Turning the page

Two of our best pathologists and teachers were honored and thanked at a small get together organized by all of us appreciative residents, a few days before they both packed their things and moved away, to a place that would hopefully treat them better.

Not that we didn't treat them well. We did and we loved them very much. Matter of fact, we are the one thing they will miss the most, they said. But "we" have no say in anything. We endure. We sit there, hands tied, teeth clenched, smothered and muzzled, as we sadly observe our beautiful hand-crafted mosaic of a world, crumble back to nothing.

MJ, one of the two, had been around this institution for most of his life. This was his home. His shelter. The one place where he learned everything he knew, where he taught everything he learned, where a single unfortunate incident completely and permenantly transformed his existence.
He, these buildings and this soil, became one. His name was on the walls and the desks, not written in ink, but stamped in sweat and blood.
And to top everything off, he had just bought a house, less than 6 months ago, because he was tired of his condo, and because he had a girlfriend now.

Yet he left.

In a snap.

The news was earth-shattering. All were in shock. As was I. But when afflictions are great, lukewarm and diplomatic interventions become sadly inadequate.

And here we remain, standing, alone, yet fiercely holding on to the shadows of our fleeting dreams.

Pages were turned, some for the better, some for the worse. And our page was turned for us. Yet the upcoming chapter is not one to look forward to.
Sad is the fate of those who can see the storm looming on the horizon, and yet can only sit and wait for it to come and destroy them and what they own.

Sad is the fate of those who want to but can not.

Blessed are those who are able to just sit, and accept.

A day not starting

Why is it that getting out of bed in the morning does not necessarily mean that your day has taken off...
It is a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning, sporadically interrupted by bouts of light feathery rain, the likes of which Nashville constantly carries throughout the year.
In my recently bought and furnished condo, I sit behind this screen trying to share my thoughts and words with people I don't know. People who might not be even there. People who probably aren't. It's okay, though. The laptop is listening and that's good enough for me. For now.

Sweet Sunday morning of my life.

In the background plays my kind of music, very rhythmical, very refreshing and yet somewhat nostalgic tunes, imported from Cuba and Africa, and random places in between, islands drifting in the Atlantic, villages forgotten and lost, tribes and people with roots, who live. Who truly live.

Have we forgotten who we are?

Have we any realization of what we have become?

Internet browsing, channel hopping, cell phone babbling, SUV riding, fashion wearing, lie uttering, money worshipping, drug shooting, mass killing, self-destructing creatures of vanity and deceit.
I wonder how all this came about. Is our destiny carved and hardwired in our genes? Can goodness be genetically engineered? Is God a genetically engineered superbeing of goodness, who took control of time and space and just wanted to find out who his parents actually were and how he came to being?

I don't think so. And it doesn't really matter.
Where we're heading is known. Where I'm heading is not.

It's a beautiful alternatively sunny and rainy Sunday morning, and I am tentatively fueling my muscles and bones with anger and frustration, maybe then I will finish what I set myself up for 29 years ago or so.

Maybe who I am will end up being who I desire to be.

Maybe then, Sunday mornings will finally change for the better.

Surprisingly still around..

I am getting ready to sleep for 8 hours, 8 long and beautiful hours of inexistence. I hope I won't have to dream tonight. I need the emptiness.
The nothingness. The silence.
I need a world without me for sometime.
I also need a me without a world.
Maybe.
Until then, 8 beautiful hours of sleep.
Come on.
It's there and It's waiting.
Let's go before it's too late.

The door is open..

Here I am. I am tired of wishing I had more time to write. I have time. It's here on my desk somewhere. So anyway, I will find time and I will write. And I will say it all just the way it will come to me. Phrases or words. Sense or nonsense. Fragments of dismantled logic. Turmoils of emotion. Anything. Everything. I don't care. Take whatever you want and leave the rest. No matter how little you will take and how much you will leave behind, the load will be lighter and the journey more likely to be completed on time.