Posts Tagged ‘Goodbye’

Blue Moon b Stamatisgr

Seeking means : to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal – Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

Early last October, I was given a glimpse of utopia. Tales of birth and lust and love intermingled with a complete release of the body and a bond formed with the universe. Tales of conversations between bodies and souls that seem to have known each other even before a meeting of the minds; tales that forever puncture the fabric of space & time. I have seen the possibilities that life can hold for me. I say this in the midst of some of the darkest days of my life because I know what is possible for me now. I wish I knew more. I long to. So that when the possibility of the potential for that kind of infinite joy comes within reach, I’ll know to grab onto it instantly and let it take me on the ride of my life. I thought I was having it this year and it startled me to realize it. But maybe what happened these past few months was merely meant to be the catalyst for it. I hadn’t realized or maybe I had just forgotten the fact that within the lost crevices of my soul, I could hold the potential for much more. Until then I had merely been mundane. I had foolishly come to terms with the fact that there could possibly be more for me than the decisions I had made or what I thought was a raw deal that life had decided to hand me. That I was just meant to endure much and come out stronger. And live to tell stories and be a tower of strength for others. I had completely lost the plot. Submitting to the naive expectations of the heart and the tales the world tends to tell you. No wonder I have constantly been so dissatisfied during what could have been the most joyous moments of my life.

Why listen to the likes of Jim Morrison (random example) and in my case Nick Drake these days, if we’re just going to put them on play & take off into a weed or drug induced stupor only to come out of it and go on with everyday as though what they saw and promised us about meant nothing? I told a friend recently that I thought the last big revolution of humankind already began and ended before our time. I saw a glimpse of its possibility during Lasantha’s funeral. But maybe that was merely a show of solidarity. I’m not saying the hippies had got it all worked out. But maybe they were onto something. Something that would have at least made the institution we’re so comfortable with worthwhile living in. There are far too many dissatisfied, restless souls in this world for you to disagree with me on that.

I don’t care who becomes the next president because of what he can do for the price of potatoes anymore. I don’t care if I have enough money to pay the rent and drink enough so that it temporarily numbs the constant pain that I have come to acknowledge is my life. These are all just means to survival that I have placed too much faith and hope in over the years. Necessary evils that beget more necessary evils. I’ve welcomed this way of living and kept it comfortably within me for too long now. It’s not about having an opinion about things or learning things and passing them on or living out mundane expectations. It’s not about learning some epic path to wisdom. It’s about what finding out what your own personal happiness is and where it lies. At the end of the day, if we’re not happy, then what’s the point of it all? It sounds like a simple enough statement, but it has been the furthest thing from my reach for far too long now.

I turned 30 a few days ago and I have come to realize that each one of those years have been a waste, save a few precious moments that most people would kill to have. Moments of complete clarity that I have swallowed back when they would surface. Maybe out of fear that the feeling won’t last, maybe out of some sickened desire to have those feelings dwell in a way of life that they weren’t meant for. Hearts break far too often and too many times have I seen a world full of saddened people without a reason to go on. And I have been those people during many junctures in my own life too many times to let it continue. I can’t, I won’t, I refuse to let the next 30 be defined by the same way meaningless existence.

On the night of the Blue Moon I sent a wish out into the great universe that has shown me the potential of myself when I am open to be a constant receptacle, receptive of anything and everything, come what may.

I have written too often about my own simplified philosophy of the missing sandwich. Aiyo! How wrong I have been to think of life in those terms. Of just one missing element that completes us. There is so much more to me and those I love to think of it in such belittling terms. I won’t close this blog down but I will stop blogging here. It will be kept open should I or another soul come by here someday it and find some solace or recognition in what I have written over the years. I am no longer the missing sandwich. This part of my journey is over. It is time to shed the old so that I have enough room to take in the new life, the real one I am meant to live.

I am not preaching or passing on because I sincerely have nothing of worth to tell you. I am just giving you my personal reasons for the decisions I am beginning to make for myself. If I leave you with anything, it will be a plea to find your own personal happy place and stay there. I haven’t found mine in its entirety yet, I have merely seen the potential for it, like I said. But having received a glimpse of it, how can I proceed without it now?

Happy New Year everyone & I wish you all your personal epiphany in 2010, if you haven’t had it yet. Thank you for all you have done and been to me over the years. Thank you for stopping by here when you have. Thank you for becoming my friends and staying that way. You will always hold a place in my heart for that is the one part of me that is already infinite in its ability to welcome and embrace.

May all our dark days be erased, someday.


I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep & suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life and not when I have come to die discover that I have not lived – Henry David Thoreau


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Closing Time | by Mr Izalcs

Closing Time | by Mr Izalcs

The last box in the hallway is almost full. Just a few more love letters to add and bank statements to throw away. The sorting is almost done. How could a sticky note with a corny one liner decide to hold such weighty memories within? She fears the very last of them, finally thrown carelessly into the box would make it too heavy for even the burly movers when they finally came to move her memories. She couldn’t bear to carry them out herself along with her already laden heart.

And yet the sadness is not for the memories. As good as they were. Made in moments of purposeful desire and unexpected connectivity. In the most unlikely of places. Many in a dark hole, somewhere in a lost corner off Galle Road with an Iron Maiden album cover painted on the ceiling. Others in a red brick building that housed their coming together in the midst of early morning chats, his mum’s pol sambol & egg sandwiches and countless sticky notes. One that convinced the child in her to take an adult plunge into what she still debates was love. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. He writes it out neatly and places it in front of her as though he had come up with all by himself and reading it, she instantly knows that come what may, she would succumb to the butterfly kisses he would place on her nose and the quiet conversations late into the night over countless glasses of arrack and coke. Being able to share yourself so completely with a cocky stranger shouldn’t be so easy because it makes you believe more than you should. And years later it finally hits you. The distance you go, the heights you reach, all ultimately leave you with very little to take away with you. Like T.S. Eliot said, these were just the burned out ends of smoky days.

The real sadness is for the person who she used to be. The little girl who was so brutally murdered. The dreams she was able to dream. The chase that was so charged that it would almost set off sparks, leaving hairs on edge, crackling with electricity. The days when she thought she knew what would make her happy. The knowledge that she had never felt more at home with the most unlikely person and how she luxuriated in the feel of it, even during their dark days together. The countless arguments should have taught them both a lesson instead of fueling them into thinking that it was just as a result of an overdose of passion.

The sadness is for the children she brought up as though they had been birthed of her. And in a way they were. They shared her soul and she shared theirs. The sadness is for the teardrops shed over their silky coats as they cling to her in confusion, knowing their mother is sad and not knowing how to ease her pain for the first time in their lives.

She tapes the last box shut, wondering if she’ll ever be able to find herself again, if the childlike optimism would ever return. Or if she was to finally accept that all of this had turned her too bitter to be able to awaken that dormant ability for infinite joy again. Death must also feel like this. The inability to cry, the lump in the throat, the urge to scream. Hope. Such a dirty little word for grown ups.

Unpacking the old memories would be difficult in a new home. Maybe she would just keep some of the boxes unpacked. Opening them, only when she was on the edge of falling again, if it was even possible. Opening them to remind her of what would await her. Like a warning. God forbid that it fuel her on into thinking that it was possible to reach those heights again. Silly girl that she was, she knew the possibility of hope being able to escape through the cracks in her heart. That frightening ability to once more let someone else that far into those darkened spaces and places within.

The boxes were ready to go and she could hear the movers scream orders at each other outside. She glares at her empty bedroom feeling a strange combination of numbness & borderline hysteria. One last shrug for all that was lost. She picks up a final package & walks out of the door into the morning sun with a brave smile now plastered on her face. If she ever came close to knowing love, this was probably it. If she ever permitted herself silly thoughts of babies and picket fences, it was with him.

Maybe he was right from the very beginning.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

She has no clue who she wants taking her home ever again. But after nearly a decade, it was finally closing time.

Closing Time | by Pedroza

Closing Time | by Pedroza

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when you leave I will die

the last few embers of life that I have been clinging onto

will be stomped out 

by me

right after I try to not shout or scream

and throw myself at your feet

and cry as loud as you have

every minute of every hour of the last few days

and for some strange reason, 

I was thinking of the weather

These rains seem so unpredictable

like the people we have invited into our hearts, you and I

you are the thing that has kept me from running wild

running insane even

and you are the one running away now

how can I hold you back when your dreams have died

mine died and I wanted to die with them

instead I kept those little embers burning

because I knew someone out there loved me

and I knew I had you

to call up at 3 am

and just collapse in your arms

who will I  run to now?

and is that even relevant anymore

who will you run to?

when you run away

to a place we can’t follow

and when you get there 

you will die

kill yourself

for once the soul dies,

the pain dies with it

simple, clean death

the release from pain

and you’re think you will find it

in a death you will commit

in a place where I can’t stop you


If I ever see your face again 

on some forgotten street

and by chance if we meet

will you know me

and more to the point,

will I know you?

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