THE AISLES OF PARADISE

It is indeed my great pleasure to see you once again, my dear, perceptive reader. In the three weeks or so that I have been away from you, trust me when I say that I have thought a lot about you. Funny thing, memory, isn’t it? Perhaps I delude myself in believing that you are still out there, that you are still listening to what I have to say; whereas in reality, you could be a million miles away, on an endless beach of white sand somewhere in the tropics. Wait…. Did I say ‘reality’?? Scratch that. What indeed is reality? I say you are out there, eagerly hanging on to my every word, and so, you are.

This little flight of fancy I indulge in is all very well and fine, for it doesn’t have any ramifications. And yet, in some kind of cosmic tragedy, we, the only mammals to have the ability to imagine in a sentient manner, are the only ones so fettered by our trappings that we dare not. Our lives are filled with the harsh realities of the ‘real’ world, and we are left disillusioned, indeed if not disgusted. But then where can this little bird in our head, so eagerly beating its wings against its cage, take flight. Why, inside our head, of course. We have a whole little world in there, don’t we? The world of our pasts, the world that lead up to the now, that will lead on to the morrow? Isn’t it just lying there, our experiences, just waiting for us to unleash our complete repertoire of fancy on it?

Your memories are yours and yours alone. They aren’t controlled by the vagaries of what we, in our naïveté, call civilization. They are yours to do as you please. My dear reader, perceptive as you are, you may realize that I am partly rehashing over an earlier piece of mine, but bear with me nonetheless. For memory is indeed a strange thing. You realize that there is no such thing as an ‘accurate’ memory? There is only a platform, a viewing station, so to speak, from which only the keenest of observers can see, floating in the mists, other platforms, other viewing stations. But the coup de grace is yet to come. One must realize that there is no need for an accurate memory. Our perceptions of right and wrong, our judgment of true and false will suffice to show us the path.

But memory can indeed deceive, as many through the ages have pointed out. But it is indeed a sweet deception, one I welcome, not shun. Life is in trauma, not specifically, but very generally. Look around. It is akin to the seething froth of water on rock so feared by mariners. And yet, we must, as must they, endure it. And the lifeline we cling to, the sight of land, to stretch the metaphor a little further, is memory, and the dream of things to be. For the past and the future are not distinct, they are not separated by the now. On the memories of your yesterday are overlaid the dreams of your tomorrow, and the paths that you walk as you stroll through this wonderland are akin to the paths of Eden indeed.

Condemn one not for clinging to ones illusions, for it is a lifejacket to a drowning man, water to a parched throat, a lone sunbeam through the clouds of a thunderstorm. Instead, look to join him on the paths he wanders, and then make your own way. Look around, and try not to separate the ‘have beens’ from the ‘should have beens’ and the ‘should bes’. Instead, marvel at the kaleidoscope that arises at the fusion of the three, and enjoy. Make peace with the past, and look forward with hope to the future. Life is hard, and such stolen moments, trysts with ones self, are what make it worth the while.

With that, I shall take my leave of you for now, my dear reader, if indeed you are there at all. But I shall leave you with a very interesting thought…. Memory is a strange thing. It disappoints at first, but it is a way of holding on to the things you are, the things you love, the things you wish to never lose, and the things you wish time ignored. In a world that changes too fast, sometimes all one can do is hold on to memory, and wish one another a happy life…… and good luck.

THE BLIND SPOT

My dear, perceptive reader, take a look around you. Not just your usual dismissive glance, but a real long look, beyond the obvious facades and into the souls of people. And while you are at it, do me a favor. Pick one person out of the crowd, preferably someone you know moderately well, and write down his/her flaws. Not just one of those politically correct endeavors you see at 8th grade ‘Truth or Dare’ games, but a comprehensive list, ranging from anything you don’t really like about that unfortunate individuals looks to any major character flaws (maybe, as a means of whiling away the time, he rips the head of Barbies, you never know). And when you are done with his character analysis, turn your perceptive gaze indeed upon yourself and repeat the same exercise.

Perhaps I flatter myself in assuming that you, my dear reader, actually spared the time to humor me, and perform my little exercise. Nevertheless, it is an assumption I shall take the liberty of making, and hope to predict the results of the experiment. If you have indeed done as I asked, and taken it seriously, I’m willing to wager that the list of faults for the unwittingly compromised soul you chose reads far more than your own. And here at last, long-winded as the journey may have been, we at last come to my point. Why cant people recognize and accept their flaws, their shortcomings, and take corrective measures? Why do we live forever in denial? Why does the blade of your critique, so glinting in the morning sun when it is poised to come down on your hapless companion, suddenly get so dull and blunt when poised over your own head?

Naïve question, say you? Perchance you be right. We humans always have a tendency to neglect our own faults and shortcomings. And while this blind spot seems to be inevitable, perhaps it is best that we get rid of it. All it achieves is to stop us from recognizing where we are inadequate. And when we don’t even admit to ourselves the obvious, that we simply aren’t good enough in certain aspects of life, how ever are we going to take measures to correct it? Wherever I go, I see people waxing eloquent on how the judging criteria were prejudiced, how the judges were incompetent, how they just had an off day, how their inadequacies could perhaps be overlooked as they were depressed because of the weather, how they hit their head on the bedpost in the morning, and that snowballed into a miserable day!! The same hold true not only for organized contests, but for life in general. You make your own luck. On a popular musical talent hunt on television, contestants galore implore for a second chance because of a sore throat. They say it really isn’t their fault. Assuming indeed for a moment that you do have a sore throat, it still remains your fault. You should have taken care of your health better. I hope you perceive my point, dear reader.

Instead, admit to yourself that you really weren’t good enough to win on that particular day. You were beaten by somebody who was better than you. Fair enough. So you need to get better. Do it!! Do not hide yourself behind the cheap and transparent facades you erect. Conversely, knowing how bad you are implies also knowing how good you are. Be not ashamed of either fact. Know exactly who you are better than, and also exactly who are worse than, and in what aspect. Perhaps I am not the best person to give you advice, my dear reader, but I implore you, suffer it but this once. I await your replies, and until the next time we meet, my dear reader, fare thee well!!