One day …

When sadness overflows the urn, it is the perfect time to understand yourself. Unfortunate are those people who have never felt overwhelming sadness, something that can be given to you by your very own.

Just like extreme anger, sadness also liberates you. One doesn’t feel the need to justify anything or be accountable to anyone. One must meditate that time. It is irrelevant if this leads to enlightenment, or some such concept the conscious among us spend every living moment of theirs. Perhaps it exists, most probably it is an escape route for those who have lost all. Losing everything happens in a moment, but life is long. One has to live on. Some stay like a zombie, some search enlightenment by turning inwards, rejecting life and thus trying to gain a larger life.

Living like a zombie is not possible, seeking something bigger than life is extreme greed. But one must meditate. Meditation, in fact, is the automatic outcome of sadness. And it is a beautiful feeling.

I can't meditate, and I find it meaningless too. I don’t believe closing your eyes and sitting still brings you closer to your inner self. If that was so, every night when I sleep I would have reached my inner self and pleaded whatever is inside to guide me to be indifferent to everything around me.

I can’t meditate, but I must.

So I write. Moving my fingers in the keyboard and keeping the mind blank calms me down. I am writing now. I am meditating.

But I will put this on my blog. Why? Isn’t there a wish that someone will read it, someone will comment and I will feel good? Most definitely so.

I guess, my sadness is not complete. I guess I am one of those greedy people chasing enlightenment.

But then, I am also extremely lonely. I need someone to talk to. There are only a few I can talk to. My blog friends are the only ones I can think of.

I know whatever I have written here doesn’t make sense. Yet, I know you will try and get a meaning. At least you now know my state of mind. At least you know I am not happy.
I feel a little bit relieved that through these meaningless sentences I am able to convey whatever is going on inside me, which doesn’t have any name in English, or perhaps my vocabulary skill is not up to the mark.
Emptiness is too empty an expression for what I feel now, sadness is too shallow. Perhaps it is a different shade of loneliness. I don't want to turn into a psychological patient. So I must write to keep my therapy on. 

How I wished I was the stream of happiness for people around me. I am not. And I can never be. I am a narrow canal, which remains dry most of the time, in summer and in winter.

But during monsoons, I swell. And I destroy much before calming down. It is raining heavily. I am putting my dams.
I have a baby; I want her to grow up. I want to guide her and make her a good citizen of this world. I want to fulfil my promise to her that I made when we first met. She was just a few minutes old, me a veteran of 34 monsoons. She was the most beautiful work of art I had ever seen, small rainbow-colored bubbles popping from her red lips, her eyes shining like two stars. I bowed to her and promised ... 

One day I will tell her; I didn’t die because of my promise to you. I shall thank her for being there in my life. I should bow to her, and kiss her hands. She is my saviour.

And then I will be free. Like a man condemned to 25 years in prison, I count my days. I will have to remain alive, I will have to pull myself and continue with my life – not like a zombie, not like a selfish saint. But like a person who has no expectation from anyone and no love left. Only responsibilities, a handful of responsibilities.

For now, I meditate to remain alive. Please be there with me dear friends, till I am free.

One day I will be free for sure.