All things that begin must come to an inevitable end. A cry of distress, in an unfamiliar world and hence begins life.
Some live for a 100 years without being alive for even a second of it. We are our own undoing. Blessing or tragedy?
Stop and smell the roses, they say. Maybe I should become that rose and carry that beauty within me.
I wish to forge my own path. Untethered, free and wild. Liberated from this worldly cage, and when Death finally finds me may it find me alive.
The other day, I came across an African proverb : “When death comes to find you, may it find you alive.”
We spend a lot of our lives being held back by trying to become what we think others expect us to be. We let ourselves be trapped in a cage.
Our soul knows what it wants. At this very moment, it’s speaking to you. Listen. Then go do it, grab it, live it.
Something went wrong with my WP a few days ago, and this got posted before I was done editing it. I removed it as soon as it happened, but a few of you had already read it and left comments. I’m sorry I had to delete that post because it just wasn’t ready. This is the final and improved version!
Ever so often we find ourselves looking for people, places, memories and opportunities that make our hearts ache. But in a good way.
Some find happiness in running after that feeling, chasing it in bars and discos. Jumping off cliffs only to have a trace of its grandeur. Intoxicated by its scent in foreign skies and seas.
Some find solace in the hope that it will come to them. That all they must do, is believe in its power, its possibility, and trust it with all their heart, and the wait will be worth it.
That feeling is what makes the World go round.
Earth, our home, found it in its path around the Sun. Sun, our star, found it in its luminosity and illumination. Water, our sustenance, found it wrapped in the bonds between hydrogen and oxygen. Wind, our cosmos, found it in the chirp of every bird that beautifies it. Fire, our energy, found it in the oxygen that strengthens it.
Sometimes, it comes in our early years. Others spend ages feeling incomplete. Sometimes, it comes right when you need it. Others learn that it has the worst timing ever. Sometimes, it comes when you’re ready to hold on. Others are caught completely off guard.
I made a wish for that feeling, then placed it in my soul.
I promise to welcome its immensity and its enormity the next time we bump paths.
This is my tale of a rendezvous with the enigma that is called – Snow!
“The first snowfall of every winter is magical,” I remember hearing this in a TV show once.
I am no stranger to winters, but in my part of the World, it does not snow all that often. So it has always been a bit of a mystery to me.
I have been told that as a child, I have witnessed quite a few snow days.
Sadly, I have no recollection of these days.
A few years ago, I completed another item on my bucket list, on a trip to Ladakh, India.
As we drove down the narrow roads, there was a zeal and zing brimming inside each of us.
There was a singular prayer on all our lips. One word. Snow.
The windows were down, I felt the cold breeze against my face, as I stared at the path ahead, from the backseat of the car.
In the distance, I saw the road -glittering and white. I was entranced, encaptured, enchanted.
A few seconds later, I saw a single snowflake dancing, floating, swirling in the air before hitting the concrete.
In the blink of an eye, there were hundreds of these tiny miracles dancing, floating, swirling, and finally landing. I felt a few on my face before they melted, becoming tiny droplets of water.
We took an exit off the highway that led to an empty road.The concrete was not so bare now. There were white specks all over.
I stepped out, tilted my head upwards as I witnessed each tiny miracle completing its journey.
It was freezing cold, I was told. I felt none of it.
It was as if I had disconnected from everything around me. I was in a bubble with only these snowflakes for company.
It was as if I was conversing with every tiny miracle I saw.
I was completely and utterly bewitched by their charm, devoted.
The street off the highway was now filled with families and tourists who had stopped to witness those mesmeric moments of snow.
I heard children shrieking with joy in the distance. I heard people walking through the snow, not too silently.
Pure, innocent wonder.
Up close, each tiny snowflake appears different. Each began its journey as a droplet in the ocean, travels miles and miles away from home.
Suspended, in the freezing cold, trapped inside a cloud. How painful must it be.
Each drop is now shaped differently, pressing against each other, fighting for room.
Then the cloud gets heavy, it bursts.
There is room to breathe now. Room for each tiny miracle, that set off on this journey.
It dances one last time in a lightly blowing breeze, in hopes of reuniting with the homes they left behind.
That day, a few snowflakes returned to the oceans, seas, rivers and lakes they left behind. Others got consumed by the soil, where these tiny miracles nourished life. While some,simply fell on concrete, cars and roofs to bring euphoria and elation to the cluster of tourists and families by that road.
I witnessed true beauty in each snowflake. Selfless. Altruistic.
My first snowfall. Or at least the first I remember, was what I was told it would be. Magical.