There are times when I feel helpless, when words do not come out, when actions fail to take shape, when dreams just remain dreams, when nightmares never fail to enact their gory theatrics, when emotions fail to take external form or even when they do not in the manifestation that is deemed appropriate for external scrutiny. Is this another one of my reluctant rambling? Yes, maybe it is. Or it could just be one in a series of truths that I have finally had the courage to accept and hence explore with self-perceived honesty. Helplessness is an amazing feeling. It robs the mightiest man of his strength, it robs the conjuror of his wand, its fails the devout through uncouth thoughts, it devours the confidence of the worldly wise; it even spurs the brave (yet cowardly) to contemplate making a forced peace with the creator.
So, then you ask – why is it that you feel helpless? Reflecting a sense of vulnerability perhaps, it is easy to shrug it off or to retort – “it is easy to ask, it is so much difficult to answer”. Nevertheless, you wish you knew, or even if you knew, wish you were brave enough to accept, and even if you were brave enough to accept, wish you had the courage to counter it. The feeling of helplessness - is it trivial in your eyes yet mighty enough to direct your being to a sense of resigned indignity, or is the most important thing that holds up your march toward fulfilling your nascent naïve ambitions.
Oh no! Yet again, I veer from the topic and bring in the reverie of queries and comparisons that mark the bottomless depth prior to a self-glorified emotional conquest. And then, almost like a rule enforced by the omnipotent being, as I try to think and react to the myriad thought processes flooding and exploring the dark contours of my brain, I begin to ask – “Is it me or is it my shadow?” Wish somebody could answer and wish so hard that it would be me and not my shadow.
