Eight months of my life have been a blur. I vaguely remember being happy for some time, and I distinctly remember pain. There had been moments of self-pity and loathing, but I can’t be sure. It’s all a haze. There was also something akin to love. I think I’m sure of this. Bits and pieces of memory float in and out of my head – people, places, sounds, instances, thoughts, actions, voices – but none that I can be sure of.
It’s like being awoken from a coma. Things are clear now, but the last thing I remember clearly is looking down from the window of an airplane, 10,000 feet up in the sky and watching my home through a haze of tears and clouds. After that, it’s been more or less blurry completely. Things have been done, words have been said, books have been written and prayers have been sent, but I still don’t quite remember much.
This time round, though, the tears hesitate to come. Pragmatic voices hold them back. Relax, they say. You’re going to a better place.
One more happy hour to endure. Ok, I know this can be a bit confusing. I’ll try to be clear. There’s a group of people, scattered around the world, and struggling to find a cure for the world’s problems. They call themselves the Daisy Network. The main aim of this organization is to ensure that everyone in the world can live without fear and lead a happy satisfied life. They’re heavily biased against violence and they would do anything to help out a fellow man.
Now, I know that there are a lot of other organizations like this one, but how good are they really? Peace comes not from the outside, but from within. We should recognize the fact that once we achieve an inner peace of mind, we can achieve anything.
The logic is made nauseatingly clear in The Alchemist. Coelho, in his painstakingly clear and simple narration, brings such joy to the reader. When we want something really bad, the whole universe conspires to get it for us. whatever it may be that we might want. Even one hour of peace.
One more happy hour…
Posted in books, community, culture, life, literature, love, paulo coelho, peace, people, reading, religion, the alchemist
What’s so special about having a blog? Is it the “cool” factor – “Ooh, look at me, I blog, so I’m a blogger!”?
Is it the fact that having a blog allows us to meet new people everyday, read their thoughts, views and opinions and comment on them? Do chicks dig bloggers? Or does sitting in our rooms, when the sun’s bright and the birds are calling out, and punching out random thoughts into an online journal, a pack of cigarettes handy and an open pack of chips get us high?
For me, personally, I think its more to do with the fact that I’ve been cursed with an insatiable desire to write, to tell stories through the keyboard, that makes me blog daily and twice on Sundays. I do it religiously, and I don’t really get bothered when I open my dashboard and see that there have been no new recent visitors. It’s just the fact that I’m sure that someday someone will read these lines and think, “Hmmm, he sounds nice enough…”
But then again, thats not all. I think, for everyone who blogs, its that innermost desire to tell their story out to the world thats making them write it. There’s a storyteller in everyone of us. We need to just let him/her out and express those desires, explore those plots and give life to those characters trapped in our imagination.
Blogging isn’t enough. We need much more. But then, maybe this is just me. :)
Of late, I’ve been seeing a trend of increasing awareness to the Gtalk status messages among my friends. From lovely, soothing messages like, “Love is not about who you can live with; it’s about who you can’t live without…” and “dance, dance, dance…” to outright corny ones like, “Life sucks, which makes us all pornstars!” and “I still love nature despite what it did to me!”
The fact that people aren’t satisfied by being just “Available” and “Busy” tells us something about the kind of world we live in and the kind of peer pressure we are facing from all sides.
Actually, it doesn’t. I’m just trying to draw some rationality into the argument, and I can see that I’ve done a bad job of it so far. I’ve fretted over my status messages for hours at a time, to make sure that whoever sees me online on gtalk can read my message and be impressed. It’s such a pity that Freud is dead – he’d have drawn some inference of family trauma for this phenomenon!