Heart to Soul to Body: A tragedy

A lonely soul rests on a park bench. His slumped shoulders and disturbed hair magnify the depressing drip drop of fall's downpour. Each drip, each drop mask the teary eyed man who only wishes to hide in the darkness of the cloudy day and scream curses to the gods above. Oh, what a wretched soul, a soul that is lost! Unwilling to return to the places he had called home; unwilling to bear the shame that rests so heavily in his deadened heart; unable to love the life he has led and completely incapable of changing the circumstances that has led him to this lonely, cold, wet bench.

Have you ever had the sky suddenly turn from grey to blue and the rain disappear? Neither has he. And, it didn't happen on that dark day. A heart full of malice, anger, spite, hate, and depression. A heart unable to contain such emotions, a bubbling concoction of metaphysical death. And, death it became. As the heart dies, the soul dies; and, as the soul dies, so the body dies.

And, on that fateful stormy night, a man wasted away because no one saw underneath his facade. No one dared to call him out; no one dared to pry; no one dared to try.

All he wanted to do was to happily say hello and happily say goodbye, instead of leaving this earth teary eyed.

Hear him whisper, " My friends, my family, my love, my God, goodbye."

He gets up from that park bench, drenched clothing, matted hair, bloodshot eyes with anguished stare, and languidly drags his feet towards the darkness. Silhouette enveloped by the shadows, and with tears merging with the pools of rain fading into the depths of despair, he disappears forever, vanishing from all memory, or lackthereof.

Repost : Give us clean hands

Here's to the end of what was the beginning. Here's to a new chapter in my life written in hands washed clean. I flip back and I see sweat, tears, and blood infused into the weaves of wooden mesh. Every new beginning starts with clean hands, but how they become dirty with constant wear! Thus, we must wash our hands clean of this filth that clouds our mind's eye. Such skewed logic, such distorted images of life, such altered ideas of living must be cast out. Leave behind only that which remains pure, still, and pristine. When your hands are sterile, what is left behind? I only see lines: lines of fate intertwined. These nice, neat arches and ridges that define the ups and downs of our life lead not to death but to a greater understanding of ourselves and the world we live in. So, in essence, we cannot wash away all the filth, all the dirt, all the contamination, we can only remove that thin layer of putrid, molding tarp and see exactly who we are. And, we'll realize that the life underneath that sheet of grime lays that which is shaped by the experiences which give us the messy sewage that infects our mind and heart.

Harro...Goobai.

I walk through life. It turns around and asks me how I'm doing. I simply say, "Well, good sir, I'm covered with your innards." Life turns to me with a curious expression, nods, then says sorry and walks to the nearest door. And I, being the foolish man I am, decide to walk in the opposite direction rather than following life's every single footstep. So as life and I go our separate ways, I am left with its blood drenching me.

I need to take a shower. But, I will never be able to get these stinking remnants off me; even if I were able to, the stench would stay with me forever.

I guess that's what I get for not chasing after life.

Time to go find it. It's had a massive head start, but I will catch up one day, and we will say hello. On that day, we will become best friends and I will learn to live.

Live in the moment. The memories we create will last forever; these memories, though not captured on film, are captured in our hearts and in our minds. Let's go chase life together.

When I was a kid, I used to walk around with my eyes closed. They were sealed with tape, not that expensive clear scotch tape, but the cheap frosted scotch tape. I didn't mean to walk around with my eyes closed; that's just the way things had been since I was a small child. I saw the world only through that frosted tape: obscurity reigned.

As I grew older, I was asked countless times why I liked to live in such a hazy world. My answer: why do you like to live in such a clear world? I prefer my hazy world because I know that once I take off these goggles that I will see exactly how disgusting you are and how disgusting this world is. Now, is it not better to live in ignorance?

Who would have guessed that in the middle of the night, terror amassed with the powerful stranglehold of fate, and in one felled swoop removed that frosted glass. Oh, the unbearable pain, not from removed skin and pulled lashes, but from the freedom of the eyes. The glare of truth and rightful understanding bore its branding iron onto the very flesh of my soul. To tell you the truth, I changed that night. Perception is key.

I hid from the light, preferring the opaque grey. Neither white nor black, neither truth nor lies. A life of half-truths...or should I say half-lies. Now with eyes wide open, there was only two paths to choose. How simple the task: pick white or black. A task so simple that it was difficult: pick life or death.

I chose life, and in that life, came my death.

Do you see my struggle, Gatsby?

So I stare out into the distance, across the dying expanse of field, towards the fading horizon as the merging stripes of the sun's colorful rays glimmer off the mountains. I stare deeply into the setting sun, allowing my eyes to adjust to the radiance that is there. So beautiful, yet also so deadly.

A blinking red dot out in the distance shifts my eyes from this beautiful display of God's awesome power. I can no longer look out on the horizon without seeing it; that painful reminder that love will always be my Gatsby struggle. Every morning I wake up with the hope that the light has gone out or that my attempt to reach it will be achieved that day. Every day! Do you know how difficult that is to know that your dream eludes you each and every time you look for it? How many times do I need to persevere then fail? I've modified the engine to my car so many times, and each modification brings me one mile closer, yet I am still SO far away. I always have to turn back and start from the beginning; I always have to return home knowing that not only did I fail but I have nothing to show for my effort. I return home to look across the horizon at that blinking red dot.

I'm tired of driving out knowing that I have a safety net, the possibility of going home. I'm driving fast out across the desert using all the gas that I have in my tank. And, in the end, being unable to return home is just a consequence I will have to accept. If I must die trying to achieve my dream then let that be so, at least I know that my spirit will float along the horizon towards the setting sun. I'm putting it all on the line for something that I know I can achieve. Failure is no longer an option. Who knows, maybe when I reach it, it won't be glorious as I thought it would be. But I know that when I look back at all that I had done to reach this blinking dot, that I will cherish what I have for it was not done easily but with much pain and much suffering. That is how I know it will be good, because what would not be good that did not require some hurt. Who is to know what pain is when one has never felt pain? Who is to know what love is when one has never felt love? Who is to know what loss is when one has never felt loss?

This is my Gatsby struggle: my search for love and my search for a future that contains love and family.