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Deux Ex Machina

A thought expressed in the voice of Jason

 

"I'm sorry I'm late," I apologized, extending a bouquet of flowers to her. She, who stepped aside walking towards a Mercedes-Benz that came along, gave a derisory look saying, "Just don't bother anymore." To the last word, the car sped off, leaving me wondering 'since when did she requite that love...that kiss to a man old enough to be her father? Since when have I become an-other man to her?' Enraged but feckless, a debate churned in my mind, 'Talk about philosophy or talk about love,' I muttered, storming my way into the room, 'or maybe love's philosophy... oh, whatever.'

I was too indignantly hurt to think of anything else. I resigned, 'love is stupid. You meet, you split, then you are hurt. It ain't worth it. It ain't worth it at all. Yet it's an inevitable evil that keeps coming and you can't escape it! .'

Chains of smoke released into the room choked me. The cool weather outside mixed with a soft ballad seemed to take me away-for a while only. Now, I'm bitten and my mind is tormented. I must forget her....I can't. Tequila is over; one of the floor and the other in my hand, rotating. What's that? She is holding my hand? It's impossible. The game is over and I've lost. Now what?! Wait a minute. What am I seeing? This is an ideal world of dreams. Here, pieces of broken dreams conjures systematically the way you want it. You can cut a little, add a little, sharpen it, or polish it. You can even erase the inappropriate and draw a completely new picture. The potential is vested in you. YOU ARE THE ARTIST. CREATE YOUR WORK. I was trying to fit the missing pieces until I was taken as one. From a distance, it is a 'perfect' art where the clouds embrace the merging waters accentuated by the melodious voices of the birds. Sitting upon a rock, I stared at the wide open space. Then, I heard a concerned voice saying, "Sir, be careful. You might fall in." It has been ages since I heard those words...that mild tone. It ceased to exist in my house. In fact, I wonder if it ever did.

It seems I know this girl some time back. Did I not read a few pages of her history?...those tacit scars of pain? I think I've read it all, seen it all. Is it not she whose father walked away with the other woman for wealth? Is it not that her mother abandoned her recklessly? Is it this unfortunate waif who, in her growing years, questioned, "Why all this happened? Why me? Am I worth nothing?" And then, knowing well that they would never return, she only wishes to see them -- from a distance!

 

"It hurts when love begets nothing. It hurts even more when you are placed in this world as a special child only to find yourself becoming nothing, becoming insignificant. Made such by time and the interaction of spiritual forces, you hear Shakespeare's 3 witches chant, "All is fair and fair is foul." Yet in your heart, you comfort, 'There is a God up there.' The battle is tough and hard, but you must win it. Look inside, your heart is bleeding. The wounds are so many, I can't even count, but from your mouth words proceed, 'God gives me His grace.' Tell me, who taught you to say this so I may tell myself? Gnashing teeth and burning hatred, I would, if I dare, say, 'Life is cheap.

Coup de grace, death evens everything. Maybe once, maybe twice, oh many a deal; it's a blow on my face, an arrow in my heart.

I'd be torn from within, wish someone would touch my wound, and from my mouth, words proceedth not in calm surrender --God gives me His grace." "I wish I could explain. I wish I could answer every question on your mind...in my mind. Friend, I don't comprehend why fatal things happen in this uncertain life. I'd like to know, I have no answer, but I know there is God. Perhaps, when I die, this will be my first question I'd ask. I am a human being with similar emotions. Many, many a times I feel living in the dead world is far better than this mortal life. This is everyone's emotional chemistry in moments of agony. I'm sure I am not the only one. It is not in my power to know everything."

"I know so little about you, yet I've learnt so much from you. Indeed, you are strong and you must go on." "That's what I keep telling myself. That's what you and I must do...GO ON. You fall, I pick you up. Someone else falls, go on, pick them up. They'll know you care for them...you love them." I chuckled. Love? Please, my memory, don't revive it. Love blinds and then tears you apart. If love is love, then why are homes broken? Why do you and I need someone to hold our hands. It is not the same person you love..." "But it's not the same love that hurt you." I'm silenced. "Look afar. What do you see?" "Well lots of people. Their mouths are constantly moving, probably each one is excited to say something new first."

"No. I just returned from there. They are not sharing. They are bickering. From a distance, all the confused noises, everything, seems tranquil. The tears of an infant is the same as the tears of an adult.... tears of hurt, wound, unlove. Love, a four-letter word which is both adjective and verb, depending on how you see it, how to treat it, and which way you go. Someone said that life and love are synonomous -- to love is to live and to live is to love. It is about who you hurt and who you lift. It is about using your life to touch others in a special way. So, the day you find the reason to stay, you will find love; the time you feel the need to do something to make the reason stay, you are love; and the moment you set your life to die for that reason, it is LOVE."

She got up to leave. Where? I don't know. I wanted to ask, but my eyesight became cloudy. On clearing, she had already disappeared into oblivion. Trrring.....the phone rang. Wow! I've been sleeping too long. My head still hurts. "Whose on the phone, mom?" I asked...oh, it's her. It's been awfully long time since I heard from her. She is someone I met when I was in high school...someone who lifted me up. A while later, the radio played:

From a distance, the world looks blue and green and the snow-capped mountains white, From a distance, the ocean meets the stream and the eagle takes to flight, From a distance, we are instruments marching out into the land playing songs of love, playing songs of peace, playing songs of every man..... 

Contributing Writer: May Young - Hi. I'm working in the healthcare sector in quality assurance. I'm in Bangalore. I have keen interest in reading, writing, photography, trekking, and music. I believe that all of us have talent, which, when used, can make a difference in the world, or at least, in someone's life. The choice is ours. My writings are usually from personal experiences. melodyyoung@lycos.com  


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