Intimations of Power

Everything's natural, in my opinion, but not everything's right. Not everything is a good path, nor a path to success. The only golden-bricked road lies in realizing one's limitations. It lies in staring at your ego in the face and declaring that you are not its monkey, ready to jump through hoops at its behest. For the biggest slave is he who is not free of himself. You can be standing at the gallows, your neck being chaffed in a thick noose, and yet you can be free if you're not a captor of your own being. You can taste from the goblet of freedom...if you can wrestle it away from yourself.

The biggest wars are not fought between countries, nations or people. The fiercest wars rage within oneself, bloodless and yet as vicious as swirling tornados. He who can come out the better in a fight against himself can rule the world. The ironic thing is that he will have no desire to.

Power lies not in worshipping one's strength, but in looking at one's weaknesses in the eye, in grimly accepting their existence, and in either vanquishing them or going around them. When somebody stands on the edge of a field laden with landmines, it does him precious little good to scamper across it with his eyes tightly shut. If he's lucky, he won't even hear the explosion that blows his face in. If he's really unlucky, he'll lie writhing in agony, staring at a bloody stump where a leg used to be. But if he's wise, he'll know that he's in bloody deep shit even as he stands on the edge of the minefield, rubbing his clammy palms against his dusty khakhi pants. And with that knowledge comes power. Great power. With that power comes hope. Hope and eventually freedom.

Did you hear of the ostrich that buried its head in a landmine? It was the first recorded flight of an ostrich, all zillion pieces of it. Pity it only lasted a second, before the parts of the bird that weren't vaporized came splattering back down.

The best teacher that one can find actually hides within oneself. It's hard as frying the meat of an old camel to get him to come out and do his job, but it can be done. Slowly yet surely, it can be done, the same way a bag o' bones can buff up at the gym. When the time is right, your teacher will come out, his old british hat cocked to one side and his monocle hanging from a chain. He always does, when he decides it's time to crack the old knuckles and give a merry heave-ho.

And when he does come out, the war in my mind will start dying down. The sounds of swords rattling will fade, and both armies will fall down to the ground, exhausted, each a victor and each the defeated. He'll be the only one standing in the middle of the battlefield, surveying the sight of fallen soldiers around him with one hand on his hip and the other holding a cigar, and he'll say in a perfect british accent, "I say, what was all the fuss about? I can't seem to understand." And I know when he says that, I'll be at a loss for words. I won't have any answer for him, because no answer will exist.

I hear a knock on my door.

Shit, I think he's here. Put your toys away, boys!

The Weather In Boston

I think the weather in pretty much the whole of New England has been Father Winter's idea of a joke...except it ain't that funny. I bet he's sitting up there, rubbing his palms and ho-ho-hoing like santa claus at his own handiwork. Well, laugh it up, jackass...you'll get yours someday.

For those of you aren't in the know, here are the sequence of events that happened a few days ago. Look at them, and I think you'll agree that they can't be anything other than an evil, malicious and highly irritating plan.

First...: it snows all damn day...and I'm talking like 6-8 inches here. I see snowplows running around the city like crazed banshees trying to get the damn stuff off the road. Of course, in doing so, they turn all sidewalks into mini-replicas of Mount Washington

Then...: the snow turns into rain. A good thing? The temperature's going up you say? Well yeah, except you're forgetting that there's six inches of snow on the ground already. Result? Rain and snow have a little rendezvous together, getting all nicely mixed up and turning into...slush.

Finally...: and this one's a riot, folks...when the snow and rain combo could not be any messier, the temperature suddenly plummets like a plane out of fuel, dropping into sub-sub-zero regions. The whole city freezes over! All that slush turns into ice! You see? You see??? How can that not be a plan??

Anyway, the whole of New England is a huge ice pond. Hell, you could skate to work if you were crazy enough to. Maybe it'll stay this way a little longer and we can host the next ice olympics in boston...in the middle of the frocking street.

Hehe...I'm not as mad as I make it sound...it's not that bad actually. Honestly.

Except it is. *Shakes fist at Father Winter, making a silent wish that his beard gets caught in a lawnmower*

Dreams Never Lie

This is just a doodle, but now that I think about it, it could probably serve as the start to a fantasy story...
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It was one of those days. A day where lights were supposed to guide you home, and yet all you could see was crouching darkness. Ashley fumbled in her bag pack for a torch, groping around blindly past the loose sheets crowding around in there. No torch. She groaned.

"Shit," she whispered under her breath, pulling her hand out sharply and putting her finger into her mouth. She sucked on it. Of all the moments in the world to get a damn paper cut! She shifted her weight, and suddenly, the floor creaked and swayed. She froze, her heart suddenly thumping like a rabbit's foot. The creaking slowed down, and eventually, the floor stopped rocking.

"Gently now," she said. She allowed herself to exhale, and her breath shuddered softly as she let it out. "No sudden movements." She felt around again for her bag, slowly extending her fingers in front of her until they closed around the soft canvas. She pulled it towards her. "Please Uncle Tom, if you love me and you can hear me, let me find the flashlight before the whole treehouse falls to the ground!"

As if hearing her, the wind sighed outside, almost teasingly, reminding her quietly that it could topple the tree house with one lungful of air. She began searching the compartments of the bag again, caressing her fingers against its nooks and crannies. The leaves of the tree rustled, softly whispering against the bark of the tree. Ashley looked at the starlight outside the window of the treehouse as her hands did their work. She wished to high heaven she were in open air right now, instead of sitting three stories high in pitch darkness. She tried to imagine what Aunt Emily had simmering merrily on the stove. It was probably pot roast. Thursdays were always pot roast, except last Thursday, when the butcher was having a meat shortage, and Aunt Emily had wound up cooking beans and mashed potatoes. Ashley had wondered how on earth the butcher could have run out of beef. Had all the nearby cows gone on vacation or something?

"Got it!" She whispered excitedly, her fingers closing in around the cold plastic shaft. She turned it on with a click, and suddenly the whole hut erupted into a dull halogen glow.

The wind was getting stronger now, and Ashley heard the soft patter of raindrops falling against the roof of the treehouse. The roof wouldn't last very long...it was made of thatches of hay that hadn't been replaced in ages. Ashley knew she should get her rear end out of there before the wood started getting soggy. But she also knew she wouldn't leave...couldn't leave...until she had found what she was looking for.

She and Sam had built the treehouse years ago with Uncle Tom, but both of them had stopped playing in it after Uncle Tom died. The treehouse reminded her of Uncle Tom too much, and besides, Sam started telling her stories of how Uncle Tom's ghost had moved into the treehouse after he'd died. He claimed he had heard Uncle Tom humming his favorite tune in there, and one day, he'd even smelt tobacco, the same kind Uncle Tom used to smoke in his pipe. She knew Sam was lying, and even if Uncle Tom's ghost had come back, well, it wouldn't hurt her now would it? She was Uncle Tom's little girl, after all. Even so, she came to the treehouse less and less frequently after that. It was no fun without Uncle Tom. One day, she stopped coming all together.

Until now.

Ashley swivelled the beam of her flashlight around. Outside, a fresh peal of thunder boomed, and the rain started falling faster, smacking against the hut in sheets. She got up, knowing the treehouse was going to fall any minute now. "A little longer," she whispered. "It's got to be here! I know it does! Dreams never lie! It's got to be here!"

And suddenly, as she moved the light past a corner of the treehouse, something glittered there. Barely able to contain herself, she moved slowly, almost cat-like towards it. The treehouse started groaning again, but she pressed on, her lips whispering a verse from the Bible that Aunt Emily had taught her as a child. Finally, she reached the corner, and lifted the object to her eyes. At first, she was unable to believe what she was seeing. And then, a tear rolled down her face. A happy, joyous tear.

"Dreams never lie, do they, Uncle Tom?" She said, and her voice was soft with love and remembrance. "You can hear me, can't you? I found your lost ring! After all these years, I found your lost ring! And you showed me where it was!"

She got up and slowly walked to the door of the house, carefully climbing onto the rope ladder. On her way down, she paused, and looked into the black mouth of the treehouse. "I'm going to go home now Uncle Tom," she said firmly. "I'm going to go home and sleep, and you'd better come back to me in a dream!" Her face was drenched in a mixture of rain and tears, and her voice broke as she said, "You'd better come back, because I miss you so much!"

She looked down and started descending the ladder. The treehouse groaned and creaked again, and then fell into a hushed silence.

The Lens of Perception

Have you ever realized that we don't really live in a real world? Actually, let me qualify that - the world around us is as real as reality. The image of the world in our minds, however, is generated after we perceive it through our five (and for some lucky folk, six) senses, and interpret what we perceive. Everything we soak in from around us - colors, odors, the touch of a loved one - goes through the lens of our minds before it becomes available to us as "the world" we live in. I think it's no understatement to say that we really do live in a virtual world. That's why everybody looks at things differently, has their own viewpoints, and so on.

Now let's talk a bit about that lens, shall we? The way our mind interprets what it perceives is based on, literally, a chaotic number of things. Our lens is shaped as we grow by childhood events, thoughts, reactions to thoughts, new thoughts spawned by old thoughts, bad memories, good memories...quite literally everything under the towering roof of the solar system. I personally think that this is why every person is different from the other. We've all gotten our lens shaped differently, because we've all lived different lives. and our perception of reality - the shadow of the world in our minds - differs from each other. Think about it this way - if our perception of the world were somehow absolute, the psyche of every human being would essentially be exactly the same!

So this lens is what plays the lead role in the old cliche of a glass being half-full or half-empty. My main point here - and this does not come from me but from many close people I've had endless discussions with - that it is possible to change this perception if you really want to. It is possible to change yourself, to change the way you respond to things. I've seen people do it, believe me, and it is not the easiest thing in the world, by far. I'm not fool enough to come out and say, oh don't worry, just will it and things will change overnight. There's no miracle here - no parting of the seas in your mind. It takes time, patience and hard work, but it can be done. I've seen it being done, damn it. I've seen people change right in front of me, with nothing but their determination and free will.

Now you may ask, why is it so hard? Have you ever tried to kick a habit? It's impossible as hell, isn't it? Chewing nails, blinking your eyes too hard, cracking your joints...all of these are nightmares to give up, because they happen unconsciously. Now imagine a thought you are trying to give up - a mental habit if you will. Sounds daunting? It is. At least with habits of the body, it takes a second or two to bring your nails to your mouth. With mental habits, there's no motion, no click, no poof of smoke. It just happens. Thoughts just morph.

And that's why it is so hard. And that's why, when armed with this knowledge, a person can give up a bad thinking habit - can correct his lens of perception like a self-appointed optometrist. They say, after all, that you should keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

I've always thought all my life that I am just the way I am. I can't change myself or the dependence on my emotions. At one point - and here's a crazy thought - I used to think that nobody is a sinner. Everybody has a reason for committing a sin. Imagine somebody who's neck-deep in poverty's mire, who hasn't eaten in three days, and is standing outside the window of a bakery. The only thing that separates him from a loaf of bread is a sheet of glass. Don't you think his fantasies would revolve around the sweet sound of that window shattering? Why should he be a sinner if he steals food to feed himself? Where is his fault in the grand scheme of things? This is something I couldn't reconcile in Islam either. Why does Islam have punishments and "absolute" sins for everything?

But then I realized two things. The first thing is that Allah has given us all free will, albeit to an extent qualified by him. The second is that if everybody were dependent on their whims and emotions, society would plummet into chaos and anarchy. Looking at it another way, if I turn my above argument about sins around, if Allah had not given us free will over our emotions, we would not be to blame for sinning, and He, Magnanimous that He is, would not have been cruel enough to have such harsh punishments. It's only because we do have free will that we also have the ability to control our emotions and our lens of perception.

Refreshing thought? Not as much as I'd think, actually. Because now, I can't keep blaming everything I do wrong on my emotions.