Grave Thoughts

For some reason, today I am thinking of the psychic who read my palm. She said there was no hope...I burnt my boats.

Like a fool I had wept all of that afternoon. Must I believe human words, words calculated to make money, when I care barely about divine utterances? Good point.

I hate points -- they are at the centre of a circle and they ensnare you. I hate that. Because then you don't even want to look for freedom.

Do I like freedom? I don't know. I want wings, but I don't want to fly. I am lazy...I lie on the grass and watch the sky...one night I lay there, wet grass beneath me, camcorder in hand shooting fireworks. Did I look like a fool? Hmmm...

People who perhaps did not have an opinion may have formed one based on the fact that my reticence (that is a part of me) gets transformed into a strange form of pantomime (which too is a part of me). I keep reminding myself that life is not an island, I remind others too. How I wish it were...

Is that why I am so selective about people? I cannot share anything. I am not envious...I just think a certain MY space has to be left for me. I cannot be a part of an intellectual/emotional harem. I have never been. I choose to stay away, outside, alone rather than feel the need to 'belong'. How can one truly belong when there are only pair of eyes to look into, one nose to smell one scent at a time, one pair of ears to listen to the voice, a pair of hands to touch, a pair of feet to take you to one destination? You can do just that one thing at a time. I understand that there are several things...but I cannot spread myself or stretch myself. I give people room, but in my room I do not want a darned kibbutz. I dislike community living and the concept of ‘all are one’.

All are not one.

We are all alone and we seek out one person at a time for our special sharing. If we can't, then we are lonelier than we imagine. I suppose I enjoy myself. Maybe it is arrogant to feel this way...maybe I am sparing the world...maybe the world is sparing me...maybe I am going into a sulk.

Growing up is a continual process. The day I say I am grown up, I will turn in my grave, and then it won't matter.

That psychic said I would die alone. That was reassuring. Imagine having company when you barely seek it. But I wonder what I will kill along the way...

Perhaps a few ‘mocking’ birds?