run-a-tum

 

Since I was young

I am on the run

Now, more old,

I am still running,

so I am told

 

I ran away from that,

that ran towards me

Upon reflection, I can see

how I was getting lost

in loneliness and fear

and rejecting even that,

that was dear

 

Running is my freedom

from the prison of my fate,

and the buried past

which keeps a live debate

and reminds of something

which stayed behind

Now I speed along malaligned

 

Running is my surname

Loss and pain, a restless brain,

a song  in minor

with a sad refrain

Sometimes a tear in private

often I am running with disquiet

 

A constant fear to be too late

Imagine dreams thus escape?

The death of me is any wait

Therefore, night and day

I follow and obey

Running is my way,

bluffing also is okay

 

I run even though

my running days are done

But,

some say it looks like tumbling now

’cause all my pose is gone

 

The further that I disappear

the happier I be, — I think

But, there are teardrops in my ink

as happiness runs too,

from the one who runs

from you

 

Running, — my escape

towards a destination called ‘Away’

Tumbling, a persuasive way

to stay and not forsake

 

*Picture credit: The Emoji Movie

 

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Who do I salute?

We are clueless and lost and come up with nothing to resolve the issue.
It is the fiasco in the Middle East I am talking about.

Like so many of us, I just don’t want to hear about it anymore.
I am so disillusioned with ‘Talks’ and ‘Coalitions’ and statements of more aggression and increased military action.

I am absolutely stumped that ‘an eye for an eye’ is all the ‘intelligent’ world can come up with to root out this evil that is invading our ‘free’ world.

Endless criticising without proposing a solution is as frustrating to me as any loudmouth shouting.

There are statesmen puppets that will do what their puppeteers decide. Other leaders think they gain stature by tough talk and muscle flexing and violent action. Others again only know how to follow the lead dog(s) or are driven by pain and loss and retaliate in blinding hurt.

But what if psychologists could analyse the weak spots of these offending fanatic fundamentalists and come up with proposals to swing them our way by using subtle means?
What about a ‘propaganda coalition,’ where instead of destructive bombs we drop irresistible temptations on our enemies. With every item we drop we could suggest, – in every language, shape and size, – how good our world is and how screwed up theirs is. We could encourage them to defect and welcome them with open arms, give them jobs, use their skills and will-power and create an awesome future for all of us instead.

In our hatred we think that extermination is the answer. I am sure it is a good feeling to retaliate with all the might of our insane destructive devices. But, we are not solving the issue. The problem is in the minds of those people. We need to address their mind. We have to entice them, weaken their belief and wean them off the breast they falsely believe leads to a blissful world.
We have to work on the psyche of our enemy. How better to do it but to bombard them with information and objects that are certain to sway them in our direction. You cannot tell me that a soldier of the evil forces does not sit down sometimes dreaming of another life: a life of security, enough food, family, fun, peace and happiness. But, we drop bombs and shoot and act like the madmen they are just with a different uniform.

The combined knowledge of humanity: from China to Russia, India, Europe and America can surely come up with a way to defeat this enemy. With so many experts and lateral thinkers a psychological solution, a ‘propaganda assault,’ – bombs filled with sweets and chocolate and delectables and perhaps some wine too, books and notes and electronic devices capturing the imagination of our adversaries, – would surely win us this war?
Those embittered ones left behind will have a broken back and no more power to affect anything.
Why don’t we influence the minds of our foes so they can’t sleep anymore and they are left with one desire: to cross over into our camp and enjoy our lifestyle and our freedom.

Those who get this right are the ones I salute and respect. The rest of the fighting force, – no matter how skilled and versatile these modern gladiators are, targeting lives with their deadly machinery, – they don’t impress me one iota.

what would Freedom say

Wolkberg
I didn’t know it then but when I was a young boy I had immense freedom:
I was free of worry because everything I required was taken care of;
I lived in a quiet place on a hill, away from the city, with nature at my door and neighbours far away;
I spent time outside, – not inside exploring some technological wonder like an iPhone or TV or such, because we had none of that, bar an old crackly valve radio;
There was peace in my life, others around me made sure of that and shielded me as much as possible from the turbulence of life and its tragedies.

As I grew up Freedom retained its core importance in my life. It took on new facets like responsibility and conscience. It wasn’t always easy to be free as life got busy. Often it felt that the default was being ‘not free.’
From having had immense freedom, pure freedom, freedom to be myself within a very loose framework of upbringing, every ounce of that freedom now had to be fought for.
My deep love for Freedom has been a guiding thread all my life. When I felt as if something was encroaching on my freedom I would deal with it. That voice of Freedom inside me would become quite loud and demanding. Like when I took stuff I should have rather left alone. Or when I felt the roof was caving in over my head and I had to escape.

But, even the voice of Freedom must have gotten tired along the way because another voice far cleverer, knowing everything much better, assumed governance over my affairs. It used something called logic. Not logics logic, but my super-logic, and my super-logic stipulated that if something makes money then Freedom is out of the equation. That ‘it’ was of course my ‘brilliant’ mind. For a while it even seemed to really be brilliant. The reason for that deduction was simple. Money gave ‘freedom.’ However on closer inspection the ‘more money’ actually led me to mortgage my freedom in return. In my flawed business model of life the more I wanted the greater my dedication to being a prostitute in my business became. One side effect was that I built up this non-caring, ‘mercenary’ attitude as long as it served my purpose. It also created an unbearable discomfort in the background. Freedom never actually gave up its claim over me. It was so deeply engrained from early on that it was part of me. My craving for freedom grew proportionately to the amount I ignored it. It expressed its desire to be acknowledged by stepping on its own accelerator and that had the label of ‘extreme’ pasted over it. Oh boy, now I was in for a ride and a half as that desire sought fulfilment in adventure. Naturally drawn towards adventure in any case, Freedom knew exactly what buttons to press. These buttons did not come cheap either and so a cycle started that eventually had to find an exit point.

To be free is my natural way of being. I shouldn’t even have to insist on it. My spirit wants to soar and has to be free to maintain sanity. But how do I regain that freedom from that ball and chain around my spirit?
The answer as always is simple. The path to the answer however was a maze. Determined to find one, even despair was no permanent obstruction for Freedom to triumph.
I looked at the issues that bother and burden me: like an ex that did something or my fasting bank account. Then I go and meditate, creating the picture of the issues to the vision of the thought, “I am free.” Now I did it. I said it. I declared my intent and I might have to reiterate once or twice but the issues have been shown the door.

Whatever it is that obstructs the very core of myself to function as per ‘design,’ it needs to be exposed. In the process it helps to be honest with myself.

To me the question not to forget is, “What would Freedom say?”