So why should I be sad? Confessions of a coffee addict

ImageWhat is

If I am sad, it is not for what might have been, but for what is.

What might have been is of no interest any more. What is to come is, as they say, yet a mystery.

What is, is the source of all sadness for me. What is remains so darkly unknown, so utterly beyond my grasp.

I hear the notes of the music and they pale, fade into nothingness as quickly as they come.

I see the colours of the leaves and the sky and they too are drained and lifeless.

Only the beating of my heart is real, only the in-and-out of breath can take me forward.

The philosopher’s stone is unturned, the lover’s bedclothes unopened.

Only the heart keeps up this constant rhythm and I feel the blood in my wrists flowing like the tides of time.

The fly

The fly sits on the crust of bread, caught in the rays of sunlight flooding in through the open window.

I feel a crumb under my foot.

ImageThere is a buzzing in the garden behind me – bees?

There is a buzzing in my ears – blood pressure?

To know one is alive one must feel the blood seeping through the arteries and veins like a warm flood.

At the base of life there is just one cell and that cell contains the world.

Every thought comes from the leaves and the sky.

And is there love? Is there hope?

No doubt there are voices but their meanings escape me – I cannot catch them, nor do they feed me.

ImageLike a lizard in the sun my body warms from outside instead of from inside.

Hope is a fraud, a word spoken out of desperation to the desperate.

We can know the future – it is exactly like the present.

The eternal rhythm of coming and going, breathing in and out, carrying the weight of the body in the spirit out of which it is born.

And death comes at last like the lizard, quietly, surreptitiously into life in the sun on the garden wall and all begins again.

Beginnings and endings are all illusions.

Only this moment is real with the fly on the crust and the sun through the window, warming my back as the coffee steams next to me with its rich aroma of false enjoyment.

And in the end this moment too is dissolved in the flux, in the passing. It is all illusion.

So what to make of the illusion? Just sit with the sun on my back and smell the coffee, watching the fly on the crust.

It too will die. The coffee cup will be emptied.

So why should I be sad?

Copyright Notice

The text and all images on this page, unless otherwise indicated, are by Tony McGregor who hereby asserts his copyright on the material. Should you wish to use any of the text or images feel free to do so with proper attribution and, if possible, a link back to this page. Thank you.

© Tony McGregor 2011

~ by Tony McGregor on September 2, 2012.

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