What it takes.

Some people go on soul searching journeys, traversing through foreign landscapes to shake off the familiar past that hounds and haunts. Others dive under the cover of a dark heavy blanket that drugs provide, the brief seconds of comfort slithering through their evaporating fingers as they get on their knees and cup their hands to salvage the moment's ease while tragically prostrating to the overwhelming pain. And yet others turn to self inflicted pain, trying to supplant the uncontrollable hurt each breath causes, despondently descending the spiral stairs of melancholy, their wounds a mouth opening towards the sky as if a receptacle loyally waiting for heaven's gifts; the wound only understands the language of blood though, and any opening where joy can whisper its thoughts is oozed over by the viscous wings of blood as it hunts down its weakened prey. Like decapitated chickens, we aimlessly thrash our existence against the throbbing walls of grief's labyrinth, grappling with the pain that dominates the landscape like looming thunderclouds with no end in sight.

For me though, apparently all it took was some pigeon shit to find the exit.

Side note. i just realized this blog has a fair amount of references to bodily gunk. I'm usually not this way, i swear!!

This all happened as I was walking towards the park for my usual, writing, reading and hand-standing session after my 6:30 am Yoga course. As i was walking down the sleepy yet vibrant streets where the pleasant breeze of spring's last breath gently stirs summer's sleepy yawn, I heard a small splatter, a delicate hole opening in the universe, the breaking point of fragility. It was a strangely familiar sound and its irregularity blended in completely with regularity, like a delicate rose rising through the cracks of concrete pavement. As if i discovered one detail that suddenly makes an obscure painting legible, I suddenly felt heavy weights come off my shoulder, the overbearing universe's weight imploding with that pop, and i could suddenly raise my head and get lost in the expansive unconditionally-empathetic sky.

I looked towards the source of the sound and i saw star shaped bird poop resigningly sprawled on the ground. Clenching my hand into a triumphant fist, i mumbled to myself "today is going to be a good day." If i had walked just a little bit faster that shit would have been chilling in my hair, like the ganga chills in Krishna's, only not really at all. I know this sounds weird but in all honesty it felt like a breakthrough in my thought process, the definitive kodak moment, the proverbial cha-ching instant. Not that i've been stuck in a whirling black hole of negativity, but i did see myself pinned to a bad spell that at times seemed would never let me go. I don't know if it was just my mentality but recently i've also felt like i've been a victim to chance's fickle disposition one too many times so early in the year. A recent regular recipient of Timing's unwanted drop offs of coincidences delivered in a jenga-esque haphazard manner, i've found myself cluelessly standing on the wrong side of falling timber. But post-pop, post-bird shit Ian is different; without fully understanding it, at that point i viscerally knew that i had escaped from chance's infinite mischiefs.  Or at least i'm going to try my hardest to believe in the spiritual answer that bird shit will give me, and i will squeeze as much substance as i can out of that thing.

There's still a lot of uncertainty that wafts in the horizon. Just the thought that time and distance's incessant gales blew us apart still gives me the pangs. But in all honesty, i know i'm really lucky and i should just suck it up and appreciate what i have, which is already way more than i deserve anyways. so maybe through this, through the words of friends that help you be, through the birds' chirpings that float on the winds, i think i'm now ready to believe this was all just a kind of reality check, a balancing of accounts that maybe needed to happen one way or another. Kelsey also parted these wise words with me that's given me quite a bit of perspective. She said "everything is going to be okay. It's just going to take a little longer than i thought." well i say, Truuu dat. In the end, time's relentless normality will steamroll over my emotion's stubborn wrinkles and i'll put my ironed suit and tie on and dive into the intimidating flow of people snaking through the city, seamlessly accommodating an astray puzzle piece, all of us quietly following oblivion's footsteps. Broken hearts will somehow be pieced back together, if not in the same shape at least the same odor, and fractured feet will find their dancing shoes. i think somewhere far far away in a dark hallway where gentle sun light leaves its traces intermittently, i can hear my feet already tapping to the rhythm of the city.

PS a ps from my journal of that day.
"an hour later as i shifted to a more shady bench, i heard another pop right next to me on the other side of the 2 seater bench. I still haven't escaped karma's bombing trajectory but i think i'm going to be okay."