As the days unfold, night languishes into darkness, and as we swiftly turn pages and commemorate the end of each chapter of our lives, there remains a cloud of doubt that hovers above the existential purpose of all our being. The cloud that refuses to demystify the drive behind all our endeavors, hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Maybe it is that which makes us going? After all, if we didn’t have something we would madly want to go after, where would we all be? Probably, lying like dead meat, waiting for our end to draw near. And then somewhere in between the chase, comes ‘the turning point’. The phase not when ‘the dream’ has been attained, ’cause the end of one dream makes way for another, and we are caught in the intricacies of chasing one dream after the other, but the turning point that changes the way we looked at life – trying to control everything, jumping from plan A to plan B, to making frenzy over next vacation plans, etc…could be anything! But that which changes everything.

 

Like the tide of fate, the swift wave that takes away with it the old, and replenishes & renews. The act of letting go, not just that which is not meant to be ours, but letting go of people – people that make a little world of our own, who have held us, watched us grow, blessed us and always wished us well. As sad as it may be, it is the only waking reality that bewitches mankind. The cycle of life-death-birth, leaving behind a reservoir of memories. Memories are beautiful indeed, probably the only reminiscent embracing lives, and cutting across time. Words said and memories made – they are all that we have. Because in the end, we’ll look back and laugh, and probably ask ourselves, “How did we get through all of that?”. A time, when we would have made a reservoir of memories enough to allow our souls rest in peace.

Here’s a short story from ‘The Speaking Tree’ called ‘The Suitcase’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-Is it my soul?
-God answered: No that is mine.