny if it isn’t an echo of something both visceral and haunting? Are we all not haunted by our dreams and hopes? Doesn’t our gut make us puke as a sign of intuition? Makes me think that it is almost tragic to realize that we are haunted not by nightmares, but mostly by unfulfilled dreams, dashed hopes and unrequited love?
And in it all, funny how I should be haunted by a face so so far away….imagined perhaps, but I guess I shall never know. There is no more proof that I even know of such a face. My problem is I base my experiences on moments that stick beyond time and retain an essence greater than exchanges- beyond a collision of space, breathes and lives.
Perhaps it is true- that we are as old as our experiences. But it’s not the experiences that makes us old, but the haunting of lost moments that draw out life and sucks us dry. It is living with the knowledge of understanding, and living surrealism, epiphanies and miracles, and then having to resign to never feeling the same euphoria. The memory of such moments of euphoria is the ghost that follows us all- taunting, teasing and mocking each of us and telling tales of how it used to be when we were young, in life and at heart. As scars appear and reappear, the true essence of it all is really truly lost. A scar is a scar, seen or hidden, which never really fades. I guess wise means knowing too well a good thing is a rarity. Finding and fulfilling our destiny stands as much a chance as finding soul mates or Ali Baba’s cave. My dream had a code I didn’t even know how to decipher.
As I weave a new journey on dashed dreams, I wonder if I will ever be rid of that haunting. Will I be proven right by my gut or proven right by my resignation? I wonder if I will find retribution for this burn or if I may find it redundant like a balm on old scars. Chances of this being the redundant balm is pretty darn high- see, experience marking territories on dreams.
At the end of it all everything was chance, that one moment I caught something different of me in your smile. I can still hear the click, the first time I realized I shall never be the same from here on. And I am not.
And now, the yearning, the damned yearning which is banging against my resolve…...circumventing in an existence of plain will. I know yearnings are an integral part of being human, and sometimes challenging nature can cause so much unnecessary pain. Yet, my confusion doesn’t lie in the fact that I am yearning for the things I have lost. No, not at all- everything happens for growth. Otherwise, what really is the purpose of it all?
What is life, if it is coated in ego, which in turn is coated in inhibition? And what is inhibition when expressed as indifference? I sit now crouched with a desire to let know, but tied down by inexplicable fear of general hostility and indifference. Everything, everywhere and everybody feels indifference or hostile till proven otherwise…again the banging on walls. Yet it’s funny how we require proof for everything, and demand total ‘unseen’ trust. How does one capture faith in times of ignominious display of trailing drool and slob? And why are we so bent on proving our faith, trust, loyalty and even love? Is it a show by way of action that amounts to proof? Or should we just stick to our guts?
Giving up hope feels like accepting defeat. Yet, there is no proof as to what defeat is in this circumstance. There is no prior experience to this life I am living. Should I base it on my feeling and emotions? But as feelings go, they are subjective and individually bound. And emotions are sometimes baseless; in the sense that I have nothing concrete to base it on without a counter display of proof.
But again, a gut feeling is as instinctive as it is baseless. What is our destiny if it isn’t an echo of something both visceral and haunting? Are we all not haunted by our dreams and hopes? Doesn’t our gut make us puke as a sign of intuition? Makes me think that it is almost tragic to realize that we are haunted not by nightmares, but mostly by unfulfilled dreams, dashed hopes and unrequited love?
And in it all, funny how I should be haunted by a face so so far away….imagined perhaps, but I guess I shall never know. There is no more proof that I even know of such a face. My problem is I base my experiences on moments that stick beyond time and retain an essence greater than exchanges- beyond a collision of space, breathes and lives.
Perhaps it is true- that we are as old as our experiences. But it’s not the experiences that makes us old, but the haunting of lost moments that draw out life and sucks us dry. It is living with the knowledge of understanding, and living surrealism, epiphanies and miracles, and then having to resign to never feeling the same euphoria. The memory of such moments of euphoria is the ghost that follows us all- taunting, teasing and mocking each of us and telling tales of how it used to be when we were young, in life and at heart. As scars appear and reappear, the true essence of it all is really truly lost. A scar is a scar, seen or hidden, which never really fades. I guess wise means knowing too well a good thing is a rarity. Finding and fulfilling our destiny stands as much a chance as finding soul mates or Ali Baba’s cave. My dream had a code I didn’t even know how to decipher.
As I weave a new journey on dashed dreams, I wonder if I will ever be rid of that haunting. Will I be proven right by my gut or proven right by my resignation? I wonder if I will find retribution for this burn or if I may find it redundant like a balm on old scars. Chances of this being the redundant balm is pretty darn high- see, experience marking territories on dreams.
At the end of it all everything was chance, that one moment I caught something different of me in your smile. I can still hear the click, the first time I realized I shall never be the same from here on. And I am not.
Beautiful! I felt like this whole text was really appealing to me.
ReplyDeleteThe ending exhibits that you feel your heart while penning down such magnificent piece of cognitive content.