Setback, or sign?

Pop culture - and Fabebook bumper stickers - tell us that setbacks are to be ignored. That these are stepping stones to those elusive "dreams" we're to follow to comlpete our lives. On the other hand, you have The Sign Theory, which states, quite emphatically, that "maybe he left you for a reason...," and "...failure is the lord's way of giving you another chance...," penning setbacks as a cosmic signal for the need to change something. This is confusing, I feel.
These people need to choose and make a damned informed decision.
Because surely, the way you view a roadblock, or a failure, or an FML moment, can change your consequent steps and the way you continue to deal with it.
I personally feel pressured by pop psychology. It has defined me, like most of my peers have been defined by it. We are the generation of beginning-to-love-your-curves and share-your-patriotism-on-Facebook.
But pop psychology is referred to as that for a very good, very literal reason - it's popular and that's about all. Nothing and no one ratifies it or controls it and it grows like a sprawling, colourful, mauling monster of silly ideas culled from average fiction and teenage movies.

It does not give good advice, I feel. 

Thoughts on thoughtfulness

It feels like thoughtfulness has become such a rarity that when it does pop up in real life, it's looked askance at, and even vilified. Most people cannot IMAGINE that a thoughtful word or gesture can be possible without a lurking, evil ulterior motive. This is a likely a reflection of society (thu. I spit on you) perceives the concepts of give and take. You can't possibly give something without wanting something, or someone, in return.
Social analysis  aside, I've come across very  very few thoughtful people. There are kinds people, nice people, people who are fun to be around, etc., but very few genuinely thoughtful folk. Having spent the major part of my life surrounded by family friends who were great in every way, all that is good, and kind and supportive, but no necessarily thoughtful  I was surprised when I went to college. I met K, the kind of person who bakes for elders' homes and brings you flowers on a random days, just because. It was lovely. And it inspired me, not a particularly thoughtful person, to try and be a bit more thoughtful toward people.
But I realised that it's the sort of trait that is best seen in people in whom it is inborn. Else, your gestures feel stupid, look a little stilted and are soon discontinued.

But, by the by in life, I have the luck to come across such people in unexpected places. It never fails to surprise me, or to make me smile. It always make me realise, also, that sweetness, and its appreciation, is an essential for a content life.

They're confused

They want to know why I prefer
To read
And miss the dazzling fleshy
Make-up pretty men and women
In orchestrated beauty
Onscreen
In CGI! With tigers and
Soundtracks and action and
Noise and vivid sex and
Blood-red blood and made-up
Glory.

But in my pages, the browned
Worn, ratty pages, my people
Live.
They breathe -- the dwarves and
leather-clad sex gods. They mimic
The voices inside my head.
The prancing young girl
Grows
In my mind's eye
To dazzling young woman, to mother,
To crone.
The men -- they're mine, they're created
But I give life
like God!
I draw breath from my being and
In my pages
They live.

And nobody else see them
Like me.
They know them, but my people
They're difference from other people's people.
My places are the same, but different.
My moats are bigger
My meadow is a different green and my busy sidewalk
Has different faces, holding coffee cups,
Striding busily.

So my pages, my worn, ratty
Thumbed-through volumes, my dusty
Shelves of Annes and Aidans and
Janes and Darcy and Lalithas and
Ford and the Millenn
ium Falcon, they live.
They live and so I live to live
With them.

And everybody else remains
Confused :)

The master craftsman

Everybody has an alter-ego they present to the world. It speaks in a certain way to certain people, it addresses the poor in a certain way and the rich and influential in another. It has certain opinions on religion and world politics and what this world is coming to. And it always has a certain way of sounding --intelligent, or resigned, or world-weary, or cute.

We all have a set of labels we keep in our pockets, ready to slip in to our fingers at the correct given situation, ready to be quickly slapped on to our foreheads. These labels define us as we would be defined. Appropriate to situation and person, the label comes off and on.

We decide what best to wear to suit the most ubiquitous label or if to change attire and play around with several labels, play chameleon. We can;t quite decide who takes our breath away, but we decide which ones we keep, which ones show the most promise and which ones show the highest likelihood of our greatest future happiness.

We each have a justification for why we are, what we do, how we dress, what we talk about. This explanation is detailed for some, simple and easy to understand for others...but always ready at hand in case someone bothers to ask

.

We are hardly ever ourselves. We are a careful alter-ego of our reality, masterfully crafted to only show what we need the world to see.

A thought on peace of mind

At the outset, one could imagine that peace of mind doesn't have much of a place in life anymore. Everywhere I look, there are people walking, talking, dancing, spending the evening with friends, going out for a beer, catching up, gymming, hitting yoga classes, doing zumba, taking time off, crunching at work, grabbing breakfast, getting coffee with the girls, and stuff, and more stuff. It's always funny to hear someone say something along the lines of "oh I have to do that, that's where I get some peace of mind", or "oh I can't make it today, need some time for myself and a book." But it's there, as elusive as it may sound, most people have their refuge -- the place they go to just let go, and forget, mostly, I guess.

But the thing with this peace of mind business --  it's a grand irony. We get attached to these essential refuges or these things (or worse, people) who are supposed to be our grand getaway from the mad rush of real life. And the thing with attachment, the thing that really bites, is that it always, always disappoints. Everybody and everything will, at some point, disappoint you. That's not even cynicism, that's pure reality with a good dose of old-fashioned irony thrown in for measure.

People will act up, love will vacillate, families will throw tantrums. Gyms will close, friends will leave, the walkways of your haunts will be swallowed up for development. The trees you love will be cut down, your dog will die (GAHHHHHHHH). At some point, your anchors will all bob loosely in the water and leave you floating in distress, with no aim, and worse, angry with change and the fact that you lost out on the one thing that kept you together.

So, what to do? Geez, I don't know. I stick by my belief that the only way to rid ourselves of this vicious cycle is exactly as the Buddha preached -- remove yourself from attachment; find a place within yourself where you can retreat to, where this peace of mind is neutral to external shocks. Basically, find inner peace. Peace that doesn't rely on unpredictable props.

But, alas and stuff. This, as I have found out the hard way, is difficult. Most of us need something to hang on -- probably why we most of us still far away from reaching any stage of enlightenment. So, while I think this is an excellent strategy, and pat myself on the back for realizing this, the next time I want some peace of mind I will still be heading to my bed, surrounded by my loving family, and curling up with a good book.

A great hope fell/I am now an insomniac

It's quite funny that I have progressed from find-me-a-moving-car-with-air-conditioning-and-I'll-fall-asleep-like-a-baby-with-my-mouth-open to closet insomniac and bad dreamer. These days, with changes in work times and late shifts, sleep has been elusive, and for some reason, dreams have been a little less than pleasant.

It's just like everything else in life -- somethings you think will never leave you -- sleep, people, feelings, idealism. Then suddenly, things change, life gets a little difficult and you're struggling to keep up with everybody else and what you're supposed to be -- and you realize that small things have changed. You spend a little less time with real people, you stop worrying about what everyone else is talking about, and you try to stop expecting more than this from other people.

But I miss my sleep, I love my sleep! It was one of those things that I could boast about -- oh dude I can sleep anywhere! Ok I still can, but still. And I hate bad dreams. For the better part of my life, I was hardly plagued by nightmares, my nightly ventures were a sunny reflection of my spoilt existence. I had the occasional tsunami dream (for some reason) and sudden LTTE-attacks dream, but that was it. There was the one time I saw someone hacked to death, but well.
Now suddenly, I wake up with a start and thank God profusely that what I just experienced viscerally was just a dream, only a dream. It's worrying.

Random Emily Dickinson thought I picked up. Wanted to FB status this, but that would be followed up with a volley of well-meaning "Are you ok?"s from too many good people. This, I cannot be bothered dealing with. On another thought, I need to find more Emily Dickinson...she's strangely elusive on online poetry portals.

"A great Hope fell
There was no noise
The ruin was within"

For the whole poem, try

http://hayquaker1.blogspot.com/2011/09/great-hope-fell-emily-dickinson.html

On that happy note, Happy March, and all that.

History

Isn't just mad monarchs and their fallen kingdoms,

Conspiracies, lies, long-lost love and monuments past;

It’s lakes – and people giggling on their banks.

It’s the sea – and fireworks on the beach

On New Year’s eve.

It’s the sunset – and watching, rapt.

It’s the supermarket around the corner – and swapping credit cards

When the balance runs out.

It’s the scraggly mutt on the road – and taking it to the vet together.

It’s the roadside biryani spot – and a hurriedly-grabbed lunch

Before heading back to work.

It’s looking at a pillar, a pillow,

A tree-top or a tee-shirt and

Feeling a rush of memories

Of things past, but not forgotten.