Here we go again…

God damn, I want so badly to just cry it all out, let all the pain go so I can move on with my life, but I can’t.

This consuming darkness is nothing new. I understand it completely, inside and out. During those periods of time that light touches my soul and warms me from within, I accept this darkness as a part of who I am. It lets me appreciate happiness all the more because I know how fragile it is. It lets me grow into a mature person that understands life is too short to sweat the small stuff, but also too short to spend even a moment doing something you do not love. It lets me appreciate what it means to be alive and also live. I wouldn’t change it for the world.

But it is times like these, where life is so demanding that the darkness just holds me a prisoner. I understand my triggers – rain, nightmares, and most importantly extreme stress. However, I live a stressful life on purpose so I cannot take my own life without ruining the lives of those I care about. It holds me back from the edge, but it also encourages me to the top, looking down at nothingness below until the immense blackness swallows me whole, as it is doing now.

I cannot handle the demand of my life right now, the balance of it upset, and when faced with decisions to complete one task at the expense of failing another, I just shut down. It makes me want to curl up in the bottom of my closet and just cry myself to sleep. Then my alarm goes off in the morning, sending me off to put my happy face on and get through work. At some point in the day a bit of light hits my soul and motivates me to leave this viscous cycle of accomplishing nothing, but it is short lived. As soon as I walk through the front door of my home and am confronted of everything I’ve neglected to address, it is right back to my closet.

I understand my depression is part of who I am, but right this moment, I wish it would let me be.

True Love

Sanesation feelings

True Love

Love is sometimes required action , not just a mere sentence .

Britain has a pair of operating farm couple , married for over 33 years , very affectionate. 17 years ago , his wife died due to sudden heart attack .

To commemorate the wife, husband planted 6000 oak on the farm , makes up a huge love. Points to the direction of love ” wife ‘s hometown .” Husband has been to keep the secret for years, until it was discovered from a hot air balloon .

True love is not just lip service , the British husband with action , telling his wife has passed away :
“Ten years later, I still miss you do not have your years , life can only go forward .
But I hope you know what : I still love you, I still miss you every breath every action…

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“Don’t marry a Muslim”

Sumedh Natu

My grandmother slit her wrists today.

To assure the inquisitive, prying world it had nothing to do with the inner politics of the family, I was asked to stick to the discussed story that she found out she had an incurable injury. The truth is she couldn’t handle the apparent shame my actions in the past two months had brought our prestigious family name.

Everyone in India barks about tradition. They say our country stands tall on an intellectual platform because we’ve been following a social structure that’s been untouched for centuries. One of the core ideas behind this structure is absolute obedience towards elders. The logic is easy enough to understand. They have more experience. The possibility of them making the right decision in a dilemma is higher. Tradition, I have been told is the platform for a good family life.

Except that I flouted this rule.

I fell…

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5 Reasons You Should Never Settle

Sometimes you stumble across what you really need when you least expect it.

James Michael Sama

As I sit here to write this article, I’m in our hotel room overlooking the beach. The waves sound so close you feel like you can put your hand out the window and touch them. My girlfriend is making coffee. Her tanned skin is accentuated even further by the stark white walls. The rays of sun are coming through the blinds signaling a new day has begun. Michael Bublé is permeating the room from my laptop speakers.

Next to me on the table is this month’s copy of Esquire, the cover of which is beckoning us with “84 Things A Man Should Do Before He Dies.” And I sit here thinking to myself – no matter how many failures I face or how hard life becomes, I refuse to settle.

You can settle for less than you deserve in many areas of life. A job you can’t stand going to…

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In Her Eyes (a prelude)

They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Her eyes were the windows to the universe. They encompassed every aspect of human life. At first glance, they seemed a murky grey, nothing to catch a person’s attention but nothing that could be mistaken for normal. Taking a moment to look deeper, however, and there was no doubt first looks are deceiving. Blue eyes tinted with a deep green and surrounded by a crystalline black, unusual was an understatement. They were marvelous, unique, drawing in those caught in a moment of amazement, and from here, everything changed. Past the obvious, past the shocked face reflected back, there was a wonderfully deep abyss that reached out to the soul. It was not a void, a nothingness, but rather a comforting womb where all falsities were stripped away and truth was a loving mother seeking to help their child navigate the cruel world. An insignificant being in a universe larger than human comprehension, the pettiness of life died away, and only an innocent mind left wandering behind. Through her eyes, I saw the last thing I would expect and the first thing I desperately needed – reality.

Swimming in the ocean of time

I am writing this after the fact, surrounded by darkness. As always, darkness in my friend, the door to my inner peace.

I wonder my experience now. Our limited senses perceive so little and understand even less. Is it then possible that time is not linear as we assume? Is it possible time is not represented as a flowing river, but rather an ocean where all realities exist simultaneously? This revelation only now crosses my mind as I am experiencing three realities at once.

First, I am laying my bed alone. The door is closed, but I can still hear the living room television murmur through the walls. At 6:30, the sun has already set here and I am surrounded by the blanketing darkness, lifting my spirit and centering my thoughts to another world. Out of sheer habit, I pull the aura of light around my to shield myself from harm, but instantly stop myself. The words of Lilith come to me. Growth is born of pain. Progress cannot be made without regress. Destruction burns away the old to make way for the new, and from death comes rebirth. Therefore, I cannot shield myself from all pain and harm without building a wall to shelter myself from potential progress. Instead, I shield myself only from lower forms that seek to cause harm, for higher beings wishing me such must have a reason for it.

Feeling my spirit set free, I see a circle of darkness surrounding me and know interested spectators watch my progress. In front of me stands one lone figure, my guide. It takes the familiar shape of a human body, but this is only for my benefit. In truth, it is a being of energy. I realize, I too am a being of energy and imagine my physical body being set aside. I let all feeling go. I seek assistance. Please guide me. Who am I? This question echos in my mind, repeating itself eerily. Why would I ask this? Where has this come from? Even as I feel the rest of my physical world fade into nothingness, I understand this question was given to me. This is the help I needed, for how may I seek answers without the question?

I do not know how much time passes then. Seconds, minutes, hours… Time is meaningless here. Images, emotions, disassociated places and people cross my mind. I feel my consciousness bounce between planes. It feels as if I am in a moving vehicle, passing by what I know to be memories, lives, and inner visions. Though I cannot recall any specifics of this experience now, I vividly remember arriving at my destination. Who am I? Vivien Le Fay.

Now my consciousness reconnects to my physical body and one image from my trip returns – a dark room. I know this must be explored.

My body consumed with a slow vibrating sensation, I can still feel myself laying in my bed, comfortably encased in my blankets. Truly, however, I am elsewhere. I am standing in an empty dark room. It has not seen inhabitants for some time. Very soft light seeps through large windows covering the right wall, old floor-length drapes containing most of the darkness. I remember standing long moments at this window watching light reflecting off the surface of water. It was a time of my youth I do miss.

I am older now, just as the room is. I am dressed in leather shoes, a thick floor-length skirt that sways around my legs. My coat is form fitting and covers my entire neck. The long sleeves snugly fit over my soft leather gloves and my long dark hair is carefully arranged into a tight bun, covered with a hat secured with a tie under my chin. My face, I know, is gaunt with age and old despair. This depression I know well and I realize this has followed me beyond lives. It is a familiar sadness brought on by the loss of a loved one in my youth. It is a loss I could never fully recover from, and I am not entirely sure I would want to.

I remember being in this room in my younger days. Moon light floods through the windows, illuminating the simple wooden chair in the right corner and the matching sturdy table, large enough for a candle or lantern and a few blank pieces of paper. Against the length of the left wall is lovely, hand-crafted post bed. Now I can feel myself in my younger years, simultaneously existing in my youth, my visit in later years, and now in the physical world. I wrap my hand around the deep cherry-wood post, feeling the familiar knots of the carved design. My books were not here, and I had always missed them dearly. The room was small and simple, but the beauty of the bed and the gorgeous view ensured this room held a deep meaning my entire life. It is not where I grew up and was not my home very long, for after tragedy struck, I could not stand to stay here where so many cherished memories resided.

As if coming from another time, I heard someone shout, “Kine!” It is not my name, but is in another life that eludes me. This is simply a tether to other memories.

I lost my virginity here. I know it was not conventional for we were not married, but it was right. I knew it had to be, and I was all too happy to participate. I relived that moment so vividly, feeling him pleasure me as I laid back, trying my best to absorb every sensation. He was experienced, I knew, but it meant nothing to me. He was with me then, and that is all I wanted. His kisses were deep and warm, consuming. I felt his desperation, but he held back, demanding my pleasure before his. His arm was wrapped behind my shoulders with one hand cradling the back of my head. His tenderness and care only hardened my resolve to give myself to him. He explored my body slowly and I felt it responding, becoming hot and ready. He left nothing unexplored and soon I was quivering, craving something I could not vocalize. Please, I begged in my mind. I just need… something. He understood all too well. Soon after we were joined, two bodies depending on each other for one release. The climb was so intense, part of me wanted to stop, but it was impossible. I feel a deep need to mirror the sensations in the physical world and bring myself easily up the same steep climb. Finally, arriving at this unknown peak, light exploded behind my eyes and my energy roars from my body towards him as he called my name. “Alliah!” I give myself to you!

Tears poured unbidden from my eyes in every reality. At that moment, I felt so much more than I ever imagined possible. With the realization I had given myself to him, a serene peace wrapped in sweet happiness folded itself around me as his sweating body collapsed on top of me. My arms clung to his heaving form, tears seeping from my closed eyes while he rained sweet kisses on my neck. Never could I have imagined such a  feeling of belonging and love.

In my older years, my arms are wrapped tightly around the post of the bed, my forehead pressed against the old wood. God, how I miss him. How have I lived so long in his absence? Why have I not joined him? My love… It was not long after that night that he left this world, leaving me in a deep, lonely depression, only living to cling onto the memories of the beautiful life we had been building together.

Laying in my bed, I have to turn my face into my pillow to mask the sound of my sobbing. How many lives has this fate followed me through? It tears anew the pain I recently laid to rest, reminding of my last love that has left me yet again. Is this the same soul? Has he followed me in an attempt to finally build a life with me? He is my guide, my teacher, and I suppose once he has taught me his lesson, he must leave me to truly live it. Still, I feel the loss so deeply, I cannot imagine any other emotion comparing.

This is when I question the flow of time. How can I feel such a blissful high, deep depression, and quiet understanding of my lives all at once? It is almost too much, and as quickly as it came, I am left feeling empty in its absence. My youthful reality fades away, leaving my with the shell of the person I have become. I can imagine what he saw that night, rosy cheeks and bright eyes with full breasts, wide hips, and sweeping curves. My auburn hair fell in rings down my back and he used to spend hours wrapping the ends idly around his fingers. I have worn away in my depression. Now I am thin and pale, my hair a dead, flat brown, and my eyes almost lifeless. I am a shade, a walking body going through the motions, but not much longer. Soon I will leave this world and I can only hope I shall see him one last time.

Walking yet again to the window, I can see nothing past the thick darkness. My physical consciousness wonders about this life. Where am I? England. What year is this? Late 1800s. 1916. I sigh and slowly let this life fade, leaving my alone in my bed to replay these scenes over and over again.

It is only at this point that a sudden realization takes over every fiber of my being. When we were together, during our release, I thought I had cried out. I give myself to you… It plays again and again because something is not right. It conjures the memory of me giving my soul to my love just a few years ago. Can my lives be so similar? But then, the truth of what happens slams into me. I felt those words cross my mind, but it was not my lips that spoke. It was his. My heart stops for a moment and I reel with this realization. It was his gift of self to me. Why is this so significant? At this moment, I do not understand the necessity of knowing this, but in time it will be revealed.

I do not believe in coincidences.