taking a wrong turn

it is part of a life experience, as i have encountered so far, to savor the many bitter and sweet endeavors that our journey provides. likewise, those experiences end up shaping us like the river stream shapes brutal rocks into rounded pebbles. however, is in the nature of living beings to react in random ways to events, adding the factor of unpredictability to the large amount temporary outcomes that in time overlap and add a sense of lack of continuity to our stories, given the limited hindsight that our memory can provide. some seek homogeneity in their living manners in an attempt to compensate for the whirlwind; a projection of security to avoid having to face with the inevitable encounter of many and varied events that escape control.

i found no security in life, and if there was any, it was either an illusion or a leading way to an unsatisfactory chain of events and circumstances. failure, yes, but always as a temporary condition. falling in despair is quite common amongst those who want to believe in fixed structures, in rigid and unmovable concepts of life and death, of love and hate, of joy and sadness, as dictated by standards that pretend to be centuries old, yet are mostly revised every second. thus, stating that we took a wrong turn is from the start admitting that there is actually a path to follow, a path to a definite success that is one and only end of things.

as far as my experience is concerned, you can actually walk outside the path, the guidelines that are set, for they are not but chalk lines painted in the ground, when it actually rains heavily these days. the ground outside the path is as irregular as inside, and nor better or worse, but complex and sometimes lonely. it is like this that i have learned, or say, guessed, that failure or victory are relative at best, when not simple delusional states of mind that put more chalk in the ground that says where we can't walk. and we stay in our quiet limits of our chalk paths, even when we can find ourselves in miserable places, in unease with our life expectancies, and therefore we don't dare to change, and if we change without telling, we rush to change back, and if it rained, as it is usual, we draw again our paths, or somebody else does it for us.

but the lines are never drawn exactly the same after the rain is over. and generations may pass before that change is noticeable, if that is conceived by the record of history. that leaves the stiff unmovable individuals walking unwillingly through an outdated and flawed system, changed with its many reconstructions, crowded with shocking contradictions, and lacking the benefit of walking freely through the fields of our lives, amongst the imperfections that reflect our own singularity. it is then when conflicts happen, call it faith philosophy or politics, and people throw their frustration and anger through each other, all of them believing themselves protected by their fortresses, painted with chalk on the ground.

for those who from their sure paths think low of me, who is outside their domains, i can feel but pity, for my value is proven and rely on those who truly an uninterestedly love me. maybe on the next shower, they run out of chalk and see themselves in the need to take a walk.