Is hope a fraud? | Socratic Circle {October 2021}

To me, hope is a sort of thrust, a variant of faith, a gentle flame – that encourages you to keep going even when, the possibilities of actually succeeding seems bleak. Now as far as fraudulence goes, hope can be a fraud at times but that doesn’t necessarily make it a fraud for everyone. Hope can end up, conveying visions of unrealistic success and it can all feel like a big lie, when reality comes crashing down.

The Purpose Within

What am I living for and what am I dying for are the same question.― Margaret Atwood, The Year of the Flood In search for my purposeDid I set out –On an infinite path choked with uncertainty. Many a question did I meetBut crippled was I left,With answers that birthed more questions. Days, I spent counting wordsAnd […]

II x D

(ahh I know, that wasn’t very nice. It’s just that I used binary to represent 500 that I decided to go for Roman Numerals for 1000 i.e II x D = 2 x 500) Random Specific Thoughts was started by an impulsive and reckless 15-year old and left dormant for a year before quarantine led […]

For Pip, Thrush and Blue | World Suicide Prevention Day 2021

If you are feeling low, or trampled, unappreciated, or forgotten…and you are reading this, realize it is an illusion…the hope is real…you are valued…and what lies ahead…is brilliance.
― Tom Althouse

For Pip, Thrush and Blue,
This I say,
“To and fro, we moved
Through the clouds of hymns we hummed,
As the world progressed,
Our longing for freedom grew ever stronger.”

I remember days where we vanquished imaginary foes, where Pip once sacrificed his life to save the rest of us from an army of rather savage goblins. Sir Pip was our leader, advisor and messenger. He knew all the shortcuts, how to get to the adults when we didn’t and very often, managed in acquiring free chocolate from no one knows where.

Memories of riding our bikes downhill but being too exhausted to walk uphill come flooding as I traverse the paths that were once volcanoes and rainforests to us.

Nights, when Thrush would sing to us still soothe me on nights lightning, electrifies the earth. It’s one of those memories that are triggered by just one word, one stare, one leaf.

I see Thrush prancing and flying, always beating us at most games but being too good-natured about it, that we would end up sacrificing victory for a song.

I remember the day her brother died and it was we, who sang her to sleep. She never slept that night.

For Pip, Thrush and Blue
In life, did we live
With cares so free and hardly there
Days spent in childish glee
Ended in time, we wrinkled for love.

Blue, if joy ever had a sad day, it would look like you. You exuded so much joy that it was contagious and we’d find ourselves laughing the most random things ever – mailboxes, candy wrappers and paintings; because they felt like you – because they felt Blue to us.

We never knew you were hurting or that your smiles were so infectious and jokes designed to laugh so that none of us would feel the pain you battled everyday or hear those loud and terrifying thoughts that had screamed themselves sore. I remember how the heroes in all your stories were dreamers changing worlds they created because the real world was too harsh.

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com

As I rise above the bench down the street and reminisce my faults, I see what I missed all along – the beauty of loss. Every day we came together was perfect. The sun shone gaily, the wind blew kindly and the grass beneath our feet remained fresh and green.

Pip would go around securing our boundaries, Thrush would sing to the birds for whom she was named, while Blue would make sure there were no flowers that were withering.

I was up there, all along watching and wishing, I could be a part of this gang, so gay they brightened up my days spent in the dark.

Aeons have I watched over
Everyone and everything but,
None that portrayed life in all its glory
Like Pip, Thrush and Blue did.
Pip’s bravery gives me strength as Thrush’s songs
Warm my soul while Blue
Shows me the sun can mask pain too.

I knew this was coming. I’d seen it before the children did. Blue left the world as the beautiful angel he was. I saw Pip cry for the first time that day; the bravest of all warriors broken down at the sight of his comrade who was no longer breathing. Thrush was there, but people say she lost her voice.

For Pip, Thrush and Blue
As I watched death bring you closer
I saw the strength, bravery and kindness
Your little hearts were soaked in.

How wrong were they – I saw Pip and Thrush that night, at the same park they came often. Without Blue, they seemed lost but oh, how she sang! I saw Blue standing nearby, his face contorted in pain and pride bathed in a glow only freedom could provide, but they couldn’t see him and her heartfelt singing reigned the night.


I saw the veil grief covered you in.
Dears – I saw it all
Soaked pillows in the night and broken whispers
Showed me more than you know.

But know Blue is here, his soul finally free.
He lives through you
Every war you win within yourself

And every demon defeated
Is victory for him and every song sung
Is his life’s anthem.

For even in death,
Pip, Thrush and Blue
Remain bound and prisoners of
Love, strength and kindness.

Most nights do I* take up my place in the sky, but even from up here, life just isn’t the same without you three.

Oh Blue, I wish you’d known just how much you mattered to all of us.

Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com

*This story is narrated from the moon’s perspective and so, I refers to the moon.

The biggest lie we fall for is that it doesn’t matter. Your opinion doesn’t matter. Your choices don’t matter. Your influence doesn’t matter. Your existence doesn’t matter. You don’t matter. It is the worst, most destructive lie we ever believe, and in consequence it wreaks extensive damage to more lives than your own.
Don’t fall for that evil lie. Don’t forget that everything about you absolutely does matter.

You matter.
How you feel matters.
What you say, do, and think matters.
It all matters.

― Richelle E. Goodrich, Being Bold: Quotes, Poetry, & Motivations for Every Day of the Year

World Suicide Prevention Day (WSPD) was first launched in 2003 on 10 September by IASP with the endorsement of the World Health Organisation (WHO). The 10th of September each year has been designated as a way of focusing attention on the problems of suicide worldwide.

Our renewed message is one of hope; that aims to empower people with confidence to engage with this complex subject.

An ambitious task now lies ahead. Through this theme we aim to work together, through our membership and beyond, to create a movement of preventative action, with sustained messaging to drive behaviour change and ultimately, prevent more suicides.

‘Creating Hope Through Action’ is a reminder that there is an alternative to suicide and aims to inspire confidence and light in all of us; that our actions, no matter how big or small, may provide hope to those who are struggling. Preventing suicide is often possible and you are a key player in its prevention. Through action, you can make a difference to someone in their darkest moments – as a member of society, as a child, as a parent, as a friend, as a colleague or as a neighbour. We can all play a role in supporting those experiencing a suicidal crisis or those bereaved by suicide.

Source: International Association for Suicide Prevention

Thoughtfully yours,
D

Hideaway

Sometimes when it’s too sunny that the rays penetrate my skin and the heat burns my soul, when it’s too cold that the world outside is hauntingly heartless, I run away. The day is gentle and the rising noise of life heralds the start of a new memory.

The Whisper Gallery

(please click here to view this along with the podcast)

The Whisper Gallery | Poetry Random Specific Thoughts

“I talk to God but the sky is empty.”
― Sylvia Plath

Come forth and listen –
To the whispers thriving in the atmosphere.

Take a glance at pain and joy, dancing
On the soft meadow, against clouds
That look like turtles*.

Let anxiety and fear soar; and
Watch closely as
Love and innocence
Are stripped to the bone.

Let your fears
Twirl to the hills’ beats,
And listen to the prayers in the air.
Trudge softly and look
To the relics, etched in forgotten minds
Enslaved by time; and –
Knock softly, I plead
On the doors of perception.
For reality adopts visions
As wills bend for the better.

Step ahead and shout your secrets
Show your heart love
And let your anger free.
‘Tis, life that validates death.

Let your feet sink into the damp mud,
Pause under the willow and lend your ears –
To centuries worth of secrets, flowing unguarded.
Bear witness to a whimsical
Empire flourishing and falling.

Hush, little one and listen
To a raw, vulnerable world and
Realise – I pray you do,
The Whisper Gallery is where
The beauty of pain is glorified,
A home where your tears blossom.
In sweet solitude do we hold you captive
For your secrets, will we shield forevermore.

“Man is not worried by real problems so much as by his imagined anxieties about real problems”

― Epictetus

(Featured image by Timothy Dykes on Unsplash)

* Turtles are frequently depicted in popular culture as easygoing, patient, and wise creatures. Due to their long lifespan, slow movement, sturdiness, and wrinkled appearance, they are an emblem of longevity and stability in many cultures around the world. {Wikipedia}

As unrelated as it may seem, this poem was initially written to depict a whimsical take on heaven but I enjoyed seeing the above poem take form – in a way, I feel like it could pass for a whimsical take on heaven. It’s all about perspective, I suppose; the doors of perception are after all, open to those who knock 😉

Thoughtfully yours,
D