A Vagabond's Realisation

Something I wrote a couple of months ago.

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He felt he had everything in the world.

He smiled, laughed and danced with the wind, the moon and the stars. He roamed the villages, towns and forests and met others like him. He looked at them incredulously, amazed and astounded at their display of emotions. He was so much like them, and yet, so different.

"Or does everyone feel that way?" And with that, a smile descended on that clear face and he let the question and the thought drift away. Just like that.

That was him. Not a care in the world.

He hadn't seen a mirror in months. He had occasionally seen his reflection in the flowing water of the stream but the ripples on the surface always made it difficult for him to see his face properly. That never worried him much. He knew the world would accept him just as he was. Just as he had accepted the world as it was.

He would walk, sometimes mindlessly rush, in a general direction all day. A motley crowd was indeed headed somewhere in the same direction as he was but none were certain about their destination. They often paused during the day wondering which way they should go. It would sometimes lead to some of these fellow travellers deciding they needed to head elsewhere.

They passed him by on their journey.

He never disliked them; never said a harsh word. He couldn't. That wasn't him. All he would do, is sometimes allow himself to look at the departing friends with a smile and with a sigh tell himself it was perhaps all right to envy them. Sometimes. Perhaps.

Hopefully, someday, somewhere...

In another lifetime, maybe...

He loved his band of vagabonds. Bound by the invisible cord that often bonds carefree spirits, they were a joyous bunch who shared food, drink, laughter and love.

He loved listening to ballads. The great pathos in the voices of the untrained countryside singers filled his heart with great sorrow every time he heard them. The emotion of the songs moved him like nothing else could, not even like some of the greatest of literature he'd read.

He had fallen in love with nature. Mountains of all sorts and wide-open beaches were his playground. He climbed rocky mountain surfaces and swam in the deep blue ocean with equal fervour and joy. Sometimes, he would just run on the beaches with his hands spread out, like a kite in the wind.

He would look up at the skies when it would rain. He would try to decide whether the heavenly droplets were fore-bearers of grief or joyous moments. He tried not to be judgmental, but it was difficult. He would strain looking at the skies as if waiting to hear the graceful music of the gods.

Indeed, one day, he just broke down and cried his heart out. "Why?" he asked himself. "Idiot," came the impish reply, "you never asked 'why' when you laughed out loud... Just feel the moment and flow with the rhythm of the universe."

Yet, he now knew what they meant when they said you might have everything and yet have nothing at all.