Saintly Journal

the love and life of saintly

He


Been a few days, since I posted something. I am now ugly, my home, a junk yard, my clothes lay scattered, my thoughts go awry and my heart feels painful. I am distant from him. Far too away, a chasm, not even god could fill. Separated not only by the universe that god designed but also the walls and barriers that we design. And life, lost its meaning. Nothing makes sense to me. I mean I was reading Schopenhauerian Aesthetics, reading about satisfaction, elation and the meaning of beauty and form. But it all looked so bland to me. Senseless, hollow, shallow and narrow. Which is rather not true. I tend agree with this philosopher on several existential assertions he made. And this one about aesthetics is seemingly in concordance with my thoughts. Without him, life is stale. A meaningless existence and a purposeless routine. The routine of the Sisyphus, to toil to roll up the wheel on top of the mountain only to let it rollback to the valley.

My muse is absent and that is a big loss for me. He is my inspiration, my respiration and my perspiration. He is the power of my life, the culmination of all that is me. The sum totality of what I did and what I do. I do have  any definitions of values like success, heaven, music, beauty only in relation to him.

Hearing him speak, is like music for my ears. I keep a vigil about the sounds that go around in the air. A sharp watch or a lookout for those fleeting moments, which bring his voice to my ears. Day in day out, I can even be a slave if I can get to hear his voice everyday. When I see him, it is a work of art, the great grand artist, sculpting and painting a symbol of perfection, a symbolism of beauty, virtue, humanity, divinity, spirituality. And when I see him, it is my festival. It is one of those moments, when your angels bless you for all that good that you have ever been. And when talks to me, it is life. It is the very manifest itself, talking a deep interest in my condition, and personified as him, trying to reach out to me. It is a moment when you talk to your maker. He means everything to me.

And today, we spoke for a long long time. A parol in this imprisonment. A reprise in this chore and a moment of artistic satisfaction in an ugly universe, and light in darkness, warmth in this bitter cold winter.

But I cannot have these moments for myself. I can only dream and live out the rest of life, aided by a few moments like these. These moments are the mementos for me, the memoirs of good times and good tidings.  Only these moments make me. The rest are the moments of struggle and conflict to reach these moments.

I am stinking to my self. It is horrible. My clothes are dirty, I am unkempt, my home is a junk yard and my life a mess. But I will today set it back alright again. Some spirit is infused into me, by my guardian angel. It is just that my guardian angel happens to be straight and got a guardian angelic girl friend. And all I do is dream, hope, pray and love him. Only wish my god will bless me with my dreams. But the bright side of life is that he has already blessed me at the least to dream my dreams. Imagine my fate should this blessing not be there.

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