I was returning home on a Sunday evening. The road was lined with lush green trees, some with white flowers, some flowers were a flaming red, and some with rich green foliage.
All bending down as though to greet me.
The rains added to the effect.
Everything was just super clean.
I happened to look towards the sky and the clouds configured in the shape of a unicorn. This made me happy and a spontaneous grateful smile adorned my lips. Magic fascinates me and I see it everywhere.
What are unicorns?
A Unicorn is a mythical creature, represented by a horse with a single horn emitting straight from his forehead. It is also used to describe someone amazing who is hard to catch or simply a very rare find.
I love the idea of a unicorn immensely. Mainly because everything that is different and unique fascinates me and tickles my sense of innate adventure. The dictionary says that myths are long lost stories of traditions and may include supernatural beings. I have a strong feeling that a unicorn has existed sometime long ago or they would not have come to exist in the mind of the person who perceived the Unicorn.
What I aim to be aware of, is the uncertainty of life itself. And if it were certain, it may offer us predictability which might be comforting for some.
I for one would find it boring. Though my life has been topsy-turvy at best, and the experiences have been multi-fold, I would not trade my life with anyone at all. I am so grateful for the life I have and for the body that I live in.
I love being a Unicorn.
Quaint, unpredictable, different, and just as a unicorn, you don’t know if I am a myth or a reality. The experiences I have had have been extremely Uni-corny.
Would you like to choose to be a unicorn in your own life? What fun would that be?
If you can let it, life can be fun jumping into the unknown, rather than be stuck in the known.
Let life flow through you…let it strongly surge
Happiness is not something you go after or attain.
It is joy flowing through you.
The Solitary Reaper
By WORDSWORTH
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chant
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travelers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whatever the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;—
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more”
Why did I put this poem here? Amongst us is that lonely reaper singing songs of a bygone time, of loss and pain and memories of yesterday.
What, if while singing and reaping she found a hidden unicorn?
To hope and love and offer a merry fox-trot along with the grasslands?
Cheers to the Unicorns.
Life is beautiful and so are we.
