A song plays endlessly in my head.
The to-do list is looming and the deadlines become scarier than ever before.
And I have work to deal with on the side.
I hike up the elevated chair, a position so high that I need time to climb up to sit on it; and what I see is not very pleasing.
What happened to the progress that was once expected? What happened to the learning curve?
Oh I know what happened: you became complacent, you took it for granted.
I write these lines and I think to myself: does this passage sound intelligent enough to be a worthy contender amongst the many beautifully scripted writings?
But then I take a step back and answer the rhetorical question before it fades away, or transforms in to another momentary pressing thought: But why is there a need for this passage to sound intelligent? Why do you write in the first place?
It has been forgotten long ago, the joy of writing. The joy that is transcended only by the need to write.
What have I become? And my mind drifts away on to the lyrics of another song. And then to a specific writing style that I enjoy a fair bit. Wish I could write like that.
I have been asked to write at times, and I did. Did I enjoy it much? Not quite, for the reason behind it was not pure enough to connect my pen to my heart.
‘What becomes of us?’ What becomes of this?
Who knows… but what I do know is that pouring your heart out on to paper is the best feeling. I would compare it to the feeling one might experience if ones’ soul was cleansed of its woes.
If only I knew what that felt like. But what that might feel like is a renaissance of body and mind originating; perhaps a rejuvenation.
The elevated chair; mysticism and prose, similes and metaphors, tools to quench the self serving need to be identified as learned. The learning curve that has long become parallel to the horizontal axis yearns for a jolt.
A jolt that would open your eyes to the future; had beens have long been.
Your time is now.
The time to not look over the shoulder, and to take it all in your stride.
But what about those who linger on because of thy fondness to the their memory?
Well, you have learnt what you could from them, and now it is time to let go without ripping off the patch of knowledge that this memory left on your soul. For these patches cannot be cleansed in the catharsis.
And what becomes of the elevated chair?
Nothing, you look for a higher chair to climb; in need to see further ahead, in need to distance yourself from the past that lies on the ground.