To live and to exist

Why am I not gratified when I look around me; the leaves of the trees rusling and moving, turning shades, falling. And the tree, standing tall and formidable all the time.

The birds; hatched from a brittle structure, protected by a paper thin membrane all the while they are being formed. Irony, no? To think that a membrane so unreliably thin can protect you at your most vulnerable period; but it does.

The birds flying, soaring in the sky, some with wings flapping tirelessly, others just glidding in the air and yet others performing strange acrobats, a marvel to behold, a beauty so unmached.

The world would have been a quiter, different place, and the ears lacking a measuring scale for music, had it not been for the songs of the birds.

There are things that please us and there are others that don’t do so and between them we exist, between them we live; between them is the abode of our ultimate friend, the ultimate foe, the one thing we have to stick with even though sometimes we might loathe it, between them is the life.

If life is what I have and would always have as long as I live, why, then, am I not living with my senses intact? Why don’t I observe all the things, the people, the places, the phenomenons, the processes that are co-existing with me; in my little and limitted life?


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