Hand on my heart, I can tell you I'm unhappy. It's a very fine kind of unhappiness that laces itself in every breath I take, in every thing I do and in every thought that enters my mind. No quick-fix, no spontaneous giggle or loving phone-call will erase this unhappiness that's conquered my soul. This is because I can feel the lack of nourishment to my Self. I'm trapped in an office with a view. I can see the rich tapestry of life outside, the riot of colors the sun casts on the clouds, the bare tree reeking with stories..and I'm stuck in my office. I'm writing supposedly important stuff. I'm trying to make a life, a career, a make-belief reality. I'm constructing my lie. It's the lie that I'm important, I've got some vital ideas or that I'm of some use. I'm carefully fabricating it with complex theories, research and convincing presentations.
While I do this, life is happening and I'm missing it. I'm missing the chaos, the madness and the passion. It got lost somewhere along my long walk to this point where I can only look upon my freedom as an erstwhile concept. I'm trapped in my mythical theories, critical awareness and blind concerns. I lost my touch..I cannot see me in the words I type anymore. Slowly my calling is becoming a whisper.
While I do this, life is happening and I'm missing it. I'm missing the chaos, the madness and the passion. It got lost somewhere along my long walk to this point where I can only look upon my freedom as an erstwhile concept. I'm trapped in my mythical theories, critical awareness and blind concerns. I lost my touch..I cannot see me in the words I type anymore. Slowly my calling is becoming a whisper.
