A Different Kind of Faith...

"The world is afflicted with death and decay, therefore the wise do not grieve, knowing the ways of the world"--- Old Buddhist Saying

When one is rational, practical, whatever, is one truly heartless? Is that what one is doing when one is doing the right thing?The strong, the sensible thing?
It is not that stoicism is above and beyond pain or grief. It in fact is the realisation and acceptance of the 'Big Plan' that one has no control over. And this has nothing to do with whether one is spiritual, religious or an atheist. Even when one lacks faith (or what is the popular idea of faith), in true stoicism over loss, over pain, in hardships, one is exemplar of true faith. If nothing else, for the want of a better word, faith in the human condition, with all its connections and failings. And therefore I believe that the true stoic is all heart. A braver heart maybe but still all heart... :)

A Reason To Write...

I think I have a reason to write tonight.
Tonight of all nights
Tonight when I sit at my window and think of all things past,
Fleeting memories.
Mine to keep for better and worse.
Tonight when my self righteousness struggles to curb my human imperfections;
My first pangs of jealousy.
I wish to deny it,
Refute its existence
And yet what is left of an innate honesty within
Doesn't allow me
And I succumb.
I suffocate,
Claustrophobic
I feel like an outcast,
Ostracized.
And there sits the reason of my misery blissfully unaware.
I feel like a laughing stock,
I laugh at my naivete
As I fall into the trap
Ensnared by what I thought I was above and beyond.
As realization strikes of a yearning for something I restrain from
Territory I wish not to tread,
Yet want to...
Something I cannot have.

Of Inspiration and Similar notions...

I reach out for my pen to put my thoughts down
In black and white,
And I wonder why I do that...
What joy,
What comfort,
In the written word is it that makes me write?
My inspiration?
I ask myself that question often
Never a concrete answer.
Appreciation
Or distinction?
Or the mere pleasure of creation.
I know not the answer to that.
Yet.
I write as I think to myself
Of things familiar,
Unknown and some imagined.
A random outpouring,
Senseless and yet coherent
The beauty of poetry...
No questions asked
None answered.
The freedom of expression.
Comfort and an unburdening of the soul
Of pleasures and experiences
My poetry
My solace
The foundation of my relationship
That most important relationship...
With the self.

The Other Side of The Mirror...

There was a crowd
A senseless crowd
Utter debauchery
And noone had the faculty of reasoning.
I sat there
A part of the crowd and yet aloof
Atop a stool at a counter
Contemplating over a drink
A drink I didn't want.
And I look at the crowd
Shoving behind me
Knowing not what they wanted
And yet all wanting the same thing.
And then I look back
Into a mirror
Behind the bartender
At a stranger
Who wears my clothes
Resembles me
And is not me
My alter ego.
A detachment occurs
As a numbness sets in
The speakers blare with loud music
Everyone head bangs
The stranger in the mirror sways along
As I look at her
Apparently enjoying the ambience
And yet as I watch
I sense a dormant rebel
Who doesn't quite know what she wants
Acceptance
Or resignation?
This crisis of identity
A Lack of knowledge of one's being
This utter ignorance
How is it preferred?
This facelessness
Anonymity.
And as I ponder I watch
The reflection turn away
An understanding smile escapes me
A deep breath...
And then
She's gone
To get lost in the crowd.
Homogenity
Or a loss of individuality?

And Then...

And then there was love,
An emotion that pervaded my soul
My very existence.
Groping in the darkness,
Looking for a way
Lost!
A feeling I had given up on,
One I didn't think I could feel again.
And then it resurfaced again,
For someone so unlikely,
I smile to myself.
Someone who knows not how I feel,
A friend, an acquaintance.
Who seeps into the corners of my very soul,
So slowly and surely.
And yet unintentionally...
Doesn't do a thing
And still am lost!
And this love is my cross to bear
And so I suffer in silence.
A suffering so beautiful,
It elates me.
Something so concrete
Almost tangible
And yet Elusive!!!