The old leather jacket.


The roots stretch out, after being cut over and over again, ever succeeding in reminding the world about how futile it is to resist and perhaps to give in. The forces of the universes govern in such a fashion that every permutation, every combination, those random events which we shrug off and all of those things which put us to one simple question: Do we believe in magic?

I’ve always believed there’s some element that we all over look, no matter how hard we try to see. This element, entity, force, thought, belief, call it whatever you want to; It is hidden in the moment when a single drop of sweat traces the back of your neck as you get nervous, the light in your eyes when you see a loved one and all the goosebumps associated with it. How can we see it? Certainly an experience it is then, yes? Or perhaps the very fabric which this world is made up of, and we, material beings, look under our shiny microscopes and through our highly advanced telescopes,  trying to find it. Does it not bring you to a laughter when you realise it just cannot be something physical?

It’s the innocence in children’s eyes, and that girl who you just walked past by. It’s in us, and oh how dormant it stays unless we simply start believing in its existence. Look at her, as she smiles at me, after countless days spent reading her words, trying to find my own existence in them. And how beautifully they all fit, like a physics’ definition; every word having a meaning, an existence, a need for it to be there. It all fits. She’s still smiling, as I continue being that insane nut, hoping again how she’ll summon up all the magical words she always is searching for, and put up a pretty story to this very moment. She’s still smiling at me, mind you. There are forces at work here, magnetic, dark matter floating through this space, working about its own magic and creating the world as it passes by. They tell you the story, and like the perfect handwriting to mesmerise the reader’s experience, her smile fills up the world around me, and that’s it. Everything, right there. The past, human existence, dinosaurs, the bloody milky way; They’re all here, and you’re aware. That fucking smile assures, like that hand on your shoulder, like the air traffic controller’s voice in a distress situation for the flight crew. (That makes me wonder about MH370 somehow, fuck it)

We all have those notions, things we’ve always wanted to do. That inkling feeling of something new to do. We hold that wish tight, and unless we find it, we rarely give up. For these ideas, thoughts define us. They’ve made us what we are. Made me what I am, right now. And yet, falling on the tips of the pine leaves how the rain drops find a perfect place, it all fucking fits! This universe has been moving, doing its own magic. We, walking on the ground, stuck onto it, lost in our useless chores, always doing things and running around, never realise it. What we see, is pictures. In a world fucked up with selfies, still moments, we’ve all lost the sense how everything is always moving. They’re making and creating the world for us while we merely witness the change. And foolishly, like drunken buffoons, think we’re the ones responsible. Of course we are, but through our actions. It in no way should stop us and make us limit our awareness to the mess around, and instead, stop and simply look up at the sky. Lose ourselves in its grandeur and its own magic. It only will come before you, if you are looking for it, that too, with all the belief. No room for doubts and back ups, here. There’s no “But what if we’re wrong?” You have one job. One fucking job. And it is to have a belief system, and to stick to it with no doubts whatsoever. In a place of doubts, fear arises. And once that happens, it plagues and kills.

Why can a simple smile not have the magic about it that it can’t fix up things?

All these thoughts and a billions of lifetimes later, one does eventually realises and just ‘gets’ it. So don’t worry, if not now, maybe a few cycles of life and death later, we all will too. This world, this universe, works on magic. Hold this thought, I said to myself. Hold it dear, nestled tightly upon your chest, clenched between your arms, embraced right next to your heart. Hold this thought. And what do I see? This Universe works for me! I am creating my world as I go on, and simply laid upon this simple thought, everything simply works for me, and I sit back and enjoy as it unfolds upon me. The universe this way, through me, is learning a very tiny aspect of its own creation. It’s learning itself. Like those permutations, I am one. And so are you. Maybe someday this universe, she’ll smile down upon you too. And assure you, that it just all fits.




“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?”

They come true. They really do. One day you’re crashing into things, going unnoticed, clung on to vines infested by pest, scattered, diffused. And then, you find yourself dreaming. You wake up. Shrug your head. Pinch yourself. Go around your daily chores, always looking up at the skies, dazed, uncared about the simple fact that you do not know what you’re looking for. But you’re searching. You know something’s there. Something beautiful. Some random bliss, perhaps? No. Guess not. You’re looking for a dream. You’re still searching for it. It’s not a reality yet. Slap yourself. Bang your head on the wall until it hurts. Crash on your bed. Cry. As the months on the calendar pass you by. You’re alive. You’re grateful. You watch your step, yet you do not care anymore. You know nothing’s worth it, but you’re wrong. You must be, you know it too.

In a world full of scars, tears and notions of what nots, you feel out of place. Something’s not right. Is this life, or just a glimpse of a bigger reality? You’re definitely wrong. Unassuming, you move on. Linger, as time goes on and likewise you do too. It’s been a while, but you feel home. Has the time passed by? You’re tired. You need water as your throat clings onto the last bit of your bitter bile juice. You’re thirsty. Are you here? Look around, touch, feel and smell. It surely feels different. You begin to wonder what dimension you’re occupying right now. Things are changing. Ideas, beliefs are too. There’s a new world order in progression, and you’re a part of it. You’re responsible now, you feel the burden of thousands of restless souls who’ve not yet whispered their prayers, because they don’t know how to. They’re lost. You’re their hope. You’re their calling. There are greater things and forces at work now, and you’re merely a puppet. A mere witness, who can do nothing but just surrender, because any struggle will cause pain. Pain you despise. You’ve yearned for a change, you’ve worn the scars, you’ve seen freedom through them. But you linger on. You’re tough. People stare, they know not their ideas of you are wrong. They feel they can see you. Have the rights to talk about you. You’re their muse. They’re liars. Puppets like you, sure, yet only weaker, mortal physical beasts of burden, sickened by their very egos. They still stare. You stare back. You laugh, they flinch. Blinded, sleeping heavy pieces of bones and flesh, occupying space and time, polluting, excreting their opinions, unscathed by a simple fact that they are wrong.

But this, this is your dream. You’re the narrator, the actor, the very centre of attention. You’re the hero. The best part is, it becomes of what you believe in. You want happiness, you get bluest of skies full of popcorn clouds, sunlight beaming through them, yet it isn’t warm. It’s breezy, and you feel your hair blow upon your face. You’re happy. You smile. You shed a tear, and submerge in joy. Life is what you make of it, even if it’s a dream to you. You really can hit the F5. Yet where you land up next is a random roll of a dice. So do you real want to wake up? Or maybe your dream is your utter reality. Open your eyes, shut them even if you want to. It matters not. For you are beyond what you see, feel, experience. You’re beyond this realm, existing in parallel realities. You are looking down upon yourself and you’re happy. You’ve made mistakes, horrible ones at that. But you’ve learned from them. From waking up in the middle of the nights, spending in utter disguise of having slept actually, you’ve been terrible before. You’ve sat there wondering when these nightmares would end. You’ve sung songs, hummed them on your bike rides, sheltered in them when the times were hard to go by.

It really matters not where you come from. Your dream, it takes you places. You’re always going. To a better future. A better job. A good marriage. A new car. You want to travel. See places. What keeps you from being in all of those places? It’s you, yourself. You wake up, you know it was a dream. You don’t believe in them. Been a fool, always looking for ways to turn out to be cool. Look where you are. You’re stuck. You have plans. Oh yes you do. But life is happening around you, and you, blinded by your thoughts while you try so desperately to take time out for your own needs and not wants, you let it go unnoticed. Believe in things. These, your dreams, are your tools to carve the future as you go along. But, do not worry about it. Live here, in present. Dream, dream big. Because even when it’s those horrific nights with nightmares, you know there’s a way out. And it’s looking down upon you, waiting for it to be found by you. Your dreams are your bliss, your joy and your happiest treasures. Go find them. And when you do, you will get reassurances, in every single step you take. Reassurances, that you’ve been on the right path all along. It’s always working towards one singularity, and you’re a part of it. Everything around you carves you, as you carve the very things that surround you. You’re infinite in these moments, and the very forces that have created you now protect you. You know they do. And when such things happen, you find yourself lofted upon a hilltop, looking around knowing everything is the very soul of you. The mountains, the valley below, the tiny red dots of the tail lights of distant vehicles whose sounds may not reach to you, but the very pulsating pistons, moving in synchrony with time, the very heartbeats of yours in a perfect unison, these things that occupy space in this universe, and beyond, is all you. And you’re responsible now, for your dreams now have led to your very liberation; and all of which lies in the very thought, the single choice you made to start believing in your dreams.