Beginning Again

It’s been quite some time, eh?

Time.

My struggles at understanding time still continue. Sometimes I think Time is God.

No end. No beginning. Just Vastly Continuous. Consuming, Creating Life and everything else. And maybe, somewhere down the road, the hope of reparation.

But, this is not why I fail to distiinguish God and Time. No.  The reason for that is, that both Time and God are perhaps the only thing that although shared so explicitly with everyone, are also perhaps the most closest things to us.

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A thousand thoughts are running through my head right now. Constant distraction. And even though words seem to be trickling grudgingly slow, I feel like I need to write.

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I’ve never felt good about beginnings. A year ago, the explanation for that may have been an excuse filled with bullshit and lies.

No lying now.

It is because I’ve never been good at them.

Relationships. Schools. Writings. And the dreaded “Fresh Starts”. None of them began the way they were supposed to. None of them ended the way they were supposed to either.

But Maybe I’m wrong

Maybe, I’m looking at the picture from a different end, the darker pessimistic one. Maybe, the reason beginnings frighten me is because they lead to endings that are completely different from what I make up in my mind, never in a “good” way.

Maybe, beginnings are so scary because you can control when they happen, but not the eventuality of them leading to an end. An ending, which is seldom what you imagine.

But isn’t that the beauty of it all?

The beauty of being able to select what matters and what doesn’t, from this Vast, Dreadful, Majestic Continuity.

Yes, you can not control how things end but maybe, that is perhaps the reason it is called the End. Because what follows is completely Divergent. Because everything that happened before ceases to matter.

Isn’t that the beautify of Time’s vast continuity?

That as soon as you cross that point in time when things end, Things Begin. And as long as Time exists, You can never run out of beginnings.

Yes sometimes they may be followed by frightening, dreadful endings that may loom upon your existence forever. Haunting you in lonely nights.

Yes, at some point it may feel almost useless to “Begin” again.

But as long as every beginning is followed by an ending, there is hope.

Not the kind of hope that blinds people, making them chase things that don’t exist.
Not the hope that refuses to accept our helplessness against eventualities.

No. The Hope, that somewhere in this mighty chaotic unrest, we have some control. Control over what matters to us. Control over standing at the edge of en ending and refusing to be frightened of Beginning again. Control over accepting the presence of this unrest, but rejecting the fear that comes attached.

And at the end, isn’t that what matters most.

So, here I am. Standing at the edge of another beginning.

Another beautifully chaotic ending, awaiting.

Somewhere trying to control what happens in between..

Until then,

Truly Yours

Chasing Tragedies

The Tragedy of Life

What is the tragedy of life?

Death? No.
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Have you ever wanted something? I’m not asking about your life aspirations. No, far from that. The simplest wants, or perhaps the most complex. Wanting someone to talk to. Wanting your parents to acknowledge your aspirations. Wanting to let your anger out. Wanting that special someone to see you for who you are. Wanting a friend. Wanting support. Wanting to get what you want. But we don’t always get what we want, right?

Death is not the tragedy. I’ve always felt it foolish to despise death. It is the escape, the Majestic End. No story is glorious without its end. Sometimes I feel that the reason we’ve come to hate death, or be saddened by its eventuality, is because we don’t want our story to end. Why? Because we want glory, and we don’t get it.

This is the great tragedy. The great divide.

The hollow that exists between what you want and what you get. The reason that has perpetuated the human race. The Chase. Reaching a point only to realize that the hollow is as it was. Empty.

There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who have come at peace with this constant deprivation. And those who haven’t. Even though we may be led to think that they differ. They don’t.

Everyone dies eventually. And logic will dictate that if you cannot fathom the notion of ending, like it’s supposed to be; an eventuality, than perhaps there exists a reason for not facing the truth.

Wanting and not getting. The Tragedy of life.