This has been said again and again, down through the ages. All the religious people have been saying this: "We come alone into this world, we go alone." All togetherness is illusory. The very idea of togetherness arises because we are alone, and the aloneness hurts. We want to drown our aloneness in relationship.... That's why we become so much involved in love. Try to see the point. Ordinarily you think you have fallen in love with a woman or with a man because she is beautiful, he is beautiful. That is not the truth. The truth is just the opposite: you have fallen in love because you cannot be alone. You were going to fall. You were going to avoid yourself somehow or other. And there are people who don't fall in love with women or men--then they fall in love with money. They start moving into money or into a power trip, they become politicians. That too is avoiding your aloneness. If you watch man, if you watch yourself deeply, you will be surprised--all your activities can be reduced to one single source. The source is that you are afraid of your aloneness. Everything else is just an excuse. The real cause is that you find yourself very alone.
Osho Take it Easy, Volume 2 Chapter 1
Some enchanted evening you're going to meet your soulmate, the perfect person who will meet all your needs and fulfill all your dreams. Right? Wrong! This fantasy that songwriters and poets are so fond of perpetuating has its roots in memories of the womb, where we were so secure and "at one" with our mothers; it's no wonder we have hankered to return to that place all our lives. But, to put it quite brutally, it is a childish dream. And it's amazing we hang on to it so stubbornly in the face of reality. Nobody, whether it's your current mate or some dreamed-of partner in the future, has any obligation to deliver your happiness on a platter--nor could they even if they wanted to. Real love comes not from trying to solve our neediness by depending on another, but by developing our own inner richness and maturity. Then we have so much love to give that we naturally draw lovers towards us.
It's morning as my eyes greet the first dim light of day. My mind slowly makes it's way from the fog of the previous night's stasis, to a level of just enough conscience thought in order to find my way into the shower so that I may begin my day ah new. But the thought of what this day is requires no introduction to this morn. For indeed I've been waiting a near eternity for this particular morning to begin. As I rise to my feet I stretch long and slow as muscles begin to come to life. Perhaps not with the ease they once did when my body was that of a younger man, but to life they come none the less. To the shower I go to help this process along. For today I will need all these muscles working for me, because today is a special day.
The hot steaming water feels good as it spreads all over my body, chasing the soap bubbles across my skin and down the drain, along with the lethargic state of mind I normally find myself in this time of day. I can feel the steam caressing through my sinuses, clearing my head and bringing my thoughts to life one by one. But there is only one main thought on my mind this morn. So the shower will have to come to an end just a little sooner once it has done it's job in awaking my remaining muscles. On the bathroom counter my cloths await me, just where I staged them the previous night in preparation for today. Black T-shirt, blue jeans, warm socks, all required attire for the day's activity.
Into the kitchen I follow my nose to the smell of fresh coffee. I pour my first cup and watch the amber liquid flow smoothly into the waiting ceramic. As it cools, the steam circles upward, quietly dissipating in the morning light, while I prepare the rest of my attire for the day. To the closet I go, where my winter coat is kept. But the coat will stay this day, my target this morning is on the top shelf. After retrieving them from where they have been carefully stored, I unrole the brown leather chaps that have been so patiently waiting these long winter months. Next, my helmet joins the trio, inside the gloves that are, like the rest, an intricate necessity. They will not only warm and protect my hands from the cold nip of the wind, but also will protect against the sudden impact of an insect. After a draw on my cup of jo, the taste of which no morning would be complete without, I sit in my chair to pull on the boots that have been patiently waiting with the rest of my leather on sombo. A little stiff from a winter of sitting in the closet, but that will soon pass. Once in the garage, I roll open the door and push 700 pounds of Milwaukee iron, highlighted with generous amounts of chrome, all of which glisten like the crown jewels themselves, into the driveway. Once in the open, I check my fuel level, tire pressure, and an assortment of other necessary items prior to bringing my sleeping old friend to life once again. Satisfied that all is well, I turn the petcock to "On," and the tank switch to "Ignition." With that, an assortment of lights tell me all is well. Once the final light extinguishes letting me know the machine has finished it's own checks and is ready as well, I depress the start button and feel my heart race and my blood surge while eighty-eight cubic inches of V-twin roars to life. Music in perfect harmony, s$x on two wheels, I love this sound best of all.
Back in the house to get ready, I find the leather that I have previously neatly laid out on the couch, and begin to don my riding attire. The leather chaps to protect my legs from rocks an insects impacting at 70 plus miles per hour. A hooded sweat shirt for warmth, since winter has not yet fully let go it's grip on the land. Over that, my brown leather jacket, together all feeling as though I was wearing them but yesterday. I return outside to my purring steed, now completely awakened and ready for the journey. On goes my helmet, which after 30 years of riding I've had good reason to always include as a necessity stemming from both my own experiences, and those of others. Some of which ride with me now in spirit alone...
One leg over the saddle, both hands on the grips, I settle into a custom fit all my own. After adjusting my mirrors for optimal viewing, with a gloved hand I pull in the clutch. A gentle nudge with my left toe, and the re-assuring "click" tells me we are ready. With a little finesse back out goes the clutch, and with a corresponding twist of the throttle, we're in motion my steed and I. Through city streets it's a gentle cruise, it's Saturday and the little town has not yet reason to be up and about just yet, so remains in slumber. Once to the highway, and after looking up and down the visible stretch of blacktop, I'm satisfied the road is all mine. With a crack of the throttle, a gentle lean to the right, and five short gears later, my sled and I are once again together in the wind!
Under me the purr of power caresses my entire body, starting with my thighs and arse. I watch as the sun just begins to peak over the distant mountains looking onto the highway to see a lone motorcycle cruising it's length. The land around me comes to life as I pass, a Red-Tailed hawk flies low over a field hunting it's breakfast as I pass by, seemingly unshaken by the sound of my pipes. The brisk morning air breaks over my body, invigorating my senses. The smell of the land filling my nostrils as it swirls within my helmet. I've waited all winter for this moment! Yes, the first ride of the season has begun...
I just received this via email from a friend and it seemed to hit the mark with allot of the individual philosophies on this site, myself included. With that thought in mind, I thought I would share it with you all. I have no idea who wrote it, or when.
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning... to the end.
He noted that first came her date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years. (1934 - 1998)
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own;
The cars... the house... the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged;
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what's true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we've never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile,
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy's being read
With your life's actions to rehash,
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?
some of us aren't quite lucky enough to have such eloquence of word as yourself. i have a deep respect for that.
Perhaps not everyone, but after all isn't art a form of self expression? And writing is art. I've always believed that written expression, and the ability to put down on paper feelings, and emotions so that others can feel pain, sorrow, happiness, and quiet reflection is an art unto itself. Eloquence of style is uniquely individual to each and every writer, as are the brush strokes of each and every painter. A writer paints a picture within the minds of those who experience the words, while conveying emotions to the reader, similar to a painter's picture. Your words clearly come from the heart, and easily paint a picture of emotion, and quiet reflection. So grant me this one favor if you would be so kind. Never put down your pen, as I'm certain it still contains within it many more words all very eloquently arranged in order to paint many more pictures within the minds eye.