Saturday, July 30, 2011


Like travelers we have traveled. Who didn't know where they began, why did they pack their bags in the first place and to where they were headed. The thing about traveling is that once you have gone around the world, you always reach the start. The foolish ones say they never went anywhere. But you never come back same. Nor the place, nor the person. Never the same.

And so here we are again... the people who began the journey... the place where it all began... at crossroads.


Once a boy asked the sun "Did you know, from the time you were born, that you would burn? That you would burn out and die?"

The sun replied "In our essence, we are what we are. We will be what we will be. One day I will burn out and die, but I cannot blame the fire for that. It burns in me... into me... through me... And it has brought me where I am. What would i be without my flame?"

The roads that I have passed through.
The moments that have passed through me.
The rivers that have flown through
and the wind that has blown.
Have all brought me to this.
The trees and the birds never really die. The howling wolves come back to the hunter moon. The wind doesn't die. Nor does the sunlight or the waves. We never die. Nor do our emotions.

Everything is either trapped in a cycle to come into the light again or buried till its time. The eventuality of every moment that is yet to come defines death and rebirth. In the time that we spend awake, we form a being that collects the sleeping moments of our inner self. Over the course of time, these moments arise and fall like the waves.

Relentless and infinite.
The time has come to die.
To die and be reborn,
To wither and be sown.
In this endless cycle of loss and gain,
It is time to flow again.
The days were alive,
and we lived because we were alive.
We ebbed and flowed,
Were swept out to sea,
Only to come back again.
Crash on the shore.

But let us now cover the sun.
Let us pretend.
Let us say it is night.
Let us imagine the moon and the stars.
Now that the darkness is here,
Let us slip quietly into the streets
and disappear.
The time has come to die.
For that is what we believe.

Monday, July 25, 2011


The worst of storms come without a warning. Ripping apart the sky of your being and tossing you around helpless. They come and they go, but leave you restless... to live with a fear of the horizon.

It is through these storms that man learns true meaning of strength. To hold on... to get up and walk... and to build again what is no more. To capture the thunder and hide it away for no one to see. So when the rain stops falling and the lightening disappears... the thunder resides in the heart.