We were visiting a friend and right before he got into the car, the rain began to pour and this huge, fully-arced, bright rainbow appeared. A few seconds later, a second bow appeared above it — fainter but still a complete arc. Yes, it is a prismatic optical effect and always visible to those with the right perspective. So what? It is divine and always spiritual!
Woke up this morning, the day was gray, somber, gloomy to realize that tomorrow is not ours. It is a corridor of unknown, an endless line of what will be but don’t yet know. A storybook of descriptions, a passageway of life to embrace and savor.
Life and its storylines and headaches. One minute we are here, another there, joyful and dejected and the next, we find ourselves traipsing down the drain like drops of water. Yes, one blink and it is gone in a jiffy.
Tomorrow is never ours to begin with so why not value, admire and make the best of it? Instead, we spend every little hour, minute and second, ounce embracing the road less traveled, trying to climb stairs of nowhere, focusing not on the dish on our front porch but the one next door. Yeah, that dance can sometimes be atrocious.
Life is not complicated, as it appears, we make it complicated and when it is all over we are left mulling over on what could have; exactly, could have.
We spend so much time bickering, fighting over trivial paraphernalia, not valuing life or cuddling the present that we can’t even see straight.
Have we ever sat to ponder about what it all mean to us? Life there is. What is it to you? Perhaps, if we would give it much thought, examine our consciousness, decipher its essence, we would be able to embrace it with the love, humility, appreciation and credence that it so deserves.
Tomorrow is never ours but it can be nauseatingly brighter, if we try, if we give it a chance!
It is the light, the bright light, at the end of the tunnel. The candlelight, the dim light, a little weak and yet strong, the beautiful light, so luminous and yet far. It is the light that the wind blows through, fleetingly weakening it, unrelenting, without care or concern. It is the radiant light beaming through the night, out of sight and yet there. Undeterred, she strikes back. Undefeated, she returns, soldering on but in one unappealing night, she gives in. Exhausted, it is to be no more, the party is over. Unprovoked, the wind returned, unapologetic, with all its force, throwing punches from everywhere in every direction, without measuring, unrepentant. And without decorum, abruptly, the light is turned off, debilitated, for good. Defeated, she does not return. And the tunnel sits there, in the dark, empty, unescorted, defenseless. In the meantime, the wind, weeps.
ludlum drive 
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