A loner's Ravings

The privacy of Death enthralls me. The everlasting silence. What else can possibly be more definite, more ultimate than that. I mean, once dead, you stay dead. Period. And explanations-- come on !! Don't make me laugh. Try explaining stuff to the insatiable companion known by various names, Death being the one I like most. You can hate the companion or you can like him but he never wavers. He likes you all along and so much that no matter what you think, feel, or have ever imagined about him is insufficient. He is not dark, he is not fearsome, he is not scary. He is the best and most beautiful friend anyone can ever have. Welcome, dear friend. I await thee.

I have neglected the Loner. Will be back.

Deny me what I do not deserve

Be as happy after death as before.

True love, like any other fatal illness, can occur only once in life. It lingers and slowly gnaws you to death. There is no escape, mainly because you wouldn't want to escape the sweet agony that inexorable extinction.

I am back to my old self. Depressed, numb. I seem to have lost even the few friends I had.

Miracles too obey the Third Law of motion. Every good miracle has an opposite bad miracle. As the swine in Gadarenes discovered.

He went to the lake. To his usual place. The deep rumble of the lake soothes. You need to listen with your soul though. The deep mystery of the lake is beyond the mortal ear

Accepting defeat does not come easily or naturally. Yet I have reached a stage where acceptance is less painful than continuing the fihht.

Manic Depressive Psychosis is a funny kind of illnes.

This time I think it is final. I feel numb. Drained. All emotions gone. Nothing matters anymore. And, no, I don't need Prozac

The fever subsided. But the right ear remained blocked. The doctor, ever so cautious, prescribed some medicines. He also said she might need "further evaluation". She was scared. A simple cold, fever and blocked sinus. That is all there is to it, she told herself. Yet she knew she was deluding herself. There is no way out of this. The smallest illness would appear menacing.

Again I am back in the valley of memories. Cold rain thunders down all around me. It has been raining here for three days without a pause. So I am confined to my room most of the time. The rain is so madly heavy, the earth and the grass doesn't smell fresh, like after the first drops of rain kissing the earth. I get the smell of muddy water, washing away the slime of summer. You are here. Everywhere. I see you in the rain. In the grass. In my soul. I can see your smile and your laughter in the play of the rain and the earth. I miss you so much, it is like the rain has washed away my very being. I don't see why I am here, all alone. Be happy, Dearest.

The impact of the diagnosis had been devastating. Her thoughts flew to the old days-the good days, she thought wryly. Were they ever good? The introspection had begun some days ago. She had started asking questions about herself. About things she had never imagined could even be questioned. Things like breakfast. What is there to question about breakfast? Well, try this - Why should I make breakfast. Or any other food for that matter. Why wash the clothes?

I have been reading up on alcoholism. Apparently you are an alcoholic when your life revolves around alcohol, when it starts affecting your family, friends, work and your life in general. At that point, in fact a long before that point you are already an alcoholic, only thing is you had never realized it. Soon the point of no return is reached when you are totally enslaved.

My old companion is back. Dark, brooding, forever sincere and relentless, like god. You hold my life in your hands and play with it. No quarter given. Dear friend, darkest depression. You visit uninvited and you take control. I am tired. Sick and tired of fighting you. I accept defeat. Call me a coward, but I cannot fight any more.

What power, what evil power does alcohol have over me ! I know I am not alone. But the world of fiction ceated by this liquid is indeed small and fearsome. And I have to battle alone. No excuses, man. It is not just your world.

Time. The great healer. How true. The pain of knowledge is now wearing away. Slowly easing. As she left the clinic he found himself bewildered by the deep mystery of knowledge. Historical knowledge to knowledge of the future. Maybe everything is same. SWOT. He thougt wryly. Planning for the unplannable.

Help.

Why did you think you would be welcome all the time ! You are a cipher. A nonentity. Do not intrude into their privacy. Solitude cannot be shared.

Sunrise elated her. What glory just to be alive.And so difficult to explain to those who are merely alive.

What happens when your nose dominates your day and your night and the rest of your life. Her reaction on that fateful day when the poor, helpless doctor reluctantly broke the news to her had been spontaneous. Almost a reflex. What happens to my son, my husband. They are my family. They need me. But now the monstrous, ruthless nose hid them. I am a nose. My life is a nose. As hard as I try to forget it, the phenomenal nose dances back to life. Mocking me, my family, my values, everything I cherish. Her life had changed, she realized dully. Changed irrevocably.

Life has become a twenty four hour grind, a loosing struggle with the mundane. She had never realized a nose could be so overpoweringly important. Every waking moment was dominated by the nose. In sleep it beame menacingly huge and heavy pulling her head down. Night after night she dreamt that she had become just a Nose.

I have completed my work as best as I could. That is far short of all that I wanted to do. Some things must remain unfulfilled. Forever. Among them will remain much of what I cherished. No regrets, though. Human is by default unfullfilled.

He couldn't get her off his mind. He had seen so many cancers - there was nothing really special about this case. Except maybe the intensity of her family ties. She stood at the center of the family circle, like the sun. Darkness must follow her inevitable demise.

The boy was trying to run witout falling. He had flatfoot and weak muscles. The strain of the overwhelming desire to run and play had made him sweat. She watched him silently, numbly. My son. She remembered the thrill of his first step in her womb. The seed had sprouted. That was seven years ago. The never fading memories of the exultation and agony of motherhood. The everlasting anguish of a mother who knows her only child cannot be fully normal. The boy fell down on the lawn, picked himself up bravely and continued running. My son, she thought. Be brave, be ready to be alone.

The bleeding from the nose has stopped, she noted with relief. Temporary relief, she realized. Secondaries in the bone recur with the inevitalbility of death. Flimsy. That is what life is.

Death. Blessed slumber. Beacon of everlasting peace. Hallowed companion. Life. The first tentative step towards eternity. So why despair about cancer.

She was home. She was at work. She was at a loss. What is happening? She had no idea. All she knew was that she had changed almost overnight. Small things irritated her so much she realized she was quarreling all the time. That is stupid, they did nothing wrong, she told herself. Maybe it is because I have changed. And how !!

The day was finally over. He was back home. Back to his never ending introspection. Today her image obscured everything else. The small, ominous red spot in that nose. The unhappy girl trying vainly to be brave. All her anxiety, all her fears showed so painfully through that wan mask. The thought of the tumor growing in her nose, the deformity of that lovely face, the pain and the eventual, eternal sleep that would claim her soon. Have I helped her ? How futile !

She noticed it after the steam inhalation session. The small speck of blood in her left nostril. Philosophy is no good when faced with blood. Instinctively she realised what it was. The cancer is angry, restless. It is eating away my nose. A prelude to the pain and deformity that is my destiny.

Listen intently. That is the silence whispering.

The cruel, unrelenting spot was still there on the scan. It seemed to smirk, like a living monster, saying "Go on. Try to get rid of me, if you can." She stared numbly at the scan. The doctor was babbling something about it being OK, we will take the treatment again. Some part of her mind heard those words, and judged them for what they were- mere words. She wanted to stay calm, not let go. At the same time she wanted to scream: "Listen, Doc. You are taking about my body, this disease eating away My body, and possible end of my existence. So what do you mean- we will try again!" At the same time she realized, she was being unreasonable. After all this guy is only a doctor. He is not God. And I have been praying to the Almighty every waking hour of my life, for I don't know how long. And He chose to slap this scan on me. And He knows best. She felt laughter and tears of anguish mix deep in her soul. All right God. If it be thy will, I accept. Anyway, You don...

Words. Worthless scribbles. This year has been dry, for this blog.