Confession To Broken Lady (7)

Waking up would stop me, switching back time would stop me.

It would be so much pale in comparison, if I were to tell her my fascination. It seemed to me she took her interest seriously, how could it not? She brought them  along everywhere what got her attention stolen. At least how to make it sound like a refained my preference of readings, ‘is it even just to call it an act of reading? In comparison to her subject of interest? Come to think of it, it quite  got the gist of philosophical wisdom.’ 

We are all born a single soul through the carrier of a mother womb. We will end up leaving this world just the same we initially brought out to the world. “ 

Tighten sadness were hidden, all the pain that came up were hidden.

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Confession To Broken Lady (6)

Waking up would stop me, switching back time would stop me.

She held firm what seemed to her a valuable possession, the book she cherished in additional counting of reading. As if to make it indisguise of her blues.’Be weary of worn mask, if what concerns you only capable of breaking your heart’. She let loose what had been overclouded her thought in her remembrance. Could this be the reason of her missing a month? I envied what concerned her, whatever it was a stuff or a person. To melt the heart of an ice, needed a hard-headed, if not, stubborn persistency of a person with appraising qualities. My guess could be a groundless assumption but I rarely felt this convince, it had to be so.

Loyalty is the quality hard to keep these days. Why bother to dedicate your time for a flower if you can get equally the same if not the better version of your already possessing. What’s the urge and the point of nurturing only one?” Her facial expression turned sour with indisguise dissapoinment. She turned her gaze and made play a flip-flops of her book, the same book still that fascinated her. 

Have you ever read ‘Norwegian Wood’? One of the leading character, Midori, I guess what I’m craving for is the same kind of love Midori seeks.” She looked sharp into my eyes for a split seconds before it distorted by her sudden realization. As if she got a mental slap, then turned back her shifted intention into the book, she was rather randomly opened it and tried to seek what she got to relate.

This, I need this kind of loyalty the little prince has for his flower.” For the first time in my life I saw her face ever so blossomed. And for the first time I wished time to freeze to let me cautiously examine her facial expression in closure. She handed me the book and showed me the passage from the randomly chosen page; that evoked her an instant excitement. I read and mentally mumbling each words for precise grasp of what the part she was trying to convey, the hidden meaning that fascinated her.

What moves me so deeply about this little prince sleeping here is his loyalty to a flower, the image of a rose shining through his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep…

The moment I finished it, I sunked deep into further ruminating the correlation and mentally bawling out the words:  ‘So, this kind of selfishness. This perfect selfishness.’

She brought out yet another book from her bag, Heads Up Philosophy, it was how it spelled; while I was holding her book still and not yet gave her my two cents. “There are so many of them in each period.” In the midst of her adjusting the book, she made pause her move. 

What makes them acknowledged, up untill today, were their steady inquiry to the knowledge, to the truth, to have what perceived truth an infinite regress. Dedication. All of those thinkers came out with established theory by means of lifetime dedication.” She was so passionate to the point I saw there imaginary flames as if it was a matter of extreme important to her; and it was ever so interesting, ever so thought-provoking.

Tighten sadness were hidden, all the pain that came up were hidden.

On Kafka On The Shore

​“ Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

Haruki Murakami , Kafka on the Shore

The aforementioned quotation above reminds me of the line from this song, ‘Trouble is a friend’ by Lenka, “Trouble will find you. No matter where you go. No matter. No matter if you are fast. No matter if you are slow.”In order to stay firm in the midst of, violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm” one needs to have clarity of purposes in life, at least, s/he knows where his or her life is heading. Sangkan Paran and deep-seated ‘counciousness‘ as a key; in every of chosen endeavour what makes one a winner of his/her game of life. And “once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive.” Quite hard a practice to maintain an inner peace, and I’m practicing still.