Friday, 21 September 2018

Universal Dilemmas

The stars burned like the memories of brighter days, light years away from when I now drive past in my car. Do they represent a map of beautiful moments from my past or a future without? A dilemma perpetually stands before us in the guise of two roads not taken - a divaricate, bi-forked future, an only-seemingly simply choice that keeps us up days and nights. Do we let go of our pasts or hold on to it and make peace with the future? Or do we hold on to both with what is left of a thin string, frayed at both ends?

None of us have the capacity to wait in the anticipation. The stars have seen what is yet to happen and we cannot. These trials and tribulations in life make us and break us. We have no choice but to talk to the moon on our many solitary nights together, as we take the walk and pause before the roads in front of us and take none.

We live lives riddled with dilemmas, problems, and sorrow. And whom do we blame for these dilemmas that span space and time?
The Universe, right?
We blame the indefinable Universe. Could we ever possibly define the same? What really is the Universe, and what is Life?

What is the Universe but a swirling eddy of moments and people lost forever in the blink of an eye?

What is the Universe but a vast sandbox surviving because of the entropy of dancing sand particles?
We’re dust to dust, them and us; chaotic, but in peace.

What is Life but an archaic spider-web perfectly spun in the riddled lace and taffeta of punch drunk love?
Oh, Life. It hangs on by a thin, thin thread, trying to stitch up the cuts that time made on its arms.

What is the Sunshine but a handprint on our hearts?
What is the Rain but these very crocheted hearts coming apart?

The thread lies not in the hands of the puppeteer, or maybe so. Break free. The loose ends of the life you spun are to be rewritten by you. We thread life up and reel it in.

What is a Story but a beautiful lie; a horrific truth; a beginning, middle and an end to the secret garden, stolen books, and arcane memories?
Volatile, yet liberating, eccentric, but a thrill like no other.

What is Nature but poetry in motion?

The lightning, in its very psychedelic nature, sets fire to the menacing thunderstorm and blossoms into the bloom of spring,

What is Luck but an unanswered wish for fortuitousness originating from the depths of our unfathomable minds?
Poor Luck - always blamed for us getting lost in this dazzling maze of life, building living graves for our hollowed out corpses.

What is the Universe but a treasure hunt for a treasure that’s already yours?
Peter Pan searched not-too-far; the ticking crocodile still awaits Captain Hook.

What is the Universe but sheer indefinable beauty in all its mosaic jigsaw puzzle glory?
It may be incomplete and broken, but it is beautiful and unimaginably perfect.

What is the Universe but You?