The home on the tree

And there is this tree house located right in the middle of the city. As in any city, this house is a part of a a dense array of houses. The rest of the houses, however, are your normal looking houses.

I am apparently the inhabitant of this tree house. I tie my bicycle on a pole right near the tree. I didn't realize that I owned a bike until that moment.

There's this mysterious series of steps I have to climb. As I go up, I see that my tree house has a door but I can't seem to reach it. Perhaps I don't want to use it to go into my tree house.

So I see myself eyeing the window. A tree house with a door and a big window. I realize that this is a big tree house.So I jump to hang onto the window before I can fling myself in. But before I jump, I look down. I see that, if I fall, I will probably get injured or worse. I find it quite funny now in my dream. Wait, am I dreaming? I don't know. Maybe I am but I like it. It doesn't matter whether it's a dream or not.

Ok. So I lunge up with a spider-like gait. There. I am hanging on the window. I fling myself in. I am in my tree house. I don't have a memory of being in here before but I know that I live here and that perhaps I even built this tree house with my own hands. I see a hardwood floor on the tree house, polished dark-brown. My living quarters are bigger that I imagine. I see that I have been living here for a while looking at my stock of furniture, books, my bed and what is that, a TV. I peer out my window to check on my bike.

It's quite humorous and weird, this whole situation. I have a pole for a bike station and I live comfortably in a tree house in the middle of a bustling city. On top of that, I have to go through some fucking aerobics to even get into my place. It must be a dream, some voice whispers from the sky.

Then I remember why I am here. I came to pick up some outerwear, most likely, my warm, blue jacket for the party. I also remember my friends are waiting for me down there. I look out the window a second time. I see them, talking among themselves happily. Well, time to do some aerobics to get out of my tree house again .

A thought

Here's a thought. The problem perhaps is not the greed. Maybe not even the overt carnal desires. A moderate desire after all is necessary for some motivation (perhaps). Perhaps it's not even the rampant fundamentalism or the dogmatism.

Perhaps it's more along these lines: We wake up for the 9 to 5. We break the fast at 8 or 9 or 10 (put a number of your choosing). We eat lunch at noon. The 9 to 5 ends. We go back to our den and eat at 7. Then it repeats. Nothing inherently wrong with this. But it's quite robotic, no? But are we robots?

It is April 18, 2012. I read a news article yesterday saying the total processing power of the whole world is about that of a single human brain. Ironically, this is a robotic way to compare but it gets the point across rapidly. (i.e. The comparison of a computer to a human brain doesn't mean that a human brain has been reduced literally to a non-sentient machine obviously.)

We are not robots. But we increasingly live a robotic life.

Perhaps we just have not adjusted to this robotic life. The way we have evolved clashes with these artificial routines.

Perhaps it's good to mix it up once in a while in our own way. Go primal.

Learning to fly

"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire, " a growling voice exclaimed on the stern, crackling radio. It was just a start of a song, a song that set the stage for this...story.

The rain poured down tap-dancing on his car roof. He was disheveled from this fight. As much as he tried, he could not shake these feelings of anger and disgust. He acknowledged both of those feelings but ignored the most pressing emotion that he felt. He was hurt like a wounded pigeon.

He tried to uplift himself from these negative feelings but just like the wounded pigeon, he could not take off. Not without first confronting his inner turmoil, not without nursing his wound.