The Harsh Truth and the Weak Soul

There were certain hard facts that were printed out in white and black blatantly; It read the ugly letters, spelt them out, and dismissed it as a lie in a deperate attempt to make itself feel better. Words were read, but the smug Soul refused to let the meaning and the realisation of that statement sink in. It lived in a well spun cocoon of silken lies- the threads of which were too feeble, full of false substance and dirt, but coated with brialliant colors and polished with ignorance. It ignored the weakness of the very base of its shell, and continued basking in the glory of its outward beauty. The beautiful and delicate silken threads, golden and yellow- shimmering and bright in the golden rays of the sun. It continued looking at them, smiling in content, and proud to have built this brilliant haven. It often saw the threads quivering and swaying with the slightest gust of wind, felt the whole shelter shake at the slightest tremor, felt the threads melt away at the slightest drizzle. Yet It fortified the cocoon, painting it with even more vibrant colors, applying thick coats of transparent reflecting polish. It knew the destruction was inevitable, it knew the doomsday was impending, the fast elusive moments ticking away- each moment bringing it closer. Yet the warmth of the current shelter was so comforting, the dazzle of the varnish so stunningly beautiful, that It did not have the courage to re-locate.

And the inevitable soon takes place..there comes a storm one day, the skies ablaze with forks of ligtning, and the clouds roaring with thunder. The safe shelter comes crashing down with a harsh impact, the threads melting away in a second, the colors washed down with the first few drops of rain, encircling the broken heap in a muddly puddle. Out of the debris, emerges the broken soul, shell-shocked at the damage which happened in a split second. No intitial tremors to give a prelude to the crash, the cocoon collapsed at the very first jolt, not strong enough to let the refugee Soul run away in serach of other shelters,not enough time to grasp the situation. It collapsed, cried for a few minutes, wiping away the tears, knowing that it was something It knew would happen one day.

In the midst of the devastation- dawns the Truth, which has always been escaped. The realisation of the harsh and bitter Potion trickles down the Soul like fresh moist cement seeping between the bricks and fortifying them. The enlightened Soul looks at the wreckage, glancing at its own folly, looks at the muddy colors with regret, and then steels itself. It smiles at the shattered pieces of glass. 'Now there will be a strong and safe shelter, built neither in haste, nor painted with false varnish'.It sets off on a long stroll, to re-build its home once again...looking for solid stones baked in the strong harsh heat.