Genesis-lets start with the novel

The tale is told again and again. With the ravages of time however all is gone except for the tiny fragments of our lives that is told to kids at sunset. But that’s just a tale. Only we know the story of our lives and that is why we need to be able to tell it, to put it down in writing for posterity so that years from now when everyone is gone people can pick it up and say here are lives of people as they were.

Only my story is a little too hard to believe. But true it still is.

In our modern dysfunctional lives we constantly seek to find explanations for our acts, creating new ways to avoid saying we or someone else was simply stupid to act like that. But sometimes maybe in our simple excuses we come closest to diagnosing the problem. I was messed up is a way of saying I did not take the correct decisions. Inability to deal with emotions is simply enough acting in a childish way.

But maybe even I was unable to deal with my emotions for I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. To hope and to wish for an alternate reality is simply living in your dreams. To feel a high in the company of women is a base pleasure but I was addicted to it and could not kick the habit. Maybe I should have gone ahead and tried my luck and maybe I would be cured. But the tale is as it is.

Where do I start? I think I will go back to many years back? Because this is not my tale. This is also of my ancestors

 

Motivation

"The reward for work well done is the opportunity to do more."

 

This line sets me thinking. It’s a wonderful line because it tells us why when we do tough jobs well, we get tougher jobs later on. Lets forget appraisals, annual raises etc. The reason to do good work must come from within. For me at least I am satisfied when I do a job well.  Of course this does not imply that things such as appraisals and recognition are not important. They are crucial but they are not the central reason why I would do a good job.

The Clock of Life by Robert H. Smith

The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour.

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one's health is more,
To lose one's soul is such a loss
That no man can restore.

The present only is our own,
So live, love, toil with a will,
Place no faith in "Tomorrow,"
For the Clock may then be still.


Came across this lovely poem. Thought I should share it with others.