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Much Ado About Nothing

Doesn't that happen with all of us? At some point in our lives, there comes a moment when everything seems to dissipate into nothingness, without any meaning and further direction. There are these mocking days and then there are good ones!

And sometimes there's a delightful feeling when one thing leads to another... Today evening, I immersed in one such serendipity. It started with Ezra Pound's poem that got me and an acquaintance talking for a long hour and then I got hooked further on Homer's Illiad, Garcia Lorca's verses, Blake's Songs of Innocence and the very surprisingly lyrical Anne Bronte. I have an utterly beautiful hardback copy of Anne Bronte's Agnes Grey, and I haven't read it yet. It sits on a low shelf in my drawing room surrounded by David Copperfield and The Yearling. Anne Bronte truly took me by surprise. One of her poems, A Reminiscence tugged at my heartstrings. She died very young, aged 29. Somehow I feel a close bond with writers and poets when I am their age, especially young Victorian poets who died too young in misery abound. 

Then by some strange happenings, I found myself in the company of someone I had once admired and got to spend a day or two working with them only to find it all a big farce and illusion. Successful people aren't always nice! Let that be a lesson. 

There is a place for all of us, irrespective of our successes and failures. And each one of us needs a place to escape to. They could be multiple places too. I find myself pouring over books and getting lost in their world. Lately, though I have begun to feel the fallacy of all of this. I took up dancing as a creative channel for my stifled energies but it's not helping anymore. Can something we love so much really lose all its meaning after a while? Are we really slaves to routine and convention? It has been plaguing me with such ferocity that I best not dwell too much upon it henceforth. It's like a time when you wish to speak to someone over the phone, hear their voice, listen to their vocal vibrations over that long distance call and it never happens and then we lose the urge to repeat our excitement or angst, whichever it is. I am not and never was a believer in concepts like fate and destiny but I wonder if they really after all mean something in our mortal lives? It's like a tune going on and on in my head and refusing to leave me in peace. When I finally have buried it into the dark recesses of my mind's abyss, there it resurfaces and haunts me again, with all its power, clawing at me, scratching at all fibres within my being. I don't even feel like allowing anyone to help me lift out of this gorge of unending misery. 

Could it really be true that each one of us has unique stories and experiences and destinies? There it comes again! This over-thinking bubble doesn't leave its hold on me. As much rebellious as I could get, I fight back with all my might and find myself so alone whereas the roads to success seem jam-packed with everyone else. This whole concept of being happy is really making me more miserable day by day. Isn't it like a spray mist that comes over slowly, stays for an infinitesimally smaller time and then disappears as quick as it could to wipe out its presence? I feel drawn to this depressing manhole with only a square having all sides intact, non-budging, tightening their hold over me. The more I write about it, the more it seems stronger. Is there ever a thing like working for our happiness? There are also so many external influences that make us think so minutely about being happy and the reasons behind them. 

While I am doing all this pondering and endless conversation duel with myself, I also ardently hope for the positive spirits to encourage and empower me whenever I become this negative in my approach towards life and everything. Struggle is an inevident part of our lives so why keep moaning about it all the time? I figure I love indulging in this 'nothing' way too much. Here's hoping new things are on their way for all of us. Amen. 

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