Grief Of Parting. From Prison.

We get so used to the cage that when the door is opened, we are reluctant to fly.

That’s how we are. Lovers of our own imprisonment.
Prisoners of our own making.

Like Clothing.
We have had a second skin on us ever since the time we can remember, that we are uncomfortable with our nakedness even for a few seconds.
When opportunities to commune completely with the elements present themselves, we shun them and keep the barrier of clothes intact.
Even when we change from one attire to another, we do it skillfully in such a way that at no time during the changing are we completely exposed to our own eyes.
Even when we are all alone with no one around us, we cannot bear to see our own body. We quickly grab a piece of cloth and cover up.
How we grimace at nudity and how we love our clothes!

Like death.
How weird that we mourn death!
We forget that this body is a just a trap of flesh. We forget that this world is an illusion, a conjecture. We forget that it’s the birthright of the soul to be liberated.
Instead of feeling relieved that at last this penitential journey is completed, that we are one incarnation closer to salvation, a few more births and then it will be eternal bliss and peace, we try to perpetuate this illusion of a life and weep when the time has come to break free from the fetters of body.

Like love.
It’s that phase where you don’t have to make an effort anymore. To keep his thoughts out of your mind.
The feverishness that made you toss and turn your body and mind is subsiding gradually.
You find yourself thinking about him. But only now and then.
You waited so long that it came to end. Not because you found him but because hope died.
Grief exhausted itself. Thirst spent itself.
You feel quite fine these days actually.

And that what is worrying you.
Because it’s over.
It had given you preoccupation, purpose and anchor for so long. Your life had something and someone to revolve around.
Now that you are going to be liberated, you don’t know where to go, whom to wait for, what to look forward to, what to pray for, what to dream of.

Your heart is set free but it knows not where to go.

It feels so empty inside.
You carried the load for so long that when it was taken off, you feel so light that you wonder if you actually exist.

Getting over a person you loved hurts.
You know it’s good for you.
It wasn’t meant to be. It only meant endless and futile waiting.

But it hurts. You wish
…’pain though it was, may it go on
… may it not leave the heart it dwelt in for so long.’

That’s how we are.
Lovers of our own imprisonment.
Prisoners of our own making.