It has been thirty years, at least the part that could be tracked down by our man-made time machines, and life never seized to surprise me, amaze me. Perhaps that’s what polishes my smile every now and then.
In seconds, you can get in touch with a person who you did not even know existed in this world. Do you say ‘random’? Well quantum physicists suggest that there are no objects but relationships. There is no locality, no time. Electron or any elementary particle exists only in relationship to other things. Energetically we are all linked, everything is interconnected. Then, might individuality really be an illusion?
I guess we shape our subjective reality with our own choices, the things we choose to see/experience in life constitute ourselves, our beings. Even the songs I choose to listen now, while writing these, give shape to my mood. Music mashes together with my thoughts and feelings, enters into my material world with harmonized steps, just like a new spring approaching slowly to northern hemisphere and bringing about a fresh medium for our ability to love to nourish again. Although there may be countless souls splashed with the waters of love in winter, the air we breathe getting warmer little by little for sure has great impact on humans in such a way that it stimulates our sub-atomic particles cunningly, shakes them, tickles them, and we choose to fall, to stumble, to wade or just to run towards loving another soul. Afterwards, raising the question “who fired the gun” or “why did we fire that gun” would be meaningless. Past disappointments, supposedly wrong choices would not stop one getting bedazzled by the beauty of a blue-eyed grey cat or a red-eyed white rabbit. This delirium just like that of young horses with happy roars would rise up fluttering and manifest: we are all interconnected!, and cool breezes would play with hair of humans of all shades, all colors who choose to open up their chests to let the spring in. Stolen suns of those with bitter smiles would be brought back. Smiles would be polished by morning dews.
Then we all would have the right to choose what is real and what is not.
I still hear them, some faded laughter from my old springs, some fingerprints all over my spirit. I still remember those who departed at some intersections, who still carry my grace with. Alas, I have got a path to walk on, I have got a reality of my own in the making, and thanks to Lord springs bring along more hope, epiphanic moments and rememberance.
