The art of accepting life

 

With the traces of time and the touch of experience, we learn to stop fighting what life throws our way. It’s a rather slow journey which starts with us trying to battle what happens to us, question it and finally we learn the art of graceful acceptance. From a baffled why me you move to a never mind and finally settle for ‘ it happened for a reason’.

There comes a time when we learn to stop wrestling the darkness, stop letting tumultuous days get to us and start learning the art of accepting life in all its uncertainties, ugliness and veracity and finally we learn to embrace those uncertainties, and enjoy the roller coaster ride that is. It is all about making peace with the demons that haunt us.

A place called home

Brimming with joie-de-vivre
With dreams dancing in hazel eyes
She walked into a world unknown
She waited on the fringes with trepidation
She waited with bated breath
to find acceptance not ownership
to be loved not judged
she waited for the comfort
to unmask her fears
She ached to be her quirky self
She craved spaces in togetherness
and the freedom to speak her mind
She waited until eternity
to be understood not labeled
Until the fringes became her own
A place she could call home.

Songs of silence

 

A source of strength

And solace

A vortex that can

Twirl the soul

A comfortable home

A lonely, dark recess

A harmonious tune

A jarred refrain

Stirring chords of solitude

Or stringing lyrics of loneliness

Silence is a strange melody

You can turn it into

What you want it to be

Fleeting into forever

Punctuating voids

With meaningless banter

Trying to find ourselves

By drowning

In work and wine

Masking the cracks

Behind traces of

Make-up

Or a plastic smile

Containing volcanic

Emotions beneath

A serene veneer

Chasing ephemeral

Happiness in

Impulsive bargains

or Epicurean indulgence

We saunter

And wander

Hoping somewhere

Wishing fervently

That moments

Turn into forever

And the masks

Become our reality…..

Who we really are…

 

Just read this the other day and it got me thinking. When do we probe enough to peel the layers? How often do we scratch the surface and look at ourselves or other people sans the layers? Do we care to scrape the masks and see people without labels? Without trappings of a function or a designation. We live in such transactional and mechanical times, where people matter to each other as long as they are of some use to each other. The moment they stop being of utility, they cease to matter or exist. Then there are others who become a role. They identify themselves so obsessively with a particular role that it percolates into all spheres of their lives.

What are we beneath all those layers?  What are we beyond the trappings of labels, societal expectations and materialistic paraphernalia? We’re all achingly vulnerable and trapped in longing. Lost in translation.  We bear the burden of buried dreams, of having loved , of winding in a sense of loss, of being trapped in fear, aching to be liberated from the lies we weave around ourselves. We’re waiting to be accepted, hungry for approval. We’re seeking our space, creating a metier. We’re all wounded little children waiting to fly away from hurt.