Thought: One hundred and eighty-three.
……………………………………..
K. J. Yesudas. He has sung more than 55,000 songs so far; in 22 languages. His repertoire includes songs in Sanskrit, Russian, Arabic, and many other languages. His basket holds the Padma Bhushan, Padma Shri, and numerous other national and international awards. He has won the National Award seven times. He moves with equal ease in classical music. Needless to say, he holds the record for singing the highest number of songs in India.
He has nobody before him but himself
to prove himself. It’s great to feel!
When I think of such people, all the ridiculous, meaningless arrogance of myself and many others like me begins to mock me. This worthless, wretched self of ours—we don’t want to break free from the delusion that God’s indulgence toward us is our own achievement; we deliberately refuse to. This very delusion destroys us completely.
There are some like that,
who are only born,
and never die.
Sir, in one lifetime, no one could even speak as much as you have sung!
All our talking is merely chatter!
To be swept away so completely in the depths of melody! What heavenly joy!
What ethereal happiness in being alive! To live in tune—that is the finest way to live! Stay very well.
Sunil had said,
self-satisfaction is equal to death.
What enchantment drives these great souls to run so hard?
The matter troubles me, quite often. Sunil created the most in Bengali in printed letters. The moment he picked up his pen, writing would flow. It is in search of this fulfillment that all such people run until death. Can even death stop them? It cannot!
They live,
as long as we live.
Just this past September 7th, Sunil turned eighty-two. On writers’ birthdays, who remembers that he is no longer here?
They don’t,
it doesn’t even stay in mind,
that’s why. Dear writer, happy birthday. Keep living.
Oh please, won’t you give me a picture,
Arindam! Why do you do this? Pleeeease give me one. At least thinking of Yesudas, throw your ego and all that nonsense into the fire and river and give me just one picture,
sir! I wrote so much about Yesudas—isn’t that worth anything at all?
Well, those tight hugs we give in imagination—
if we did that in reality, would anyone survive!? I don’t think they would! But if you don’t squeeze someone into your chest harder than that, it just won’t feel right. Hmph!
Only imagination is right and real!
How terribly angry I am with that person!
That day, what I felt like doing!
Anger or hurt always means—punishing oneself,
that is, everything shuts down—talking to oneself, giving time to oneself,
moving freely in one’s own world—everything!
What agony, what agony, what agony!
Nothing happens to that person through all this. My words…their words…her words…his words…those words…in truth amount to nothing. Yet somehow it seems
everyone’s words are deeply needed at some point in everyone’s life, in some way or another. My words,
meaning even this nonsense might prove useful—in your life, in the life of someone close to you. Nothing in nature is worthless. We don’t value it,
but later we must pay with interest. You know,
when strange problems torment us beyond measure,
sometimes I wish
I could become one complete problem myself and strangle all problems by the throat, taking revenge upon them!
Damn! These envious girls, wherever they’re from! Envying everything…now I see even my ‘Dudhu’ envies! I’ve stayed a hundred hands away from boys my whole life, now I’ll have to stay away from girls too!
All these flashy girls! All these affected monkey-women! What’s the use of so much flashiness?
The rainbow is beautiful only in the sky! When the brain is empty,
what wheel spins from all that affectation? Huh!
Look, I’m angry with you. Some Tanmoy from somewhere,
why should he be able to say so many things to you? Strange!
Must you answer him exactly as he does you? One needn’t stoop to the level of petty people. When you quarrel with him, he
rises in status—
don’t you understand this?
Why do you give people the chance to insult you?
He teaches at a foreign university through the strength of results,
not through strength of character. What does a big degree have to do with mentality?
Why must you become cheap with cheap people?
May our darling never answer anyone in such language. It looks awful. I was so hurt that day!
I wanted to say so much, but from where I stand, one can’t say everything one wishes to. What else could I do!
Well, is your last status a reply to my last message?
I don’t understand all these subtleties. My head is big, my intelligence small. As much as our darling belongs to feeling for me,
standing there it seemed very necessary to speak these words to myself from myself,
so I spoke them. Your existence is as much outside me as it is within me. You occupy a vast portion of my thoughts. So to have you, I don’t really need you. Yet I often end up saying certain things to you anyway. If my speaking to you this way doesn’t seem right to you, then I’m sorry. But this
sorrow doesn’t seem likely to stop my speaking. You’re probably annoyed,
I can tell. But there’s nothing I can do about it. How can I survive without talking to my innermost being? By the way,
curious mind wants to know—despite all this torment I cause, why don’t you block me?
Thought: One hundred eighty-four.
……………………………………..
An auspicious afternoon of rain trembling with thunderclaps. Such a terrible lightning flashed,
we all grew afraid,
in the torrential rain and thunder the village seemed so ghostly, so strange! Tomorrow,
I shall journey to another planet! Hey you, wherever you are,
ready my rocket!
I’ll stick chewing gum in your hair,
hoooooo……, if you don’t
give me the picture!
I think,
who knows what will happen if I don’t get the picture!
You think,
who knows what will happen if you give the picture!
But we both know the truth. Still, we live in lies!
My only capability to stop myself extends only to deactivating my account, let me do even that,
but which deactivation can stop
the inner impatient waiting? Well,
can’t the heart be deactivated too?
One must not get entangled in false conflicts with the right person at the right time, widening the expanse of distance on the path of relationships. Otherwise,
given that opportunity, false people and false times come and build permanent homes on the broad empty road. Then even if one wishes, those homes cannot be demolished. True homes crumble to pieces at the gentle touch of a feather,
false homes survive intact through countless storms. Thus, in a moment’s error, life passes in the wrong home. Daily invitations of new melodies,
monotony in old tunes, grand festivals of the new’s arrival and departure,
in the festive air various flavors of intoxication and addiction—breaking old rules according to age-old customs, getting drunk on the essence of the new, the habituated intoxication with newness. After a while…….the new ceases to arrive; alas,
by then the habit of loving old melodies has also not formed—eventually both melodies lose their pull! Finally, in such contrary tugs-of-war between melodies, life becomes bound in terrible discord. This fate of life is not destiny’s making
but crafted by human hands.
You know, Morning,
often I feel like abandoning everything and fleeing somewhere far away. This desire has been with me since early childhood. Had I been a boy,
perhaps by now I would certainly be living in some runaway kingdom. When you once called me mysterious, I wanted to tell you: one who is completely open,
utterly simple,
how can such an ordinary person be mysterious?
I often wander into other people’s lives. One day into Mother’s, one day Sister’s, one day Brother’s, one day some friend’s. My memories of Father are very faint,
so I cannot venture into Father’s life. Living as someone else feels quite pleasant sometimes!
Living in the courtyard of my own life, I bask in the sun of others’ courtyards. Oh
yes, sometimes I even become Morning! Don’t you understand this?
Punishment must be given after forgiveness, if the offense is punishable. Will you forgive me once?
Will you see how forgiveness feels?
One who inflicts harm never realizes how much greater the power of not harming is. You can easily experience that power by not harming me. Why would you do that? There’s so much pleasure in seeing me hurt! Damn fool! Just because I’m a witch, should there be no love for me?
I want to stay away from human love. I’m not saying that if I stayed close, people would necessarily fall in love with me, but still, I prefer to remain silent. Those who can love deeply often spend their lives in lovelessness.
Don’t wake up anymore, my dear,
please sleep now. You know,
I had come…….
Tell me, after hanging from a ceiling fan with the intent to commit suicide, can a person truly no longer save themselves? Or is it that since they hung themselves to die, even if they could be saved, they deliberately choose not to live?
I think to myself,
the moment there’s a little strain on my neck, I’d free myself!
Or can it truly not be undone? Should I try it out? Oh my God!
Hey you, mister! Listen!
If we ever meet somewhere, it’ll be terribly dangerous!
I won’t look left or right. I’ll embrace you straight away, plant a smacking kiss and give you a sharp bite! Then,
I’ll run away! After that,
whatever the familiar or unfamiliar people around say or do,
that’s entirely their business!
I am in no way responsible for it! Am I a coward?
What do you think of me, huh?
“Let war come, I fear not…….I shall flee!”
Thought: One hundred and fifty-five.
……………………………………..
No matter how much self-interest binds you to someone,
even if you massage oil all over their body, at least when massaging their buttocks, stay alert—
are they defecating or not? Does the pull of self-interest
make one this reckless?
The horizon-touching lie—it can never be touched.
How joys, alas, every night—hold back their breath!
I wonder, did I ask for too much?
Sometimes I feel like giving you a list of ‘them’. This way, those you’ve forgotten in the rush of work,
those old ones you’ve lost in the crowd of the new,
will come to mind, if only for a moment. So many other things will be remembered too!
I have no emotions for you, please
try to understand it. The most hurtful words I’ve ever heard in my life!
Why are you so cruel, so stupid, so frivolous?
Well, if you all want someone ‘like that’,
then why do you seek someone ‘special’?
You don’t even know what you actually want. Do you understand anything about what you truly desire?
Watching people intoxicated with calculating profit and loss, I think they just don’t know what profit there is in death—
they have all other calculations of gain.
In what does one find happiness, alas, who can say!
Humans are strange. Human love is strange, their capacity to bear is strange,
their nature is strange,
their way of expression is strange too.
Gosh, they’re taking stylish photos with my hands!
Give them here, let me touch!
I don’t really know what I want. Duality of being, I am sorry. I am really so sorry!
I never truly wanted to get soaked like that in colorless, colored rain!
I beg of you,
don’t drench me that way. When conscience suddenly appears and stands before me, what answer will I give?
Listen, if someone hit you with a flat hammer, you’d look exactly like a child,
wouldn’t you? Tell me,
can’t you sin a little less?
Whatever the Creator gives, surely He can take it back in less than a moment—this I believe. Can His commandments be so casually defied?
Even if someone’s feelings for another
are ‘third’ in order, that second person’s feelings for the first person can very well be ‘first’
or ‘fourth’!
Why does the body feel so terrible…….always feels so very bad.
To indulge,
yet not give shelter. Isn’t that a crime? Why do you do this?
Tell me, do you consider yourself sin-proof?
How terribly it hurts when duality weeps! There’s no way to escape from oneself!
What shall I do! I so want to be a little cruel, to give love a holiday,
to let go of tenderness…….but can I? I already exist in lovelessness,
I pray to live loveless. Yet I’m also afraid—
if my prayer is ever granted, even a little,
that day—I might not recognize myself! But what can I do?
One must be a little selfish—this
is life’s demand! Sleep is sleeping, so I stay awake……
Only time’s relentless rush, injustice’s incomprehensible race to victory over injustice, I merely watch with my eyes, no longer touch with my heart as before. I get so thirsty, there’s a glass of water right at hand—yet I have no desire to drink.
The inhuman ones look exactly like humans. Some sorrows cannot be shared with anyone—not even with oneself!
I live with all such sorrows!
Does it make any sense? I want to mock myself—Oh! You love people! Ha ha
ha ha!
Life taught me
that sorrow never completely vanishes from life,
sorrows just change color from time to time. Sometimes happiness comes to keep company for a while,
but at day’s end, sorrow remains sorrow.
Sorrow, sorrow, and more sorrow!
Die and you’ll be saved, otherwise day after day you just keep weeping—this is called life!
Thought: One hundred eighty-six.
……………………………………..
Don’t come to this room anymore,
what surrounded you so intimately—laughs no more!
Love, having loved,
never takes me in its arms anymore,
this rain!
Won’t you take me in your arms a little!
Listen,
even if you don’t give love,
at least take me in your arms with hatred!
That hatred too has life—
did you…….ever think of that?
If you love well,
what could possibly happen?
Will it diminish?
Or am I…….
Who explains things to a foolish heart?
O heart, you remain foolish just like this—for life.
Let me be the clever one instead!
The word ‘varied’ cannot express as much diversity as life itself contains. On this long journey of existence, how many people weave into life in so many ways! From time to time, people’s fleeting companionships join hands to make time even more beautiful. I remember almost all of them with all my heart. Not exactly remember—I actually cannot forget. Years ago, when I gave two rupees to a little street child and he thanked me, it still enchants me today. When I was in ninth grade, five impossibly beautiful sisters lived in the house next door. I would look at them and wonder in amazement—why did all five have to be so beautiful? Why wasn’t I as beautiful as them? Sometimes when I went out on the street, I would catch glimpses of them. About a year later, when we became friends, I learned that these beauties would turn off their room lights at night and secretly watch us through the window! We (my sister and I) were apparently very beautiful! They apparently liked us immensely! Oh! Does such a thing really happen? The most astonishing part was that these beauties’ only brother, who looked exactly like a prince, apparently loved me! What are these things? How happy I was that day! I felt that from then on, if anyone ever called me ugly, no matter who they were, I could land several kilos of punches right on their nose. But enough of that. Sometimes complete strangers become dearer than your own family. Uncle Riaz was such a person. I understood how much he loved us only after my father died.
My father would sit with us three siblings studying all the time—from morning till night. We never felt annoyed. Everything else, including meals, happened during these study sessions. Others would get irritated with my father seeing us. They would say, why keep such young children sitting at their studies all day? But we had tremendous fun—my father knew how to tell many stories. Uncle Riaz would often come to our house and see my father absorbed in teaching us. He loved this very much.
In 1903, Wilbur Wright and Orville Wright invented the airplane. Since then, age after age, so many modern planes have been invented, are being invented, will be invented—there’s no end to it. One marvel of invention comes and seems to sweep away another marvel. Yet, arriving at this year 2017, late at night, sitting by the window, sipping ginger tea, reading various details about the Boeing-787, looking up at a plane whooshing across the dark sky, I think with infinite wonder—without any pillars at all, the plane is truly flying through the sky!!
New wonders do amaze me, but the afterglow of old wonders remains just the same.
Once upon a time, when nature called, people had to run such distances carrying their lota! Now we have such modern bathrooms, pans, commodes. The bodna has given way to hand showers—now even those aren’t necessary, with all these tissues and whatnot!
When the noble act of defecation is complete, a sliver of water emerges from the commode’s depths and washes away all my creation, destroying it entirely—ah, what beauty!
I mean,
I was thinking, wouldn’t it have been nice if the commode had an extra hand attached? It could do the wiping with tissue!
And if desired,
other things too…….never mind!
And then there’s this flush tank of the commode—what exquisite floral designs it has!
Just looking at it makes you want to smell it! I think,
Ah! What a burden such a beautiful, artistic thing must bear all the time—water for washing away excrement!
Even though the bodna has no function in the bathroom, one sits in my bathroom with supreme tenderness—a single bodna! While conducting my defecatory business on the commode, I look at that bodna with wonder and think,
Wonderful! What exquisite design!
What cleverness to attach that slightly curved pipe-like spout to it, which can be used so beautifully for ablutions!
Who else is such a friend in need as the bodna?
One who doesn’t have a bodna in times of extreme crisis truly has no one in this world. Well,
who is the inventor of this bodna?
Who designed it?…….and so on and so forth,
and several other such matters come to mind!
Unless I’m in a great hurry,
I spend far too long in the bathroom. A silent philosophical discourse takes place in private seclusion—one speaker,
one listener.
Reflection: One hundred twenty-seven.
……………………………………..
How swiftly time races by!
It feels like
just yesterday evening…….
I wept from laughing…….
I laughed from weeping…..
Known sorrow in unknown joy,
or
Known joy in unknown sorrow…….
Always, not all sorrow or all joy has meaning. Nor need it have meaning.
Tell me, does known happiness increase our joy even more?
Or does known sorrow increase our suffering even more?
(Known sorrow means
such sorrow that must inevitably be endured someday in the future—this much is certain.)
If one knew the exact date of one’s death,
how many times would one die before actually dying!
It’s only by forgetting death that humans live with such abandon!
How much a ‘suffering’ actually hurts matters far less than how deeply the person experiencing that ‘suffering’ actually feels it—that is, how intensely that person perceives the pain. Let’s say suffering can be measured. Someone experiences one kilogram of suffering from a particular situation. But they don’t feel that full kilogram at all—they only sense about one poya, meaning 250 grams of pain. From the outside, people think, “Oh my, that person suffered a whole kilogram!” Some observers, seeing this one kilogram of suffering, end up feeling half a kilogram of pain themselves! Such things happen.
Then again, sometimes we see the suffering might indeed be one kilogram, but someone experiences it as five kilograms. People observing from outside think, “It’s only one kilogram of suffering! What’s the big deal!” But meanwhile, that person is in absolute agony!
In a village struck by famine, a man’s three sons died from hunger. Some time later, a journalist came to investigate the situation and asked the man, “What has been the greatest suffering of your life?” Everyone assumed that since his three sons had died, he would surely speak of his grief over their deaths. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he spoke of how a few days earlier, an organization had distributed food in the area. That day, an elderly man sitting beside him had asked for a little more food than what he’d been given. The person distributing food had pushed the old man away and cursed at him in vulgar language for asking for more. Witnessing this had caused him tremendous pain. Despite his own desperate hunger, he had walked away that day without eating. That incident had hurt him more deeply than even the death of his three sons.
Truly, what causes someone pain can rarely be understood by others—only by the person experiencing it.
When I was studying for my bachelor’s degree, I would jump with joy at receiving a C-grade on exams, while many others would be deeply upset at getting an A-grade instead of an A-plus. Seeing them, I always felt like tickling them playfully.
Then there’s the outward expression of suffering—that’s another matter entirely. Different people handle things differently. Some are the type who swallow secret sorrows. They digest the most difficult pains and make a fuss over minor troubles, so that others won’t realize how intense the anguish they carry in their hearts! How much suffering surrounds us everywhere! Someone might be missing limbs, someone might be battling death from a terrible disease, someone might have no loved ones, someone might have no food at home, many don’t even have homes, someone might face serious family problems, someone might be mentally devastated—so many countless problems!
When I witness all this and feel tremendous pain, and when I grow weary from that anguish, I console myself by thinking that while I suffer so much seeing their condition, perhaps they themselves, being in that situation, don’t perceive that suffering as intensely—perhaps they’ve adapted to their circumstances, which is how they manage to survive. So I often pray to the Creator that even if people must have suffering, may He reduce their capacity to feel it acutely. May all people in the world, even with their troubles, live happily and flourish.
A troubled mind with no known cause—
such troubled minds bring the deepest torment.
A sick body with no name for its ailment—such sickness is the worst kind of all.
My body has been failing terribly for days now. I can clearly understand that even lying down requires a certain strength.
May everyone be well.
An engineer brother living in America fell gravely ill and died after much suffering. His last Facebook post before death was:
If your body remains healthy, never
complain that you are not well.
(The words may vary slightly,
I don’t remember exactly,
but this was the essence.)
Reflection: One hundred and eighty-eight.
……………………………………..
You know, the day I learned that Mark Elliot Zuckerberg always wears the same kind of t-shirt simply to save time, because he doesn’t want to waste time thinking “What shall I wear today?”—he wants to use that time for some constructive work—that day I felt disheartened thinking, alas!
How much of my own time I’ve spent
wondering “Why does Zuckerberg always wear the same t-shirt?”
I have an uncle
who goes to the office every day wearing the same shirt and pants. He has at least nine sets of those same shirt-pants. Having grown fat and prosperous on bribes, he owns quite a lot of money, so he wants to hide himself by living a simple, modest lifestyle. When people ask, he says, “I’m an ordinary man,
I prefer a simple life. I do a modest job, Allah
hasn’t given me the capacity for anything more. I’m quite content with this!
Thanks be to God!” Just seeing him makes my blood boil! The height of hypocrisy!
I have observed
that some become friends and stay by your side for life,
even becoming foremost in the memory of those who forget so many other things! And some just drift away with time, carried by the current of necessity to wherever the stream takes them! A few days of indispensability, then again leaving the old form for new settlements,
then sudden displacement again. Does anyone truly keep them carefully in the depths of their heart?
Truly, no one does. To be permanent requires stability. Having something only becomes meaningful
when much can be given. Whatever anyone may say,
life moves through exchange. Without this, any relationship breaks down very easily. Unwanted presence completely destroys the inevitability of invitation. What could be more heartbreaking than the feeling of being lost!
Only boundless faith in the Creator can provide completeness,
because He alone sees what no one else sees,
knows the secrets of all unexpressed joys and sorrows, understands what will be and what should be.
The girl had made up her mind completely—she would commit suicide. She had thought of hanging from the fan, but then reconsidered, realizing that if she killed herself, her loved ones would suffer and fall into trouble. So the girl decided she would indeed kill herself, but in such a way that it would seem like mere accident. She left various tasks unfinished at home, so that no one could even imagine she might go out to commit suicide. True to her plan, the girl crossed the market and chose a spot on the railway tracks where there were no people. She went far away and waited for the train. When the train approached after some time, the girl instantly emptied her mind completely and began running toward the train……. Suddenly, people from the other end of the road began shouting. The train had come so close that no one dared to come and save her. To everyone’s amazement, a man came running at the speed of light—before losing consciousness, the girl saw this much through blurred eyes.
She regained consciousness. Three or four people were beside her head. It was a quiet place, so there weren’t many people around. An elderly man sat right beside the girl with eyes filled with intense disgust.
“Girl, why did you jump under the train? Didn’t your parents raise you with so much hardship?”
“Uncle, I was actually trying to cross the railway tracks……”—as soon as she spoke, the man slapped the girl hard on her left cheek. The slap didn’t land on her cheek but on her neck. The girl felt intense pain. Tears began flowing down the girl’s cheeks. No, not from the pain of the physical hurt, but from seeing human love for another human being simply as a human. A person whom the girl had loved more than her own life, yet that very person……. Let’s not go into that today. If the girl had died today, that beast wouldn’t have even known. Of course, there was no need for him to know, and even if he knew, it wouldn’t matter. The girl had given all her golden feelings and time unstintingly to such a person! Yet the person with whom the girl had no relationship at all, a completely unknown person—he was the one who saved the girl at the cost of his own life.
That day, the man wasn’t supposed to survive, considering the risk he took to save the girl.
The girl thinks to herself, one could live just to be in the company of such selfless people. Just by staying alive, one can encounter such people. Loved ones can do many things for their loved ones, but when someone who is a stranger does something as if you were their own, that is so much more! Today this life was saved; if suffering ever again compels one to die, if nothing else, just thinking of this person would be enough to return to life.
Reflection: One hundred and ninety-nine.
……………………………………..
Everyone only talks about success. How to become successful, what are the shortcuts to success—they talk about such things. They drive you mad with all this success-success talk.
Tell me, how many people can actually succeed? How many people, despite their utmost efforts to achieve success, end up failing in the end. It’s not that they didn’t work hard—they labored, they never shirked their duties, yet they couldn’t succeed. The truth is, luck wasn’t on their side. The enchanting notion found in books—that fortune favors the hardworking—isn’t always true. I’ve seen many industrious yet unfortunate souls. When, why, and beside whom fortune chooses to stand remains a mystery to me even today. Fortune doesn’t stand beside the hardworking, nor beside the lazy; fortune stands beside whomever it wishes to favor. The man who marries a woman becomes quite helpless; but the man who marries fortune—for him, life and death become equal. Fortune is even more inscrutable and mysterious than women. Understanding a woman’s heart is difficult, but understanding fortune’s heart is downright impossible.
The world’s largest population consists of unsuccessful people. No one speaks of how this vast number of failed individuals might find contentment despite their failures. They’re already suffering, and others avoid them and wound them further with cutting words, amplifying their pain! Perhaps one or two might speak for them, but the sympathy of those few hardly benefits this enormous multitude.
Ten mangoes on a tree and a hundred people below. No matter what strategies are employed to pluck mangoes from the tree, the truth remains: ninety people won’t get any. Just as it’s important to understand how ten people can be happy with their mangoes, it’s equally—if not more—important to understand how the ninety can remain content without becoming dejected. Are they to forever watch others receive mangoes while they spend their lives in disappointment, never tasting one? This won’t do. They too desire to taste mangoes. Who will teach them how to obtain them? They must be told: even if you don’t get the mango, it’s not really a problem, but that doesn’t mean you should stop trying to get one—then nothing will happen at all. Don’t stop, don’t sit with your hands and feet tucked in; rather, learn how to get mangoes. How will you learn? A character from Ritwik Kumar Ghatak’s final film ‘Reason, Debate and Story’ provides the answer: “Think, think, practice thinking.” Our problem is we don’t want to think; we sit with our mouths agape, waiting for everything ready-made. We don’t believe in the principle of ‘earn your bread!’
We’re all preoccupied with thoughts about ‘what successful people are like.’ Who will think about ‘what unsuccessful people are like’? Aren’t the unsuccessful human too? We dance around carrying the successful on our heads, while the unsuccessful can go die—is that it? Rather than all this fawning over the successful, lifting up the unsuccessful is far more urgent. The successful have already reached a platform. They can handle the rest themselves. The unsuccessful are still limping along. If we don’t extend our hands to them, they’ll remain crippled for life!
Thinking about all this, it strikes me: why am I such a failure? Why is there no one to think about me? Once, I delivered one of “those” lectures to some of my cousins on the subject: how to be well even if you can’t achieve anything in life or have nothing at all. What I said, why I said it, how I said it—I remember none of it. I only remember this much: after the lecture, one cousin called me into the next room and said, “Listening to your lecture, people would never want to do anything with their lives!”
Ugh, thinking in such topsy-turvy ways creates problems again! I taught them one thing, they learned something else entirely! What agony!
If you see the irritating face of some thoroughly unpleasant person first thing in the morning, does it make the morning inauspicious? Let it be! I’m hoping for feedback on the selfie I posted. Let some mornings be just this inauspicious! What difference does it make!
Still, I hope—for an auspicious morning.
As soon as people wake up, they need to relieve themselves, but I need to hug and kiss someone. Not the kind of hugging and kissing where “just anyone” will do! I want to do it with one specific person. Since that’s not possible, eventually these desires grow sad and fly away into the sky. The next day they return—and cry from the lack of embraces and kisses!