Thursday, September 23, 2010

Of inspirations... and The Inspiring

prologue:
"He felt that he was hardly of the one blood with them but stood to them rather in the mystical kinship of fosterage, fosterchild and fosterbrother."

....

"Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race."


====== A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce=====



My dear S,

I really don't know how best to put this, so you get exactly what I, and most likely others whose lives you have touched (and thereby, and most likely, deeply affected), mean when I(we) say and/or feel, that you are an inspiration. Most people, rather we all, except the most non-human ones- the half-evolved Ape-types who won't lift up their hearts to a fine tune and a peg of old oak-matured whiskey when the sun sets- go through life looking for an understanding of our selves, within the self, and outside. What I mean is, that what makes us human is the human heart; something that cannot be made, cannot be programmed; you cannot write it to a disc, or put it into a chip. The real miracle of evolution; a mere 'pump' that seems to pump more than the fluid running in and out of it's tetra-sectioned tanks! And every heart beats an unique beat, and every beat tells a different story.

But you know, what the problem is? The heart is not a book you can open and read at your pleasure, or a cassette or disc to be played, at the mercy of your whims. And it's language is unique, the symphony is unworldy; the notations cannot be taught. Not all stories are meant for everyone to hear, as the ancient Norse would say. You can only tell your story to one who is meant to hear it. The sooner you come across the one who was meant to hear yours, the better off you are. Once you have had that meeting, your life is never quite the same. And no story is complete unless it has been told, and heard. An untold story is like locked up animal; it strains and struggles and fights to get out, to break free. And it will scratch and dent the cage, and damage it beyond repair. But just letting it out is not enough; you have to let it out where it can be at peace.

So, we go through life, trying to feel at peace. Looking for some way to reinforce that tiny voice inside that tells us to be true to ourselves, that no matter what, our life is ours' to live, and that it'll be alright. Hoping to come across that point in life's highway where someone will tell us, “ hey! That's one hell of a story, and don't worry, you've made it this far! You're gonna write the rest all right.” And that happens only when someone who was meant to hear your story, comes across it. Now, when you find that people have traveled the same road before you, and not lost themselves, have written a similar story and not broken their pen, nor torn their diary, rather have traveled the way, all the way, and is waiting for you to join them on the other side, as their kinsmen, the little voice inside, once timid and squeaky, now roars with delight. And you cannot help but feel that wonderful feeling inside, of gratitude, and encouragement, called inspiration. The ones before you might not have, and most likely did not, set out to do anything extraordinary. They had just done their part, done it well and smiled when the ordeal was over. But all the same, the very fact that they had come before you, and had yet lingered long enough, not faded into oblivion, but have stared the down the road they had traveled without dying on it, was bound to tell you that it can be done, the road can be traveled. Had been traveled before you, will be traveled long after you are dead and gone. They have already become the ones inspiring you to stay on your feet, telling you that the end comes to all. That doesn't matter. What matters is how you meet it, on your feet or on your knees. They are the ones you, we, look up to and feel comforted, because they are Inspiring. The question, whether these people deserve the tag, does not arise. Because they did not ask for it in the first place. As one wise man so wonderfully put, “ Inspiration like much else is something others see in you. For you to accept it or not is irrelevant to them!"

2 comments:

Uncle Srini said...

Wonderfully written - as usual - is all I can say! :) Rest on the phone soonish (maybe ;))! :D

CONFESSIONS OF A HITMAN said...

prologue:
"He felt that he was hardly of the one blood with them but stood to them rather in the mystical kinship of fosterage, fosterchild and fosterbrother."

....

"Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race."

====== A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce=====