7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO
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N
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Should a man be scorned, if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and
go home? The world outside is not less real because the prisoner cannot see
it. The burden is replaced, not only by horizons of hope, but with the glow
of a truly better tomorrow. What greater sorrow than to recall happiness in
times of misery, what greater joy than to recall misery in times of happiness?
Hundreds of things you have tried to chase away the things you won't
remember and that you can't even let yourself think about because that's
when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in your mind
it's always raining a slow and endless drizzle. You will hear that she has left
the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before
it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might
be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection
crackles and is broken. Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone
in a doorway that looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you
persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again. Whenever it rains
you will think of her. Not even the very wise can see all ends, very hard it
will be but the road must be trod. And neither strength nor wisdom will
suffice to carry us far upon it. It is for the weak with as much hope as it is for
the strong for often it is the course of deeds that move the wheels of the
world I tell you. For myself, I become less distrustful of the human nature
remembering my own sins and follies; and realize that men's hearts are not
often as bad as their acts, and very seldom as bad as their words. For me love
thus far is but a sudden and miraculous grace, I just shut my eyes and never
count it nor expect it to recur, but I wake with delight every morn, not
because I deny the existence of sorrow and failure, like many, at some point
in their lives, I woke up in the middle of the night with the feeling that I
was all alone in the world, and that I will never have a decent night's sleep
again and will spend my life wandering blearily around a loveless landscape,
hoping desperately that my circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in
their heart of hearts, that they will remain so. But even if it were a fleeting
glimpse of Joy, it has taken me beyond the worlds poignant walls of grief.
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Ah, love, let us be true to one another! For the world, which seems to lie
before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new is to be held
with care so once was wrote.
7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO
4/22
Its been hours, its been days
Love taken from me.
A prodigal left behind, I go out all nightSleep all day, like a bird without a song.
I put my arms around every face at the window,
But they all remind me of you.
Things are entirely what they appear to be
And behind them there is nothing,
Nothing stands the pace.
A lone boys heart to the ground cascades
So tell me where this sinful self did stray.I try to have fun, but he is a fool
All the flowers died when you went away.
Living is hard but I will try,
With your knives, hollow my lute,
Alas a bitter symphony for these lonely tears,
It might as well be my fault,
Life is made of all am used to,
Still clock on the wall is only right twice a day,But God its better than nothing.
I cant help but be scared of it all sometimes,
Outside my window the moon doesnt hung as high,
I shall have to sleep when its raining this time,
Happiness left my doorway.
To many corners in my mind, so many shadows in my room
Not even the wind could take me my own way.
Fountains mingle with the river, the rivers with the Ocean,In one another's being mingle, the winds with the heavens.
Why not I with thee?
Well to marvel at nothing is just about the one and only thing,
That can make one happy and keep him that way I suppose.
7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO
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III
Im writing to you today out of sentimental necessity. I have an anguished,
painful need to speak to you. Its easy to see that I have nothing to tell you.
Today, at bottom of a bottomless, the absurdity of the sentence speaks for
me.
Im having one of those days in which I never had a future. There is only a
present, surrounded by a wall, over the other side of the river; that is the
intimate reason for all my suffering. Ships sailing to many ports, but not a
single one goes where life is not painful; nor is there any port of call where it
is possible to forget. All of this Happened a long time ago, but my sadness
began even before then. On days of the soul like today, I feel, with all the
awareness that I am a sad child abused by life. I was abandoned in a corner
where I could hear other children playing. Feeling in my hands the broken
toy I was handed by malicious irony. Today my life knows just how much all
that is worth. In the garden I can just make out through the silent windows
of my cell, someone has thrown all the swings over the branches they hang
from; theyre tangled up, high and out of reach, even the idea I have in my
imagination of myself running away cannot have swings to play with. And
that is, more or less, but without style, the state of my soul at this time. Like
the man who waits in Gibrans tales, my eyes burn from having thought
about weeping. Life pains me bit by bit, in sips, through interstices. All this
is printed in a small book whose binding is already coming apart. If I werent
writing to you, I would have to swear to you that this letter is sincere and
that the hysterical ties in it spring spontaneously from what I feel. But you
must sense that this unstageable tragedy is of a rigorous reality, full of the
here and now, and taking place in our souls, you and I, just like the green in
the leaves. This is not exactly madness, but madness must bestow a
relaxation on the person who suffers it, the astute pleasure of the soulsbounces, not very different from these. What colour can feeling be? I have
found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and
the safety from being understood in this mad world, where only the mad are
sane.
Thousands of hugs from yours truly, always truly yours.
7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO
6/22
When you chase a dream, you learn about yourself. You learn your capabilities
and limitations, and the value of hard work and persistence. Chase your dreams
until you catch them...and then dream, catch, and dream again! I only have one
question, scraping the inside of me. Ive tried to ignore it, but it won't go away. It
haunts my dreams, chases me through every single day. So please tell me and I
swear I'll never ask again. It's in your power to make it go away, and all you have
to do is tell me...The broken are not always gathered together, of course, and not
all mysteries of the flesh are solved. We speak of "senseless tragedies" but really: Is
there any other kind? Mothers and wives disappear without a trace. Children are
killed. Madmen ravage the world, leaving wounds endlessly mourned. Loved oneswhose presence once filled us move into the distance; our eyes follow them as long
as possible as they recede from view. Maybe we chase them clumsily, across
railroad tracks and trafficked streets; Over roads new printed with their footsteps,
the dust still whirling in the wake of them; through impossibly big cities people
with strangers whose faces and bodies carry fragments of their faces and bodies,
whose laughter, steadiness, pluck, stubbornness remind us of the beloved we seek.
Maybe we stay put, left behind, and look for them in our dreams. But we never
stop looking. We can never stop carrying the heavy weight of this pilgrimage; we
can only transfigure what we carry. Like the story told; Once upon a time there
was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his
whole life answering, we can only shatter it and send it whirling into the world in
sparkling dust. Most dreams die a slow death. They're conceived in a moment of
passion, with the prospect of endless possibility, but often languish and are not
pursued with the same heartfelt intensity as when first born. Slowly, subtly, a
dream becomes elusive and ephemeral. People who've lost their own to pessimiststurn, pessimists to cynics, time and devotion wasted, but o what a world, indeed
full of peril but still there is much that is fair. Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and
rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there; carry my answer with if you be kind
good sire. Maybe a happy life to find, a quiet mind, an equal friend, no grudge, no
strife, wisdom joined with simplicity, a night discharged of all care. Martial are
things to attain, when that I think what grief it is again, to live and lack the thing
should rid the pain.
7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO
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I have always, essentially, been waiting. Waiting to become something else,
waiting to be that person I always thought I was on the verge of becoming,
waiting for that life I thought I would have. In my head, I was always one
step away. In high school, I was biding my time until I could become the
college version of myself, the one my mind could see so clearly. In college,
the post-college adult person was always looming in front of me, smarter,
stronger, and more organized. Then the married person, then the person Id
become when we have kids. For twenty years, literally, some have waited to
become the thin version of them, because thats when life will really begin.
And through all that waiting, here I am. My life is passing, day by day, and I
am waiting for it to start. I am waiting for that time, that person, that event
when my life will finally begin.
I love movies about The Big Moment the game or the performance or the
wedding day or the record deal, the stories that split time with that key
event, and everything is reframed, before it and after it, because it has
changed everything. I have always wanted this movie-worthy event,
something that will change everything and grab me out of this waiting game
into the whirlwind in front of me. I cry and cry at these movies, because I
am still waiting for my own big moment. I had visions of life as an
adventure, a thing to be celebrated and experienced, but all I was doing was
going to work and coming home, and that wasnt what it looked like in the
movies.
John Lennon once said, Life is what happens when youre busy making
other plans. For me, life is what was happening while I was busy waiting for
my big moment. I was ready for it and believed that the rest of my life would
fade into the background, and that my big moment would carry me through
life like a lifeboat.
The Big Moment, unfortunately, is an urban myth. Some people have them,
in a sense, when they win the Heisman or become the next American Idol.
But even that football player or that singer is living a life made up of more
than that one moment. Life is a collection of a million, billion moments, tiny
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little moments and choices, like a handful of luminous, glowing pearls. It
takes so much time, and so much work, and those beads and moments are so
small, and so much less fabulous and dramatic than the movies.
But this is what Im finding, in glimpses and flashes: this is it. This is it, inthe best possible way. That thing Im waiting for, that adventure, that move-
score-worthy experience unfolding gracefully. This is it. Normal, daily life
ticking by on our streets and sidewalks, in our houses and apartments, in our
beds and at our dinner tables, in our dreams and prayers and fights and
secrets this pedestrian life is the most precious thing any of us will ever
experience.
Believe that this way of living, this focus on the present, the daily, the
tangible, this intense concentration not on the news headlines but on the
flowers growing in your own garden, the children growing in your own
home, this way of living has the potential to open up the heavens, to yield a
glittering handful of diamonds where a second ago there was coal. This way
of living and noticing and building and crafting can crack through the movie
sets and soundtracks that keep us waiting for our own life stories to begin,
and set us free to observe the lives we have been creating all along without
ever realizing it.
I dont want to wait anymore. I choose to believe that there is nothing more
profound than this day. I choose to believe that there may be a thousand big
moments embedded in this day, waiting to be discovered like tiny shards of
gold. The big moments are the daily, tiny moments of courage and
forgiveness and hope that we grab on to and extend to one another. Thats
the drama of life, swirling all around us, and generally I dont even see it,
because Im too busy waiting to become whatever it is I think I am about to
become. The big moments are in every hour, every conversation, every
meal, every meeting.
The Heisman Trophy winner knows this. He knows that his big moment was
not when they gave him the trophy. It was the thousand times he went to
practice instead of going back to bed. It was the miles run on rainy days, the
healthy meals when a burger sounded like heaven. That big moment
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represented and rested on a foundation of moments that had come before it.
I believe that if we cultivate a true attention, a deep ability to see what has
been there all along, we will find worlds within us and between us, dreams
and stories and memories spilling over. The nuances and shades and secretsand intimations of love and friendship and marriage an parenting are action-
packed and multicoloured, if you know where to look.
Today is your big moment. Moments, really. The life youve been waiting for
is happening all around you. The scene unfolding right outside your window
is worth more than the most beautiful painting, and the crackers and peanut
butter that youre having for lunch on the coffee table are as profound, in
their own way, as the Last Supper. This is it. This is life in all its glory,swirling and unfolding around us, disguised as pedantic, pedestrian non-
events. But pull of the mask and you will find your life, waiting to be made,
chosen, woven, and crafted.
Your life, right now, today, is exploding with energy and power and detail
and dimension, better than the best movie you have ever seen. You and your
family and your friends and your house and your dinner table and your
garage have all the makings of a life of epic proportions, a story for the ages.Because they all are. Every life is.
You have stories worth telling, memories worth remembering, dreams worth
working toward, a body worth feeding, a soul worth tending, and beyond
that, God. I am more than dust and bones. For i have been given today.
7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO
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When the two people who thus discover that they are on the same secret
road, the friendship which arises between them will very easily pass may
pass in the first half hour into a love. But this, so far from obliterating the
distinction between the two loves, puts it in a clearer light. If one who was
first, in the deep and full sense a Friend, is then gradually or suddenly
revealed as also your lover you will certainly not want to share the Beloveds
love with any third. But you will have no jealousy at all about sharing the
Friendship. Nothing so enriches love, any love as the discovery that the
Beloved can deeply, truly and spontaneously enter into Friendship with the
Friends; to feel that not only are we two united by love but we three or four
or five are all travellers on the same quest, with a common vision. But my
friend, she leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and kissed her best
friend, soft and true. He tasted dusty and sweet. He tasted like regret in the
shadows of trees and in the glow of a moon already gone. She kissed him
long and soft, and when she pulled herself away, she touched his mouth
with her fingers. She did not say goodbye, she was incapable, and after a few
more minutes at his side, she was able to tear herself from the ground. It
amazed me, the wonders of the human condition, even when streams are
flowing down their faces and they stagger on. My friend poured out the
contents of my heart, chaff and grain together, with gentle hands took and
sifted it, kept what was worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blew
the rest away. So When I say it's you I like, I nurse a hope that you will
understand I'm talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more
than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that
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allows you to stand for those things without which we cannot survive. Love
that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war and justice that
proves more powerful than greed. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come
into my life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it
crept to my side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed
itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart
its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music; perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love
unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a sweet-hearted rose
slipped from its sheath. But truly I nothing but loved my friend, as the
people in my life, and I do for my friends whatever they need me to do for
them, again and again, as many times as is necessary. In your case you oft
forgot who you are and how much you're loved. So as a friend I remind you
who you are and tell you how much I love you. And think it not burden for
me. Alas every time I remind you, I get to remember with you, which is my
pleasure. For you knew all about me, I could afford to be stupid, I don't
know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you
half as well as you deserve, you understood where I have been, accepted
what ad become, and still, gently allowed me to grow in the wilderness of
this world. And for what would I ever leave a friend behind? Friends are all
we have to get us through, the only things from this world that we could
hope to see in the next, for Life is an awful, ugly place to not have one. O my
friend, When i honestly ask myself which person in my life mean the most, i
often find that it is you who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures,
chose rather to share the pains and touch the wounds. The friend who can
be silent with in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay in an hour
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of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not
healing and face us the reality of our powerlessness, that is one who cares,
and There is nothing I would not do for those who really care. I have no
notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.
My friend, my mirror, you are my best as well as my lover, and I do not
know which side of you I enjoy the most. I treasure each side, just as I have
treasured our life together.
Perhaps someday we shall be fortunate enough to grow old together and
grow old apart. She did not think him any less handsome as his lifeless face
faded away on her lap. She only wished that shed been there when the first
line on his face had appeared, so that she could have stroked and kissed and
cherished it, thus the roads part into a secret gate.
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It is not the strength, but the duration, of great sentiments that makes great
men, it was said once. We fear passing through this world, we shudder at
life's instability, and we grieve to see the flowers wilt again and again, andthe leaves fall, and in our hearts we know that we too will soon disappear.
Long did we lie in the dust, silent and unaware of the seasons; Alas! Gifts are
never lost, save the opportunity to open them. When the painter paints, and
thinker formulate thoughts, it is in order to salvage something from that
memory, an autumn leaf that murmurs in the wind and then is heard no
more, to make something last longer than we do. I like the stars is deluded
with permanence, I think. Always flaring up and caving in and going out.
But from here, I can pretend. I can pretend that things last, that lives arelonger than moments that flicker, flash and fade. Alas! Worlds don't last; and
stars are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into
cold and dust, but I can pretend. Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard
enough they say. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice
everything else for it or something like that. A tragedy indeed, that One
shall lose a heart's desire, and the other profit of it. If the whole world is evil,
then the worst that befell you is justified if that would make it easier for you
to accept the loses. Life does not cease to be funny when people die anymore than it ceases to be serious when people laugh. For whoever wants
music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, passion
instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours.By our own
hands we are damned and saved. In whatever you do, put forth your best
effort even if all you're doing is chasing a never-ending rainbow. You might
never reach the end of it, but along the way you'll meet people who will
mean the world to you and make memories that will keep you warm on even
the coldest nights. People come, people go theyll drift in and out of yourlife, almost like characters in a favourite book. When you finally close the
cover, the characters have told their story and you start up again with
another book.
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She can kill with a smile; she can wound with her eyes.
And she can ruin your faith with her casual lies.
And she only reveals what she wants you to see.
She hides like a child, but she's always a woman to me.
She can lead you to love; she can take you or leave you.
She can ask for the truth but she'll never believe.
And she'll take what you'll give her as long as it's free.
Yeah, she steals like a thief, but she's always a woman to me.
She takes care of herself.
She can wait if she wants; she's ahead of her time.
And she never gives out, and she never gives in,
she just changes her mind.
And she'll promise you more than the Garden of Eden.
And she'll carelessly cut you and laugh while you're bleeding.
But she'll bring out the best and the worst you can be.
Blame it all on yourself, because she's always a woman to me.
She takes care of herself.
She can wait if she wants; she's ahead of her time.
And she never gives out, and she never gives in,
She just changes her mind.
She is frequently kind and she's suddenly cruel.
But she can do as she pleases, she's nobody's fool.
And she can't be convicted, she's earned her degree.
And the most she will do is throw shadows at you,
But she's always a woman to me.
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The new becomes old, kinship quickly vanishes, mighty become disgraced,
abundant becomes little, affection dies out and its pleasure does
perish.When I was young and discovering myself, my convictions were hillsfrom which i looked at the world, now as I grow older they seem to be
turning into caves in which to hide, well beautiful things grow to a certain
height and then they fail and fade off, breathing out memories as they decay.
And just as any period decays in our minds, the things of that period should
decay too. So let your lips, speak words of kindness, your eyes seek out the
good in people. People, more than things, have to be restored, renewed,
revived, reclaimed, and redeemed. And if you ever need a helping hand, you
shall find one at the end of each of your arms, and as you grow older, you
will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself and the
other for helping others. Our lives are defined by opportunities, even the
ones we miss; mine, some I find sweeter when theyre lost, for much has
turned to dust in my hands I find. Was I actually in love? I often wonder, I
felt a sort of tender curiosity, slipped briskly into an intimacy from which I
never recovered, my scars betray me so, as I find myself among strangers
drifting here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me,
alas! Every morning I wake only to find I moved and breathed in the same
world as I did.
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Please forgive me;
I'm not shouting "I'm clean living'."
I'm whispering "I was lost, and
Now am trying to find myself."
I don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble
and in need of guidance.
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak
and need His strength to carry on.
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed
and need God to help me clean my mess.
I'm not claiming to be perfect;
my flaws are far too visible
I still feel the sting of pain.
I have my share of heartaches
so I call upon His name in prostration.
I'm not holier than thou;
I'm just a simple sinner
who received God's good grace, somehow.
When I say I am I am not
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And one spoke and said: life has dealt bitterly with our hopes and our
desires. Our hearts are troubled, and we do not understand. Comfort us, and
open to us the meanings of our sorrows." And his heart was moved with
compassion, and he said: Call me not wise unless you call all men wise. A
young fruit am I, still clinging to the branch, and it was only yesterday that I
was but a blossom. "And call none among you foolish, for in truth we are
neither wise nor foolish. We are green leaves upon the tree of life, and life
itself is beyond wisdom, and surely beyond foolishness. The space that lies
between you and your near neighbour unfriended is indeed greater than that
which lies between you and your beloved who dwells beyond seven lands
and seven seas. For in remembrance there are no distances; and only in
oblivion is there a gulf that neither your voice nor your eye can abridge. Life
is older than all things living; even as beauty was winged ere the beautiful
was born on earth, and even as truth was truth ere it was uttered. Life sings
in our silences, and dreams in our slumber. Even when we are beaten and
low, Life is enthroned and high. And when we weep, Life smiles upon the
day, and is free even when we drag our chains. Oftentimes we call Life bitter
names, but only when we ourselves are bitter. And we deem her empty and
unprofitable, but only when the soul goes wandering in desolate places and
the heart is drunk with over mindfulness of self. Many persons have a wrong
idea of what constitutes true happiness. It is not attained through self-
gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose. This purpose is not to
be happy. It is to be useful, to be honourable, to be compassionate, and to
have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well. Life is deep
and high and distant; and though only your vast vision can reach even her
feet, yet she is near; and though only the breath of your breath reaches her
heart, the shadow of your shadow crosses her face, and the echo of your
faintest cry becomes a spring and an autumn in her breast. And Life is veiled
and hidden, even as your greater self is hidden and veiled. Yet when Life
speaks, all the winds become words; and when she speaks again, the smiles
upon your lips and the tears in your eyes turn also into words. When she
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sings, the deaf hear and are held; and when she comes walking, the sightless
behold her and are amazed and follow her in wonder and astonishment."
And he ceased from speaking, and a vast.
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Friendship improves happiness, and abates misery, by doubling our joys, and
dividing our grief, so it was said, for life is nothing without it. A nation can
survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from
within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries
his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate
freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls
of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in
accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments,
he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the
soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine
the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer
resist. A murderer is less to fear. So is the man who backbites an absent
friend, nay, who does not stand up for him when another blames him, the
man who angles for bursts of laughter and for the repute of a wit, who can
invent what he never saw, who cannot keep a secret - that man is black at
heart: mark and avoid him, Though silence be not necessarily an admission,
it is not a denial, either. For nothing stands out so conspicuously, or remains
so firmly fixed in the memory, as something blundered, so never injure a
friend, even in jest. As for myself, I can only exhort you to look on
Friendship as the most valuable of all human possessions, no other being
equally suited to the moral nature of man, or so applicable to every state and
circumstance, whether of prosperity or adversity, in which he can possibly
be placed. But at the same time I lay it down as a fundamental axiom that
"true Friendship can only subsist between those who are animated by the
strictest principles of honour and virtue." When I say this, I would not be
thought to adopt the sentiments of those speculative moralists who pretend
that no man can justly be deemed virtuous who is not arrived at that state of
absolute perfection which constitutes, according to their ideas, the character
of genuine wisdom. This opinion may appear true, perhaps, in theory, but is
altogether inapplicable to any useful purpose of society, as it supposes a
degree of virtue to which no mortal was ever capable of rising. Lets live as
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brave men; and if fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts, for it
is foolish to tear ones hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by
baldness, just as with many fleeting pleasures--travel in their company,
enjoy them every so often, and then get on with your life, for dearest friend,Men, of course, who have no resources in themselves for securing a good and
happy life find every age burdensome. But those who look for all happiness
from within can never think anything bad which providence makes
inevitable. Hours and days and months and years go by; the past returns no
more and what is to be we cannot know; but whatever the time gives us in
which we live, we should therefore be content. But men may construe
things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO
21/22
Taste of real life have I none, moments in my dream to live in, for a night, a
week, a year. I couldn't have lived better under the skies even for a hundred
years. You won't fail me, will you? Only for a moment, and you are happy
forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps we reconcile ourselves with
ourselves, resolve all doubt. When I wake The city grows cold, as the leaves
start to fall, The streets still lit, the bars at last call, some Looking for love,
others looking for when. I hand the postman my final letter to be sent. Some
to the ground and some to thin air, weve all got to be going somewhere.
Freedom, friends, stories in dusty bookends, Stories past cigarette ends, some
are born,
others remain dead. It seems to me like some snatch of a tune I had heard
somewhere before but had forgotten the melody of great sweetness, was
coming back to me now. A world of magic is less tragic, You can't hold it in
your hand, You can't feel it with your heart, And you won't believe it But if
it's true You can see it with your eyes. If and when you fall in love, may you
be happy with her. You don't need to wish her anything, for she'll be happy
with you. May your sky always be clear, may your dear smile always be
bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss
and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart. Isn't
such a moment sufficient for the whole of one's life? Just keep your feet on
the ground when your head's in the clouds.
7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO
22/22
Be an earth for him and he will be your sky;
Be a resting place for him and he will be your pillar;Be his Bondmaid and he will be your slave;
Do not make excessive demands for he will then desert you;
Do not become too distant from him for he will then forget you;
Should he draw near then draw close to him;
Should he become distant stay away from him;
Shield his nose, his hearing and his eye
so he will smell nothing from youBut that which is sweet
hear nothing
but that which is good;
And look at nothing
but that which is beautiful.