All of my original writings are copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Note that there is at least one other 'Elenbarathi' on the Internet. I only use that handle here on Livejournal; anyone using it elsewhere is not me.
"You add suffering to the world just as much when you take offense as when you give offense." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
"If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor." ~Bishop Desmond Tutu
"It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society." ~Jiddu Krishnamurti
"Confusion is what you do when you're trying not to know what you know." ~Lady Nakomis
"Any sufficiently advanced magick is indistinguishable from science." ~Jessadriel Darkmountain
"It is not enough to become compassionate - you must act." ~The Dalai Lama
"Forgiveness is giving up the possibility of a better past." ~Mohandas Gandhi
"I came here looking for an argument!" "No you didn't!" ~Monty Python
"Life shrinks or expands according to one's courage." ~Anaïs Nin
"Your task is to love what you do not understand." ~Rainer Maria Rilke
"I like to pay taxes. With them, I buy civilization." ~Oliver Wendell Holmes
"I'm not liberal. I'm actually just anti-evil, OK?" ~Elon James White
"Simplify, simplify." ~Henry David Thoreau
If They Come in the Night
Long ago on a night of danger and vigil a friend said, why are you happy? He explained (we lay together on a cold hard floor) what prison meant because he had done time, and I talked of the death of friends. Why are you happy then, he asked, close to angry.
I said, I like my life. If I have to give it back, if they take it from me, let me not feel I wasted any, let me not feel I forgot to love anyone I meant to love, that I forgot to give what I held in my hands, that I forgot to do some little piece of the work that wanted to come through.
Sun and moonshine, starshine, the muted light off the waters of the bay at night, the white light of the fog stealing in, the first spears of morning touching a face I love. We all lose everything. We lose ourselves. We are lost.
Only what we manage to do lasts, what love sculpts from us; but what I count, my rubies, my children, are those moments wide open when I know clearly who I am, who you are, what we do, a marigold, an oakleaf, a meteor, with all my senses hungry and filled at once like a pitcher with light.
What this path is, is your path. That's all; that's all it has to be. You can stand still, you can double back, you can blunder into the nasty bogs, but it's all still your path. Sometimes you'll be walking it singing; sometimes sobbing and swearing. Sometimes you'll have a destination to move toward; sometimes you'll just be exploring; sometimes you'll be lost as hell. Sometimes you'll be benighted in the middle of nowhere, and will have to crouch miserably in the dark until you've got enough light to stand up and move on.
The light and the dark are always going to alternate. The seasons of your heart and the weather of your mood are always going to shift. But love the journey, enjoy the adventure - even the really uncomfortable parts - because it is your journey; your path; the only thing you can ever truly own.