Today, I type words just as is, on to the 'compose blogpost' directly. I try not to ponder, not to wait for the words to emerge. I'm trying to let my fingers do the composing...
Another morning and yet there is a difference. There used to be a time when one used to wait in eager anticipation for the next year. Now, again something is different. There is a sense of misgiving, a vague unrest, fear about passing years. Its not about age, wrinkles or grey hair only. It is about slowly reaching the edge of something which has no beyond. It is about coping with life's uncertainities which are certain to follow. Its a feeling of the ground below slowly slipping away from under your feet- it is about being pushed further on...towards a horizon I know not. It is about unfamiliar sights and sounds and sensations...ahead as well as behind me. It is about forgetting to linger in the present and letting the shadow of the future mar the light of now. In spite of trying to grab new experiences, seeking things to look forward to, still there is a feeling of time running out...there is acceptance and yet there is a question mark. There is a feeling of 'whats the point anyway'? These thoughts are not deliberate- they're uninvited guests whom I do not want to welcome into the threshold of my mind and yet they remain waiting at the door. Even if I slam the door shut, I know they're there on the other side. I can hear them...waiting...
I'm not sad, I'm not gloomy, I try to laugh aloud, but I can hear the hollowness in my laughter. I'm reading, I'm singing, I'm dancing, I'm talking, I'm laughing, I'm loving, and yet...I'm not quite here completely. Every moment , every experience, every thought, exist while reminding me of transience.
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