I know where I’m going

You thought you were moving on but suddenly you feel like you’re the one left behind, and never will have time to fill the gaps that are here to stay, never get a chance to say what you want to say.

Thousands of twenty-four hours have passed away the way tides swell and retire; not here to stay, not here to stay, they seem to murmur to those who would listen.
And the darkness descends like curtains after a play; only the anticipated thunderous applause is exchanged for an ear-splitting silence.

Dead. Gone.

Nothing remains the same.

And you. You are the one left behind.

Those you knew and loved, speedily slip away from you like gentle ghostly mist floating into oblivion on a wintry day; they’re leaving, all of them and you are stupidly clinging to the pitiful little trinkets you keep that reminds you of them to find a solace for yourself.

Your shrivelled brain, filled with complicated innumerable theories and age old proven formulas, yet strangled with some dust framed memories of some previously loved pretty muse but you were moving on.

Or were you?

Weaving in and out of an insanely endless cyclical routine, it’s ridiculously easy to forget what you’re doing and why you’re doing what you’re doing.

The lines, where are the lines, you scream, as an agony deep in your soul firms its unmerciful enslaving grasp around your neck, stifling your breath and oh, it hurts.
Where are the lines that should you cross you would be deemed extreme. If only they were drawn with lead and graphite and washed with a coat of the blackest ink, and you would never cross that repulsive line.

You don’t want to be defined as extreme, do you?

And the whole mocking world now includes the ones who claim to walk the same walk with you, and they make you the championing fool. They seem to take a cruel delight in blurring all the lines for you with open, high, intellectual ‘non-judgmental’ talk, crafted with fake innocence to belittle you, and make you feel small and basically a nothing. The fact is, in the end, they make you think that they’re better than you.

If there ever was a living paradoxical flummox that would drive them, drive them up the wall, drive them crazy, they point at you and you’re that one.

Here I stand, the most miserable forgetful creature.
How dreadful to claim weakness as brother to my living and dishonor the Victory that reigns in me.

Redeeming Love called me from darkness into Light, and yet selfish pride and waves of bitterness engulfs me, filling me from the very depths of my chest, then over spilling and eagerly consuming, threatening to maliciously devour my entire being, to take me captive.

I look in the mirror and yes, I see how wretched I am.

I realize I don’t deserve the Lord’s lovingkindness, but He is so kind to me.
I thank and praise Him for loving me even when I rejected and despised His longsuffering towards me.

He is so, so good to me.

I am compelled by Love Himself and I must follow Him.

1 Peter 2:9-10 KJV
But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light: Which in time past were not a people, but are now the people of God: which had not obtained mercy, but now have obtained mercy.

Thursday Thoughts: All the Light I cannot see.

The sun is always shining. But you are the one that decides how bright it shines.

It’s been night

For as long as I can remember

And i have forgotten

All the light

I cannot see.
.

Fading stars

Barely faking a glittery farce

Black dark night

I’ve lost my sight.
.

How long will the night last?

I pray the day comes fast

To show me

All the light

I cannot see.
.

And if the darkness

Won’t seem to pass

I pray to God

To teach me

To trust

In all the Light

I cannot see.

“Be still, my soul, the waves and winds still know, the Voice that ruled them while He dwelt below.”

Saturday Series: Cacophonous Silence.

“The world was too overwhelming for the child, so she hid in her mind. And if only she knew how loud her mind could be too, she wouldn’t be screaming the way she is today.”

Who knew the lies I was told as a child would create a monster that would haunt me, into my youth.
Who knew teenhood would not be marked with life’s greatest adventures but with tears and blood running after, sorrow upon sorrow.

Ugly lies that would echo menacingly at inopportune times, when my insecurity crept in, snaking its cold unrelenting grasp around my neck, choking me, bringing me to my knees at the casket of memory I had tried so hard to bury.

People didn’t like me ; everything I did was not good ; my success depended on the reaction of others, if they were happy, I did well, if not, I was a failure.

These thoughts leering at my distress every hour, made their long term abode in my tormented mind.

And I kept silent.

Then, how the silence roared in my head and how it eagerly tried to consume every inch of my pain-filled soul.

Like a wound up toy soldier, I marched to the complicated tune of people’s wishes and fancies.

Donning a fool-proof facade, taking a sword and a shield, I faced the world with my false bravado.

But soon.

The no longer shining armour began to feel tremendously weighty, pulling me down, wearing me out and dragging me into the dust.
My shoulders shook, how strange, I thought, it never did before, or maybe I just hadn’t paid attention to it.
The sword, stained with blood, and I, with no recollection of victories, bore mottled bruises and wore countless scars.

How tired I felt ; I laid down and let the world pass by.

And still I kept silent.

Maybe it was a good thing, letting the heat of the noon day set my body ablaze and then fighting the excruciating pain, mind warring against flesh, to allow the cold midnight winds to freeze my charred spirit.

And it was the harshest climates that woke my quite dead resolve to press forward.

The heat planted a thirst to rise like the sun and the biting winds fanned a desire to try again.
And by and by, after conquering myself and my sick mind, I learned not to fear people’s opinion about me.
I no longer cared about their insolent attitudes toward me, their sharp tongues or fiery words.

Painfully peeling off the rusted armour that clung to me, I threw down my sword and shield and for a first, exchanged it for faith and love.

Now, no longer silent, hear my voice above the storm as I rise from the ashes.
I may be knocked down and belittled by you, but I will get up and I will try again.

Thursday Thoughts: Ghost.

“And every where my hand touches
Imprints the idea of you.”

I worked on a patchwork quilt.
I started stitching it
The first day I met you.
If each seam and dart counted
For each time I wished you well,
I would not stop for the world.

Till the room seemed to be filled with the ghost of you.

Blinded by the ghost of you.

I swore I tried to start afresh.
But my raw aching fingers bled tracing an unfamiliar pattern,
And my new starched cloth, strangely, tore a jagged line;
Leading me further from who I am.

Till the room seemed to be filled with the ghost of me.