Just when I think happiness is here to stay, something unpleasant happens. Shit happens. Not even the Buddha could help peace to extend its stay in my abode. Anger is very dangerous. But I am so disappointed, so heart broken. How pathetic that just today I was reading Russell quote- Man has the springs of action within him for he is born with certain tendencies to act. External circumstances do not induce activity. They merely re-direct it. Who would've thought?
I am reminded of those days when this instability and uncertainty instilled fear in me. It shattered my belief and trust at an age when perhaps I could not fully apprehend the anger and the hurt and the reasons behind them. It's a wonder that I could transport back to those days of sorrow and feel remorseful at my inability to help calm the storm. Children are very sensitive to violence and domestic squabbles especially if they see that their happy abode is actually a can of worms, waiting to come out. It's not particularly a happy memory for a child to remember his parents fighting bitterly but what really chimes in is the fact that he is witness to such ugliness. A child's innocence matches no heavenly purity.
I was introduced to some poems written by 10 and 12 year old kids by a friend who teaches them in a remote tribal area. These children while lacking the comfort and luxury that us, well-off urban bred people take for granted have poured their hearts into the paper. A young girl wrote a poem titled, Secret sorrow of the heart. I cannot fathom her courage of writing that which is a bitter seed in her heart or that she let us read her anguish. My privileges mock me every time I see a kid doing what he/she finds genuine happiness in, if that means jumping into puddles or plucking flowers from roadside cottages. Why do the dirt road tracks seem to incite an unpleasant cringe whereas, just watching parents all happy and smiling illicit such a joyous reaction? I am so very difficult when parents fight and vent their anger in front of their children without realising they are bestowing their children with unhappy memories that they won't ever forget in their lifetime.
Who suffers in the end? Everyone. The adults and especially, the young ones who then carry these miserable seeds in their hearts for a lifetime. A moment of calm could avoid harsh encounters but alas, we don't train our brains to listen to us. Now that I am here, expressing these sentiments, my own anger and disappointment has waned out but the roots have already tightened their hold on my memories. Misery has created ripples and is multiplying fast, despite my best to beat it like a winner. And Oh, I live with weary eyes and salt on my lips, unsure of the mornings my delirium will bring me into.
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