Kindred Spirit

While sitting at the desk it struck me all over again. I have become poor. I have eliminated all leisure and luxury from life, no movie, no fanciful outing along the crowded streets, nothing new for myself. I laughably tighten the strings around a vacuum. I avoid taking transport, I walk whenever possible. I don't purchase anything. I don't eat much, I plop in the maggi as often as possible, thankfully lunch is provided at work so I eat as much as possible, appearing like a pig in the process. I weave a small haven around myself but the warmth and security boils over into a heartwrenching heat as the layers increase, tears bubbling in the cauldron.

But does it bubble and boil to the last drop? No, for a sudden kindred spirit is fervently ignited as my student rolls in on his chair. Hot beads of perspiration trickle from his forehead, a tongue swiftly emerges to lick them away. He had just eaten, no delicacy for sure, but nothing short of a piping bowl of hot soup to heartily wash the inadequacies away. I am transfixed by a pair of determined eyes, as somewhere out there we are trudging down the road, patched-up trenchcoats against merciless storms, motivated by essence and not by wantonness, edified by the immediate moment and not by wistful visions of invisible mountains and valleys. We are blinded and cannot see far, but all the more intense and lucid everything appears before our tired eyes. For short, sweetened moments of pleasure our hearts may yearn, as our karmic debts bid us slowly unlearn.

Above all else, if the noose is to be tightened at dawn, let the final night shimmer with love and philosophy.