Nails, stones, ice, broken glasses, obnoxious fumes, potholes, arrows, cliffs, lightning, bullets, swamps, mud. Everywhere. All the time.
And I have been walking on them, I have been sleeping on them, I have been sitting on them I have been eating them, breathing them and living with them. Can calmness be achieved in the midst of such a poisonous environment? Serenity, repose, stillness, wellness - they all seem alien to the world I live in.
Yet, I have been trudging along the same path for eons. They are a part of me, they have become my identity. And I do not complain anymore. I thrive on them, I revel in them, I rejoice in them. They have become my identity.
But I am yet to achieve tranquility in their midst. And here lies the rub. Although I don't complain, I still feel perturbed by the randomness of these objects' manifestations as far as location, form and timelines are concerned. I feel bitter at times, I feel agitated at times, yet at other times I remain unfazed.
They have shaped and drawn and reshaped and redrawn my identity every moment of my life and continue to do so, in the same way as a sculptor chips away at a block of stone. But a sculptor stops at a certain point, whereas Nature does not stop - drops of water can wear away even the hardest of granite over geological time-frames. And I have been chipped at, disaggregated, disassembled, re-aggregated, re-framed, reassembled, reconfigured and updated every instant by my environment.
And it shall continue to happen till the last thought, the last feeling, the last breath, the last vision - till the very end of this cosmic cycle.
At every instant have I been created; till eternity shall I continue being recreated.