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Life Alight

Unfolding life's mysteries with poetry, photography & ramblings

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sadness

Not Human

Can’t feel
The difference
Between reality
Between day dreams
Made to cure reality.

Am I here?
Am I lost?
Selfish to share my sadness
Selfish to keep it to myself

Your personal battles matter
Mine are the same story over
Redundant, ‘Oh well’, move on.

Judge me forget me
Need me, use me.
All the same now
Not like I am human.

Just a portrait of
What you need me to be.

By Khushbo
Copyright @Lifealight 2017

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Oh Wise Tree

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

-Hermann Hesse, Baume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

Love is Simple

One night I met a the embodiment of love itself.
A simple man, regular, old and happy.
I wondered at his plainness.
So I asked, what was love after all?

“Innocence”, he said, “Innocence is my nourishment,
I reside in the eyes of every soul willing to hold me
Fearless of the anguish of my departure,
For to not hold me would be a greater torment.

Endless is the search for the seeker full of fear.
To embrace me is to embrace the pain of my demise.
The games you play lead you further away with every
Choice of deception you make.

I lie not in the songs of your lover,
But in the glisten of her eyes, in the crinkle of her smile.
In the unspoken givings of lovers,
When does the sun speak of love to the life it creates?

Join the dance between two opposites
Those of joys and losses;
Those of felicity and sadness.
Just as life embraces its imminent march to an end.

Timeless is love that worries not of its demise.
Light as the breeze, joy of every petal it touches.
Loudest as time slows for the twirling dervish,
Whirling to the tunes orchestrated by the cosmos.

Oh seeker, love is simple,
Love is every breath you take,
It sits between the lips of your smiles
the joy in your eyes.

Orchestrated  by the universe
Carrying the weight of complications
The size of stars,
All but for one deep breath;
One simple smile.”

By Khushbo
@Lifealight 2016

I Confess

It is true. I have felt pain. Pain is a deep felt emotion. Not many of us can escape it.  Those that claim not to know it, I am convinced, are either pretending it doesn’t exist or have a couple of “emotional” screws missing. Why the confession? My blog’s theme seems to be centered around the idea of “light”, “love”, “hope” and “self acceptance”. Being a reader, aside from a writer I can see how that may come off as extremely cheesy and oblivious to life’s realities, where no one is capable of always being positive, no matter how hard we try. There seem to be tears for everyone. Some more than others.

I have to admit, no emotion brings people closer to each other than this very emotion that we each of us work so hard to drive away; pain. So why do I write about the things that talk not about pain, but life and light? I write mostly positive things because they are true, just as the pain is true. It is the true contradiction to pain, the ying to the yang. Truth is I started this blog to console myself. So I found all the things that could help Khushbo understand that things would get better, that life is amazing, that life is beautiful and hoped there would be many other souls out there who would need to hear some of the same things. That it would help others as it continued to help me. Channeling the positive side of things is no easy task, especially when you feel a rainbow of emotions you so eagerly desire to express. But you have to stop and wonder, would it help me to continue to feel this way? Am I better for it?

I realize I am still learning this art of re-molding emotions into another form of energy. Choosing one thought over another as it is simply put. (Overly simplified in my opinion).

My message to readers, don’t apologize, don’t feel ashamed of how you feel and when you feel it. It makes us normal these juxtapositions of life in sadness and in happiness.

And if you ever feel completely lost, realize you are not alone! I am with you, lost. Yet I assure you we will both make it farther faster than everyone else!

Smile for me, please 😉

Love,
Khushbo

In the Morning of Life

the morning of life 2
Picture By: Khushbo

In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown,
And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin,
When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own,
And the light that surrounds us is all from within;
Oh, it is not, believe me, in that happy time
We can love as in hours of less transport we may: —
Of our smiles, of our hopes, ’tis the gay sunny prime,
But affection is warmest when these fade away.

When we see the first glory of youth pass us by,
Like a leaf on the stream that will never return;
When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high,
First tastes of the other, the dark flowing urn;
Then, then is the moment affection can sway
With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew;
Love nursed among pleasures is faithless as they,
But the Love born of sorrow, like sorrow, is true!

In climes full of sunshine, though splendid their dyes,
Yet faint is the odour the flowers shed about;
‘Tis the clouds and the mists of our own weeping skies
That call the full spirit of fragrancy out.
So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth,
But ’tis only in grief true affection appears; —
And even though to smiles it may first owe its birth,
All the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears.

– Thomas Moore

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