lonely path

A child is born....the joy of family and all creation, he steps into the world with hesitation at first, yet fueled by a great curiosity to know things. The first thing that he sees is a pair of blue eyes- his mother eyes: two luminescent globes of blue skies and smiles in them. All the wonder of seeing him is mirrored in her eyes. And then in time the eyes have a gentle hand that caresses him and miraculously heals his injuries. That same hand feeds him wonders- golden apples and red delicious strawberries, dark purple grapes and heavily delicate raspberries.... Then there is the mouth-this miraculous device that makes sounds while enchanting the child's ears. And thus he finds out about the world- there is a whole new universe out there waiting for him to discover it veil by veil. The stories open his mind's eyes beyond any boundaries- he hears about miracles, and fairies and monsters and how evil is always defeated by good....

Time at first, for this child is nothing more than NOW, tomorrow at best, in case he is some kind of visionary...and NOW is lived to the maximum, no regrets, no doubts, as such notions are still outside the child's universe. Ironically as it may seem, as time passes, with discovery come regrets, doubts and a lot more questions and insecurities. The wonders he used to see in that pair of blue eyes, in the gentle gestures of that hand have long faded away....The child's eyes have, in the meantime, adapted to the dark... and while seeing in the dark, the light blinds him to the point of hurting him.

This darkness has become his daily reality, the horizons, he once dreamed of exploring, have brought but clouds and shadows and unclear lines... the shapes of things have lost their line, the meanings have altered and the child, a man now, has started seeking comfort in his routine. Routine and certain things have come to rule his life now...The miracles of soul and mind, the aspiration for a better self through exploration and reverence for the others, the faith that needs no proof the child used to have are no longer there.....

Instead, you have a burdened man, wandering about aimlessly.... he would, once in a while, feel he has a purpose in everything he does, but watched from above, or outside, he would probably be nothing more than an ant after its mound has been just carried away by waters. And despite all these insecurities and wandering into the dark....he would still take this over the delicate line of light he barely sees at the horizon...it has become a matter of habit and daily routine for him...he's quite comfortable as long as he finds other ants just like him, or even worse...he can become even the king of his "mound"...why go beyond, into something which would surely somehow, challenge him, to a point where he no longer wants to go back- the first years of his life, when things were much simpler, and yet so much closer to that line of light? After all, he has turned into a cynical who has seen evil outside the pages of a book, and who, lo longer protected by the magical hands of his mother, has suffered pain and loneliness, and desperation and who, thus, has come to find comfort in shallowness, pettiness, turning his back to the light. He's too afraid and ashamed and burdened and lonely to ever tread towards the light- he couldn't find the path anyway...he's like the captain of a ship during a storm...you see the lighthouse somewhere at great distance, but winds and waves and fear of rocky cliffs will keep him away forever...or what it seemed forever. Eventually he will end up the shore, but by the time he finally gets there he's powerless- an old man looking back at all his aimless wandering, trembling with disease and hesitation, his mind already in the fog of time.