So exhausted was he after that grueling marathon race. Extreme level of physical fitness, and the discipline and rigor of his practice ensured that he completed the race, though not in any of the prize winning positions. He came from a small village, started his life running through the streets and lanes, on the cement pavement along the gutters, in through the open fields, under the vast expanse of the sky and on the green carpets in the fields. His drive to be a runner, nobody including him, knows from where it came, but it pushed him hard to be a good runner. He had won prizes in his school days, which helped him to get into a college through the channel for sports people and finally he ended up representing his nation in the long distance run. It has always been a race for him in life, ironically against his own race.
Sitting under the shade of the cool canopy, sipping a glass of water, his eyes closed as beads of sweat trickled down on that hot evening, he was pondering if he would ever be able to run another marathon again as age was winning him in its race. Slow and steady with no sense of acceleration but it went past him , giving an ironical smile. And that was one race he knew he could never win, despite his speed and practice. He was all along oblivious to the cacophony around him in the ground.
The wet white cloth covering his face, he lay stretched in the grass, as the thought ran through him.
This is a sport where I run, and try to win. But when I race against my kindred from my race as a sport I enjoy the challenge, and most importantly I race against myself as well, stepping up the bar. But why is the race of life so maddening?...........slowly this went through his mind, as the sweat beads were trickling down, and the sun’s rays touched him, scorching the skin, but the rays were in no hurry, at a constant speed they reached down, as if knowing for sure what they wanted to achieve.
As if in sharp contrast to his thoughts, where the thought of his race, right from birth, runs a race, not sure of why, not even aware of the mysterious force pushing them into this race, and in spite of not being a willing partaker, the momentum catches on so infectiously, that by the time he realizes, he is already running. Not a moment thereafter to ever look at life’s trivialities, nature’s eloquence in its silence, to look at anything in nature as it is,………. devoid of his self-constructed prisms through which life is always viewed…………resulting in a sense of insecurity, making him run faster. But the faster he runs, the winning point seems to move farther at the same speed , evading his stretched legs, not a second to stop and look at the world around. A small hesitation means, loss of his position in the puzzle, resulting in more of insecurity and fear driving him deeper and deeper into this mad neurotic spiral. Ultimately not aware of why he is even here, in this race, he still continues with the mad rush. All in the so called spirit of competition and need to survive, the race continues. Will there ever be a point of elation at the end? He is not sure.
After all, all this mad dog race is, for him to survive, and survive he does, for he wants to enjoy life, find a certain fulfillment, a point where he can be with himself…….but the very process which he adopts or rather is forced to adopt by that mysterious whip, drives him to a diametrically opposite situation, it is like the mirage in the desert, the more he runs, the more it moves away from him………..is there ever an end to this madness? Will the race among the members of the race ever end, where all can walk with each other in complete harmony, where one can be at peace with oneself without destroying the other, with complete understanding of the other and of his own self.
What is it that I want to achieve and will my present way of life ever achieve that? The wet cloth on his face was beginning to dry up, and he was shaken out of his stream of thoughts by the setting sun………………..will he rise up a different man to be one of a kind?
Sitting under the shade of the cool canopy, sipping a glass of water, his eyes closed as beads of sweat trickled down on that hot evening, he was pondering if he would ever be able to run another marathon again as age was winning him in its race. Slow and steady with no sense of acceleration but it went past him , giving an ironical smile. And that was one race he knew he could never win, despite his speed and practice. He was all along oblivious to the cacophony around him in the ground.
The wet white cloth covering his face, he lay stretched in the grass, as the thought ran through him.
This is a sport where I run, and try to win. But when I race against my kindred from my race as a sport I enjoy the challenge, and most importantly I race against myself as well, stepping up the bar. But why is the race of life so maddening?...........slowly this went through his mind, as the sweat beads were trickling down, and the sun’s rays touched him, scorching the skin, but the rays were in no hurry, at a constant speed they reached down, as if knowing for sure what they wanted to achieve.
As if in sharp contrast to his thoughts, where the thought of his race, right from birth, runs a race, not sure of why, not even aware of the mysterious force pushing them into this race, and in spite of not being a willing partaker, the momentum catches on so infectiously, that by the time he realizes, he is already running. Not a moment thereafter to ever look at life’s trivialities, nature’s eloquence in its silence, to look at anything in nature as it is,………. devoid of his self-constructed prisms through which life is always viewed…………resulting in a sense of insecurity, making him run faster. But the faster he runs, the winning point seems to move farther at the same speed , evading his stretched legs, not a second to stop and look at the world around. A small hesitation means, loss of his position in the puzzle, resulting in more of insecurity and fear driving him deeper and deeper into this mad neurotic spiral. Ultimately not aware of why he is even here, in this race, he still continues with the mad rush. All in the so called spirit of competition and need to survive, the race continues. Will there ever be a point of elation at the end? He is not sure.
After all, all this mad dog race is, for him to survive, and survive he does, for he wants to enjoy life, find a certain fulfillment, a point where he can be with himself…….but the very process which he adopts or rather is forced to adopt by that mysterious whip, drives him to a diametrically opposite situation, it is like the mirage in the desert, the more he runs, the more it moves away from him………..is there ever an end to this madness? Will the race among the members of the race ever end, where all can walk with each other in complete harmony, where one can be at peace with oneself without destroying the other, with complete understanding of the other and of his own self.
What is it that I want to achieve and will my present way of life ever achieve that? The wet cloth on his face was beginning to dry up, and he was shaken out of his stream of thoughts by the setting sun………………..will he rise up a different man to be one of a kind?
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