Enlightenment

Strange are the ways of men.

They spend the first many years of their lives looking ahead, to a bright, glittering future, unaware of the fetters that the mind slowly, but surely, places around their feet.

The fetters grow in weight over time...unseen, but never unfelt.
And, man, unmindful of the weights that bear him down, plods along wearily towards his dreams, one heavy step at a time, often wondering from sheer exhaustion where he has gone wrong.

Some men reach their destinations, sooner or the later, with bleeding feet and a weary soul.
Only to be disappointed to discover that the sheen of the glitzy dream has dulled a tad.
Perhaps, it is the bleeding flesh and iron bound feet that diminishes the joy of achievement.

Others fall by the wayside.
Still wondering what went wrong.
Still oblivious to the fetters biting into their flesh.

But, there are those whose course is altered by life.

I suppose I should call them fortune's favoured ones, for, it is not everyone who is able to emerge stronger, wiser or happier after being walloped over the head by one of life's giant candy stripped cushions.

When you are at the receiving end of a blow, it is a rare man who can stand back to admire the beauty of the candy striped cushion.

For most of us, a blow is a blow is a blow.
It knocks us over.
Punches the wind out of our sails.
Scares the living daylights out of us.
Angers us, warping our soul a wee bit with negativity.
But mostly, it has us scurry for cover to a safe haven, where we can lick our wounds in peace and regain our breath before we resume our wearisome journey.

At times, a blow....well, let's make that a series of blows..lays us so low that we have no choice but to sit awhile and contemplate on the unfairness of life.
And, as we sit lost in our thoughts, weeping for what is not, berating the Gods above for our misfortunes, our sight may perchance fall on the bleeding flesh and the cruel fetters.

This, my friends, is the moment of truth.
When it slowly, but surely, dawns on us that there is no God, Family or Society to present our glittering dreams to us on a silver platter.
There is just us, our dreams and the biting irons on our feet.

It is the moment when we can see, if we so chose, with crystal clarity, what is, what was and what has to be. When we know, with unquestionable certainty, what needs to be done, if we can muster the courage to do so.

The defining moment when we realise that we need, no longer, be the prisoners of our mind, but, can be the architects of our dreams.
If ...and only if, we dare undo the fetters on our feet.

Not the easiest of tasks, I know.

Despite the pain we suffer and the awareness of being restrained, there is a comfort these fetters offer that are born of habit and makes it difficult for us to cast them aside easily. That, and the crippling fear of being a free bird in a world filled with anguished souls groaning under the weight of their foot-cuffs.

For those of us who would dare cast the chains aside, well, be warned, life will not change overnight.
Nor, are there any guarantees of dreams coming true.

The bleeding flesh will hurt long after the irons fall off.
And, temptation to revert to type is strong.

But, in time, the wounds will heal, the scabs will fall, and we will walk on unhindered....faster....without pain,doubt and fear.

We may or may not reach the destinations we dreamed of as young people.
But, arrive we will at our homes.
At the end of a journey, that is well travelled.