Sermon on Faith (Both Good and Bad)

Faith in a belief that is borne out not too well in the fast world becomes eventually a principle for this brief passage.

Dealing with Depression / Do you believe in true love ?

An aphorism on the Internet had pronounced
"We hear the melody when happy;
we hear the lyric when not"
INCOMPLETE ....
the happy tune of course plays happily
and with us when we are happy;
the sad song brings the sad news
of our sadness like pieces of headlines or trenchant op-eds;
its melody haunts

but for completeness ...
a sad song is sometimes acknowledged when happy;
a happy song is like an unbecoming mirage
that our eyes hear through the mist
when they are sad.

Look at me, even sadness
has become a thesis of an emotion.

Perhaps then, sadness is born
in the gap of love and love's-lost.

If so true, it soon follows that
true sadness born in the gap of true love and love's-lost
will have to be borne

Isn't it, my friend ?




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Oct' 13 :

Memory of Ave Maria in Venice

Tears
yet to come,
the day heralded wakefulness.
The divine element everywhere available
Not taken that groggy morning unlike the dewy flowers,
Warm bread's delicious simple first bite,
Strong coffee's quick sharp kick
that day uplifted.

Later
Venice and I pulled us each other,
and the pleasant sun watched us.
So did the speeding train as
I watched the countryside, dozed.

The sea eventually came,
as always cushioning enchantment,
and more this time, not counting
the giant cruisers - a sight in themselves ! -
and us tourists.

Then came the time to cross the bridge and lose oneself
in to a different world unseen and unheard before,
where life was moving an unusual form of usual.

Tears still yet to come,
we walked and felt like adventurers
watching the water taxis,
or that small bridge, which was a glorified door
you could say, or even reaching a dead-end,
and we ate ice-creams like kids,
the sun smiling upon us.

And then
They came out of nowhere.
Or expressed in a rather different way, they were always there
in that Venetian courtyard with the singer
performing a voice practiced to perfection
for pennies. They assumed their perfect shape
for those brief moments, as the song flowed outwards
from somewhere deep inside him, that all the rest felt silent.
All around me fallen to silence, the universe and the voice and the song
swirled upwards in perfect unison and I looked from the side
Silently.  With tears in my hands as an offering
to Beauty that I can only best express
- to spare expression - as stronger than me.

Memory can be recalled at not-impossible costs,
and for that I am thankful.

The tears come and gone,
it became easier to breathe again,
the adventure resumed if it had stopped,
and it continued eventfully
till it culminated in magic -
The orange lights brushing the water softly
in the after-dark to remind
that however mundane something is -
like wooden lamp-posts with shifting bases -
imagination is the key
into almost everything.

Sermon on Faith

Faith is good as a sturdy walking stick. Do not make it a crutch for longer than necessary. Too much use of a crutch will naturally weaken you.