Morning Glory
The point of reference for new day is tricky, for it merges ambiguously rather than split definitely. A slow movement from the night before to the morning after. The line between old and new is something more translucent, difficult to see rather than feel.
And so it proved as I walked out that early morning. The cool air descended, suggesting that it might rain sooner rather than later as it seeps through my skin. Past experience moulded with new insight suggested that it won't be happening any time soon, but that doesn't mean that it won't happen.
The way something is isn't the way something always will be.
“Take care of yourself in Singapore, OK?” My grandmother stood at the door. She looks at me, almost desolate, her heart probably yearning to grab me and make me stay. This trip follows on the heel of a number of other trips, and perhaps she had missed me.
No, make that definitely. Though, like I said, the line between perhaps, maybe, definitely and absolutes are less than that.
“I will,” for my heart yearns for the same thing. But the time comes when we do the things we do, make the choices that we choose...and live with it. We don't always get what we want.
For that same reason, we don't always choose what we want.
The morning sun peeked before the clouds, a friendly presence providing light and guidance, before becoming angry in its glare as morning becomes noon. But we're not there yet, so for now...friendly.
The birds chirped, singing songs that thrills my heart. I don't understand them, nor will I ever will, but that's not important. Understanding, with the head and the heart, is not required here. You let go, cutting the ropes, and falling back into what simply is.
A lone jogger came from the other direction, stepping lightly. Surprising, for an old man. I looked at him, as we get closer. He turned his head up, and his eyes gave it away. An old man whose age defies the spirit that lies at his heart. A young, happy one. I smiled at him, and nodded. He smiled back.
“Assalamualaikum,” he greeted me, wishing peace upon me. “Waalaikumsalam,” I responded in kind. Without stopping, in an instant, he was gone, but that moment stayed with me. A moment of happiness, in contrast of the deep hurt the night before. I am reminded that last night, last week, last month and the years before...is not my time. Not yet.
My time will come.
In the mean time, I took a deep breath, and walked on, facing new challenges and posers. New questions and answers. New days and nights.
New...life.
And so it proved as I walked out that early morning. The cool air descended, suggesting that it might rain sooner rather than later as it seeps through my skin. Past experience moulded with new insight suggested that it won't be happening any time soon, but that doesn't mean that it won't happen.
The way something is isn't the way something always will be.
“Take care of yourself in Singapore, OK?” My grandmother stood at the door. She looks at me, almost desolate, her heart probably yearning to grab me and make me stay. This trip follows on the heel of a number of other trips, and perhaps she had missed me.
No, make that definitely. Though, like I said, the line between perhaps, maybe, definitely and absolutes are less than that.
“I will,” for my heart yearns for the same thing. But the time comes when we do the things we do, make the choices that we choose...and live with it. We don't always get what we want.
For that same reason, we don't always choose what we want.
The morning sun peeked before the clouds, a friendly presence providing light and guidance, before becoming angry in its glare as morning becomes noon. But we're not there yet, so for now...friendly.
The birds chirped, singing songs that thrills my heart. I don't understand them, nor will I ever will, but that's not important. Understanding, with the head and the heart, is not required here. You let go, cutting the ropes, and falling back into what simply is.
A lone jogger came from the other direction, stepping lightly. Surprising, for an old man. I looked at him, as we get closer. He turned his head up, and his eyes gave it away. An old man whose age defies the spirit that lies at his heart. A young, happy one. I smiled at him, and nodded. He smiled back.
“Assalamualaikum,” he greeted me, wishing peace upon me. “Waalaikumsalam,” I responded in kind. Without stopping, in an instant, he was gone, but that moment stayed with me. A moment of happiness, in contrast of the deep hurt the night before. I am reminded that last night, last week, last month and the years before...is not my time. Not yet.
My time will come.
In the mean time, I took a deep breath, and walked on, facing new challenges and posers. New questions and answers. New days and nights.
New...life.
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