Friday, July 17, 2009


The human mind is an ever-baffling source of wonder. It’s like a bright riddle, apparently simple and colorful, but the deeper you dig, the murkier it gets. The labyrinth of thoughts that snake through the many layered human intellect are those expert tools, clicking away methodically and efficiently to deliver the right choices. Of course the machine is not perfect, it’s only human after all. So often, there are distractions. The magnitude of their infection varies, but their purpose never sways. They gnaw at our healthy forest of thoughts, threatening to influence our outlook and perspective. They make martyrs out of some, monsters among others. Monstrosity in itself is not entirely an absolute concept. But human laws have their own ways of recognizing and weeding out the canker that infests our race. The hitch is, although our system is competent in its endeavors, it fails to acknowledge the basic crimes of human nature that are in fact worthy of the most severe retribution.
Trust is not merely the matrix of all human networks, it’s the fuel that drives our decisions, fosters hope and keeps us rolling. And by hope, I mean that light at the end of the tunnel. It is clich├ęd in it’s brightness, but nevertheless the magic is hard to ignore. Hope has so many surfaces, so many ragged edges and blunt ends, its true significance is now just a wisp of vapor, hard to define, yet conspicuous in it’s paling shimmer. It infuses into the very foundations of human action, making it our one indispensable necessity. So anything that induces a crack in our perfect pristine existence is certainly not welcome. Because one crack will beckon other fractures and the only noise audible will be our voice, looking among the many broken splinters for something we had lost long ago. And trust that’s lost will take a lot more than time to return. Initially it will cost us our dreams. Gradually it feeds upon our peace. Finally it will tear down the sense of security that has sheltered us so loyally. It’s a meticulously slow process, and it spans an entire lifetime of happiness.
In the meantime, the fire that started it all and caused our life to go up in smoke will move on to greener pastures. We’ll be too shocked by the betrayal, too bruised and battered by all the deception to run after the deserter. Inner torment is inconsequential in the justice system. It will fail to see the blood because we’ve bled inside. No blood spilt. No charges pressed. The killer goes scott free.