The Monkey Mind

Kindness of Stranger A beautiful memory, as fresh as the morning lilies swaying by the cool morn; it visits my forgettable mind with unforgeable warmth. Breathing deep in its vivid depth of remembrance, its ordinariness is what makes it remarkable, to me. Both in form as well as in the essence, a brilliant spark of clarity blazing amidst the murky world, it invites recollection in the tranquility of solemn silence. The beginning of this remarkable memory, an ordinary memory, was the end of a fateful another. It was the time when COVID-19 had just retreated from its ruthless sojourn, and its retreat had endowed my reality with a sense of normalcy. Finally, I was set free. Free from the suffocation of four walls, which were meant to protect me. There, I survived dwelling in a perpetual echo chamber of the self, scrolling up and down, the boiled-down version of the daily expiration of lives , desensitized by the rising cold hard numbers. It was simply boredom retiring with a sigh, wh

"Inevitability.  Conformity.  Acceptance." Their positive connotation is the new normal. Or has it been ages?  Regardless, rebelling or even resisting inevitability is a losing case. It is not even a battle, simply a massacre. (pc: ladykflo.com) To confirm what is considered to be standard is natural.  Question unasked.  To willingly accept with a shrug, and be on our way, is a mantle of maturity.  To us... the ordinary. Indeed. Why confront? Why think? Why even bother?   It is easy to accept the inevitable, and far easier to follow the footsteps of our predecessors, our gurus. They offer a well-trodden legacy for us to walk, enlightened.   And the feeling of being a valuable albeit invisible member of the facade of greater harmony is so heartwarming!   As  a part of the greater community envisioned to embrace materialistic unity!! As one who courageously shares one's life with like-minded.  Find happiness therein. Yet. This happiness is created by conditions beyond us. I

    Introspection ; my dear old friend graces me with her visits, unexpected yet pleasant. She always arrives bearing gifts, precious on her each visit, subsequent. And thus, she graciously extends her warm trust unto me, and I cannot help but kindly return it, likewise.                                                                                                                                                                                                              (PC: deviantart.com) The steady hands in the tickling clock hanging on the wall, turn dutifully half a dozen times…, yet indifferent we, we eagerly learn from each other, as equals. And so, her eclectic vision guides my thoughts, and my humble perception explores her depths. Knowing her, conversing with her mind; beautifully inquisitive unlike any other, I realized I changed naturally without that constant need that haunted my past self. Realizing it further… my heart beats “Life” Life, it never was, is, or

Beautiful! It is a blessing to be able to adore, and be adored as..., beautiful!                                                                                                                                                        (PC:Ley Rish) Behold! so it is in the unfeigned adoration of the mind, its warm companionship, and the aura of its omnipresence that effuses the perpetual inquisitiveness, to know, to realize, to understand, and be placated about anything and everything which the mind adores as beautiful ..at least for a moment  And moments divided into moments, their precious content, explored in detail invites natural adoration for a mind so inquisitive. Moments when we are proud , moments when we are humble , and moments... when we are, at ease , the mind accompanies us, always, and in doing so, no matter what, the mind adores minds akin to itself, with thoughts so unique, never does it  cease to be bored or exhaust itself. Adoration, it is a contemplative recognition of

  " I feel, so I am" Feelings ... They are part of us, as we are part of them. From birth, in the span of being, and till death, have we ever been apart from them? How can we call ourselves, us , if we do not feel and delve deeper into the aesthetics of nature whose essence spontaneously vibrates and freely heals? Or simply instills in us to feel the subjective abhorrence towards the man's diverse-infinite decadence and disease? And as we grow or shrink, we judge so, those feelings we so feel, to be either good or bad, associated with pleasure and pain, that which is permitted and that which is not.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                (PC:  Erebus MindSpaceApocalypse) Feelings... They are the colors that paint the canvas of

" Conviction is the aura of subjective truth, a man so willingly breathes..." Prayer is the foundation of faith. And it so exists, in the sincerity of a mortal's breath; long, deep, and contemplative. You may visualize life in its relentless pursuit of the fulfillment of never-ending drives; food that intermittently sates the hunger, sleep that quietly rests the fragile body, the applied knowledge that nails purpose in the fidgety mind, fiery sex that frees the spirit from its inherent mortal trapping for a while, more or less.  It is breath, and the process of breathing, in its steady depth, the prayer of mortal discovers consistency...that atheist sighs and yields willingly unto his faith of faithlessness. If you are wondering who that atheist is, obviously that ignoble person albeit hypocritical, is none other than me, the author of this ruminating writing Yes, an "Atheist".  and not a day goes by, that I do not pray .                                      

                                                  In the early morn, at a crowded underground train station, a family of three had found refuge. The ponderous environment coalesced the ancient air which smelled musty, with that of the neoteric tenant, the human smell that wafted from unwashed bodies. The poor light had become a playground where fleeting shadows played hide and seek, with the dim lamps dispersed unevenly on various corners, uninhabited as if awaiting for grim reapers to walk out. " Evermore " *whisper* Under a flickering light... ...foreheads gently met each other, small belonging to a pitifully crying child, and, broader wrinkled in grim worry, to a middle-aged man whom she desperately clung to.  Her small clumsy arms barely encircled his burly neck, yet they refused to let go, as her teary voice incessant with desperation, uttered shiveringly "V ater, geh nicht, Bitte-Bitte-Bitte"   Yet, her squeaky voice weakened to a bare whisper, and unto silenc

"I am not my own, how can I be yours..." she whispered intimately with a voice soft, emphasizing in a tone gentle, but punched hard in its truth,  it hurt, hurts still, like hell.  Even after all these days, weeks, months, and years...                                                                                                                                                                                               (pc: İclal Doğru:https://pin.it/2EOlRZV) At that moment, for a second, my heart stopped... And for another one more, my mind went blank... and, all, I could do was to hold on, to my sanity from getting lost, that shattered into pieces of myself, by those words.  My searching eyes found hers, hers that was clear brown that shined with a determined conviction of what she truly meant. Those eyes, they pierced my soul, sundered my mind, broke my heart apart, like never before Her message was clear, for her eyes spoke volumes and volumes' unlike any people I