The ticking of the tock; time is passing so relentlessly nowadays. Like sand falling through an hourglass, the pressure is mounting on me standing down below. Today, I sit at a window by the river. There is a bird right in front of me, sitting on the opposite branch. It is a colorful bird and the cold breeze of the early morning sun is blessing us both equally. The bird sits there, preening its wings and I sit here, preening mine.
The clock has gone another circle around the center, another minute lost, another sixty seconds worth of time left unfulfilled. Rage against the dying of the light my heroes say. But on some days, everything seems to be, not, in its place and nothing seems to cheer me up. The pain in my wrist from the fracture of a drunken night and the sore in my butt which reminds me of the fall. Plus, the ache in my head and the void in my stomach.
Why do we exist? Why am I alive? On days like today, all I have are questions, stupid questions. And nothing seems to satisfy me. I ask myself, how did they do it? How did the greats do it? I tell myself, they were humans just like me and that if they could do it, I certainly would. So how do I do it? The ground rules of the game are simple. We all have the common fate which awaits us at the end. So, we agree that we are racing towards our death the moment we are born. Next, there will be good people and there will be bad through the course of the game. Next, good people and bad people are my artificial constructs, a made up category in my mind, to annotate, label and arrange useful stuff, and the useless. I can do what I wish in this game. But, I seem to know, that I should not interfere in other’s game play. And that I should do everything to help them with truth and nothing to hurt them with lies. With that, the rules are almost complete. I get to use whatever resource I can, and I am grateful that I have been gifted with the greatest resource in all of human history, my mind.
And so, If I can keep my head, when all about me are losing theirs. If I can stand up and conquer my emotions today. If I can discipline them, to work with me, for me. If I could go all out today. Then, it is a cinch, it is a given, it is a choice, a habit, that I will succeed and I will rise. In trees of men (and surely women), good timbers grow and today, just as yesterday, I will smile and work and type. Like the bird which just flew into the headwind blowing over the river, I too shall go into flight and fill the minute with sixty seconds worth of distance run.
