Madness

If I remember correctly (and I am too lazy to get up, open the book and check, so forgive me if I have got this all twisted) Osho said something about Picasso being a horrid painter because he vomited out all is madness into his paintings and therefore the paintings were madness personified. I am mentioning this because this blog post is going to run on similar lines: I am going to write everything I feel right now, and I am going to feel better after writing this. Writing a candid diary is no use because you never can be sure it won't be read; and if you have to be cryptic, you might as well make your writings public. So that is my justification for this piece, and in any case, the reader is strongly advised not to read further.

I feel vulnerable, like I am rope-walking, and if I am not careful, I might fall any moment. Don't you have this feeling sometimes that you have narrowly avoided disasters, and if you let your guard down for the tiniest amount of time, you might ruin everything you have? Like not being able to feel carefree, ever?

I know I have friends; I know I am loved. Yet I feel I am very close to dependence, or am already there. I am wondering what happened to the whole detachment philosophy I have been living under for so long. Will there be things that will be so frightening that they will make my life meaningless? I know it is within me to remain independent, mentally, not to need anyone to keep sane. But what if it all changes?

That's it, those are all the bad things I am feeling. The good things are that my life is a lot better than I ever thought it would be, but naturally, I want it to be still better. I see a very good future ahead, and lots of smiles, and lots of fun, not to mention success.

Life is good. Now.