Anger, Death and the Guitar
Anger and Death are two things I want to write about here.
Anger, because I have been losing my temper most frequently at work.
Death, because it has been a subject on my mind, and its strange how something like the very idea of death can flexibly change its own image in your mind. It lures me now, sweetly, promising me sweet peace and rest. When once, I was terrified even thinking about it.
Anger, death. Death is just the death of one’s identity, one’s ego, that is what they said to me once. However I wonder if it is so. Do we cease to exist after death? Is there another realm where we continue to exist?
Life is busy. And I hardly get time to be with myself.
Most recently, I had an encounter with this interesting guy (the ‘marijuana’ guy in my previous piece), and my spirit wished for the perfect evening again- the guitar and a romantic guy with a poetic soul… playing on the chords of my heart. I had wanted to wait, not wanting anyone to step in my life until I was stable and mature enough to handle a relationship. However one’s heart has a different tune to play altogether at times, and it won’t listen to you. It will tug at you for attention; lure you with its yearnings, wanting you to submit to its temptation. A guy with a guitar…
Sweet yearnings!
-x-x-
Reading The Secret Garden, written by Frances Burnett. The secret garden, for me is symbolic of a space within us… perhaps our own life…one which we can find and nurture, when we go exploring life… a hundred rooms, a buried key, a beautiful garden, a red-breasted robin… Dickson..
I respect your work,it is the most nice one i ever see