ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO

7/29/2019 ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO

1/22

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IT


2/22

Should a man be scorned, if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and

go home? The world outside is not less real because the prisoner cannot see

it. The burden is replaced, not only by horizons of hope, but with the glow

of a truly better tomorrow. What greater sorrow than to recall happiness in

times of misery, what greater joy than to recall misery in times of happiness?

Hundreds of things you have tried to chase away the things you won't

remember and that you can't even let yourself think about because that's

when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in your mind

it's always raining a slow and endless drizzle. You will hear that she has left

the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before

it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might

be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection

crackles and is broken. Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone

in a doorway that looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you

persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again. Whenever it rains

you will think of her. Not even the very wise can see all ends, very hard it

will be but the road must be trod. And neither strength nor wisdom will

suffice to carry us far upon it. It is for the weak with as much hope as it is for

the strong for often it is the course of deeds that move the wheels of the

world I tell you. For myself, I become less distrustful of the human nature

remembering my own sins and follies; and realize that men's hearts are not

often as bad as their acts, and very seldom as bad as their words. For me love

thus far is but a sudden and miraculous grace, I just shut my eyes and never

count it nor expect it to recur, but I wake with delight every morn, not

because I deny the existence of sorrow and failure, like many, at some point

in their lives, I woke up in the middle of the night with the feeling that I

was all alone in the world, and that I will never have a decent night's sleep

again and will spend my life wandering blearily around a loveless landscape,

hoping desperately that my circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in

their heart of hearts, that they will remain so. But even if it were a fleeting

glimpse of Joy, it has taken me beyond the worlds poignant walls of grief.


3/22

Ah, love, let us be true to one another! For the world, which seems to lie

before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new is to be held

with care so once was wrote.


4/22

Its been hours, its been days

Love taken from me.

A prodigal left behind, I go out all nightSleep all day, like a bird without a song.

I put my arms around every face at the window,

But they all remind me of you.

Things are entirely what they appear to be

And behind them there is nothing,

Nothing stands the pace.

A lone boys heart to the ground cascades

So tell me where this sinful self did stray.I try to have fun, but he is a fool

All the flowers died when you went away.

Living is hard but I will try,

With your knives, hollow my lute,

Alas a bitter symphony for these lonely tears,

It might as well be my fault,

Life is made of all am used to,

Still clock on the wall is only right twice a day,But God its better than nothing.

I cant help but be scared of it all sometimes,

Outside my window the moon doesnt hung as high,

I shall have to sleep when its raining this time,

Happiness left my doorway.

To many corners in my mind, so many shadows in my room

Not even the wind could take me my own way.

Fountains mingle with the river, the rivers with the Ocean,In one another's being mingle, the winds with the heavens.

Why not I with thee?

Well to marvel at nothing is just about the one and only thing,

That can make one happy and keep him that way I suppose.


5/22

III

Im writing to you today out of sentimental necessity. I have an anguished,

painful need to speak to you. Its easy to see that I have nothing to tell you.

Today, at bottom of a bottomless, the absurdity of the sentence speaks for

me.

Im having one of those days in which I never had a future. There is only a

present, surrounded by a wall, over the other side of the river; that is the

intimate reason for all my suffering. Ships sailing to many ports, but not a

single one goes where life is not painful; nor is there any port of call where it

is possible to forget. All of this Happened a long time ago, but my sadness

began even before then. On days of the soul like today, I feel, with all the

awareness that I am a sad child abused by life. I was abandoned in a corner

where I could hear other children playing. Feeling in my hands the broken

toy I was handed by malicious irony. Today my life knows just how much all

that is worth. In the garden I can just make out through the silent windows

of my cell, someone has thrown all the swings over the branches they hang

from; theyre tangled up, high and out of reach, even the idea I have in my

imagination of myself running away cannot have swings to play with. And

that is, more or less, but without style, the state of my soul at this time. Like

the man who waits in Gibrans tales, my eyes burn from having thought

about weeping. Life pains me bit by bit, in sips, through interstices. All this

is printed in a small book whose binding is already coming apart. If I werent

writing to you, I would have to swear to you that this letter is sincere and

that the hysterical ties in it spring spontaneously from what I feel. But you

must sense that this unstageable tragedy is of a rigorous reality, full of the

here and now, and taking place in our souls, you and I, just like the green in

the leaves. This is not exactly madness, but madness must bestow a

relaxation on the person who suffers it, the astute pleasure of the soulsbounces, not very different from these. What colour can feeling be? I have

found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and

the safety from being understood in this mad world, where only the mad are

sane.

Thousands of hugs from yours truly, always truly yours.


6/22

When you chase a dream, you learn about yourself. You learn your capabilities

and limitations, and the value of hard work and persistence. Chase your dreams

until you catch them...and then dream, catch, and dream again! I only have one

question, scraping the inside of me. Ive tried to ignore it, but it won't go away. It

haunts my dreams, chases me through every single day. So please tell me and I

swear I'll never ask again. It's in your power to make it go away, and all you have

to do is tell me...The broken are not always gathered together, of course, and not

all mysteries of the flesh are solved. We speak of "senseless tragedies" but really: Is

there any other kind? Mothers and wives disappear without a trace. Children are

killed. Madmen ravage the world, leaving wounds endlessly mourned. Loved oneswhose presence once filled us move into the distance; our eyes follow them as long

as possible as they recede from view. Maybe we chase them clumsily, across

railroad tracks and trafficked streets; Over roads new printed with their footsteps,

the dust still whirling in the wake of them; through impossibly big cities people

with strangers whose faces and bodies carry fragments of their faces and bodies,

whose laughter, steadiness, pluck, stubbornness remind us of the beloved we seek.

Maybe we stay put, left behind, and look for them in our dreams. But we never

stop looking. We can never stop carrying the heavy weight of this pilgrimage; we

can only transfigure what we carry. Like the story told; Once upon a time there

was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his

whole life answering, we can only shatter it and send it whirling into the world in

sparkling dust. Most dreams die a slow death. They're conceived in a moment of

passion, with the prospect of endless possibility, but often languish and are not

pursued with the same heartfelt intensity as when first born. Slowly, subtly, a

dream becomes elusive and ephemeral. People who've lost their own to pessimiststurn, pessimists to cynics, time and devotion wasted, but o what a world, indeed

full of peril but still there is much that is fair. Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and

rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there; carry my answer with if you be kind

good sire. Maybe a happy life to find, a quiet mind, an equal friend, no grudge, no

strife, wisdom joined with simplicity, a night discharged of all care. Martial are

things to attain, when that I think what grief it is again, to live and lack the thing

should rid the pain.


7/22

I have always, essentially, been waiting. Waiting to become something else,

waiting to be that person I always thought I was on the verge of becoming,

waiting for that life I thought I would have. In my head, I was always one

step away. In high school, I was biding my time until I could become the

college version of myself, the one my mind could see so clearly. In college,

the post-college adult person was always looming in front of me, smarter,

stronger, and more organized. Then the married person, then the person Id

become when we have kids. For twenty years, literally, some have waited to

become the thin version of them, because thats when life will really begin.

And through all that waiting, here I am. My life is passing, day by day, and I

am waiting for it to start. I am waiting for that time, that person, that event

when my life will finally begin.

I love movies about The Big Moment the game or the performance or the

wedding day or the record deal, the stories that split time with that key

event, and everything is reframed, before it and after it, because it has

changed everything. I have always wanted this movie-worthy event,

something that will change everything and grab me out of this waiting game

into the whirlwind in front of me. I cry and cry at these movies, because I

am still waiting for my own big moment. I had visions of life as an

adventure, a thing to be celebrated and experienced, but all I was doing was

going to work and coming home, and that wasnt what it looked like in the

movies.

John Lennon once said, Life is what happens when youre busy making

other plans. For me, life is what was happening while I was busy waiting for

my big moment. I was ready for it and believed that the rest of my life would

fade into the background, and that my big moment would carry me through

life like a lifeboat.

The Big Moment, unfortunately, is an urban myth. Some people have them,

in a sense, when they win the Heisman or become the next American Idol.

But even that football player or that singer is living a life made up of more

than that one moment. Life is a collection of a million, billion moments, tiny


8/22

little moments and choices, like a handful of luminous, glowing pearls. It

takes so much time, and so much work, and those beads and moments are so

small, and so much less fabulous and dramatic than the movies.

But this is what Im finding, in glimpses and flashes: this is it. This is it, inthe best possible way. That thing Im waiting for, that adventure, that move-

score-worthy experience unfolding gracefully. This is it. Normal, daily life

ticking by on our streets and sidewalks, in our houses and apartments, in our

beds and at our dinner tables, in our dreams and prayers and fights and

secrets this pedestrian life is the most precious thing any of us will ever

experience.

Believe that this way of living, this focus on the present, the daily, the

tangible, this intense concentration not on the news headlines but on the

flowers growing in your own garden, the children growing in your own

home, this way of living has the potential to open up the heavens, to yield a

glittering handful of diamonds where a second ago there was coal. This way

of living and noticing and building and crafting can crack through the movie

sets and soundtracks that keep us waiting for our own life stories to begin,

and set us free to observe the lives we have been creating all along without

ever realizing it.

I dont want to wait anymore. I choose to believe that there is nothing more

profound than this day. I choose to believe that there may be a thousand big

moments embedded in this day, waiting to be discovered like tiny shards of

gold. The big moments are the daily, tiny moments of courage and

forgiveness and hope that we grab on to and extend to one another. Thats

the drama of life, swirling all around us, and generally I dont even see it,

because Im too busy waiting to become whatever it is I think I am about to

become. The big moments are in every hour, every conversation, every

meal, every meeting.

The Heisman Trophy winner knows this. He knows that his big moment was

not when they gave him the trophy. It was the thousand times he went to

practice instead of going back to bed. It was the miles run on rainy days, the

healthy meals when a burger sounded like heaven. That big moment


9/22

represented and rested on a foundation of moments that had come before it.

I believe that if we cultivate a true attention, a deep ability to see what has

been there all along, we will find worlds within us and between us, dreams

and stories and memories spilling over. The nuances and shades and secretsand intimations of love and friendship and marriage an parenting are action-

packed and multicoloured, if you know where to look.

Today is your big moment. Moments, really. The life youve been waiting for

is happening all around you. The scene unfolding right outside your window

is worth more than the most beautiful painting, and the crackers and peanut

butter that youre having for lunch on the coffee table are as profound, in

their own way, as the Last Supper. This is it. This is life in all its glory,swirling and unfolding around us, disguised as pedantic, pedestrian non-

events. But pull of the mask and you will find your life, waiting to be made,

chosen, woven, and crafted.

Your life, right now, today, is exploding with energy and power and detail

and dimension, better than the best movie you have ever seen. You and your

family and your friends and your house and your dinner table and your

garage have all the makings of a life of epic proportions, a story for the ages.Because they all are. Every life is.

You have stories worth telling, memories worth remembering, dreams worth

working toward, a body worth feeding, a soul worth tending, and beyond

that, God. I am more than dust and bones. For i have been given today.


10/22

When the two people who thus discover that they are on the same secret

road, the friendship which arises between them will very easily pass may

pass in the first half hour into a love. But this, so far from obliterating the

distinction between the two loves, puts it in a clearer light. If one who was

first, in the deep and full sense a Friend, is then gradually or suddenly

revealed as also your lover you will certainly not want to share the Beloveds

love with any third. But you will have no jealousy at all about sharing the

Friendship. Nothing so enriches love, any love as the discovery that the

Beloved can deeply, truly and spontaneously enter into Friendship with the

Friends; to feel that not only are we two united by love but we three or four

or five are all travellers on the same quest, with a common vision. But my

friend, she leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and kissed her best

friend, soft and true. He tasted dusty and sweet. He tasted like regret in the

shadows of trees and in the glow of a moon already gone. She kissed him

long and soft, and when she pulled herself away, she touched his mouth

with her fingers. She did not say goodbye, she was incapable, and after a few

more minutes at his side, she was able to tear herself from the ground. It

amazed me, the wonders of the human condition, even when streams are

flowing down their faces and they stagger on. My friend poured out the

contents of my heart, chaff and grain together, with gentle hands took and

sifted it, kept what was worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blew

the rest away. So When I say it's you I like, I nurse a hope that you will

understand I'm talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more

than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that


11/22

allows you to stand for those things without which we cannot survive. Love

that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war and justice that

proves more powerful than greed. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come

into my life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it

crept to my side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed

itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart

its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music; perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love

unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a sweet-hearted rose

slipped from its sheath. But truly I nothing but loved my friend, as the

people in my life, and I do for my friends whatever they need me to do for

them, again and again, as many times as is necessary. In your case you oft

forgot who you are and how much you're loved. So as a friend I remind you

who you are and tell you how much I love you. And think it not burden for

me. Alas every time I remind you, I get to remember with you, which is my

pleasure. For you knew all about me, I could afford to be stupid, I don't

know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you

half as well as you deserve, you understood where I have been, accepted

what ad become, and still, gently allowed me to grow in the wilderness of

this world. And for what would I ever leave a friend behind? Friends are all

we have to get us through, the only things from this world that we could

hope to see in the next, for Life is an awful, ugly place to not have one. O my

friend, When i honestly ask myself which person in my life mean the most, i

often find that it is you who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures,

chose rather to share the pains and touch the wounds. The friend who can

be silent with in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay in an hour


12/22

of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not

healing and face us the reality of our powerlessness, that is one who cares,

and There is nothing I would not do for those who really care. I have no

notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.

My friend, my mirror, you are my best as well as my lover, and I do not

know which side of you I enjoy the most. I treasure each side, just as I have

treasured our life together.

Perhaps someday we shall be fortunate enough to grow old together and

grow old apart. She did not think him any less handsome as his lifeless face

faded away on her lap. She only wished that shed been there when the first

line on his face had appeared, so that she could have stroked and kissed and

cherished it, thus the roads part into a secret gate.


13/22

It is not the strength, but the duration, of great sentiments that makes great

men, it was said once. We fear passing through this world, we shudder at

life's instability, and we grieve to see the flowers wilt again and again, andthe leaves fall, and in our hearts we know that we too will soon disappear.

Long did we lie in the dust, silent and unaware of the seasons; Alas! Gifts are

never lost, save the opportunity to open them. When the painter paints, and

thinker formulate thoughts, it is in order to salvage something from that

memory, an autumn leaf that murmurs in the wind and then is heard no

more, to make something last longer than we do. I like the stars is deluded

with permanence, I think. Always flaring up and caving in and going out.

But from here, I can pretend. I can pretend that things last, that lives arelonger than moments that flicker, flash and fade. Alas! Worlds don't last; and

stars are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into

cold and dust, but I can pretend. Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard

enough they say. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice

everything else for it or something like that. A tragedy indeed, that One

shall lose a heart's desire, and the other profit of it. If the whole world is evil,

then the worst that befell you is justified if that would make it easier for you

to accept the loses. Life does not cease to be funny when people die anymore than it ceases to be serious when people laugh. For whoever wants

music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, passion

instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours.By our own

hands we are damned and saved. In whatever you do, put forth your best

effort even if all you're doing is chasing a never-ending rainbow. You might

never reach the end of it, but along the way you'll meet people who will

mean the world to you and make memories that will keep you warm on even

the coldest nights. People come, people go theyll drift in and out of yourlife, almost like characters in a favourite book. When you finally close the

cover, the characters have told their story and you start up again with

another book.


14/22

She can kill with a smile; she can wound with her eyes.

And she can ruin your faith with her casual lies.

And she only reveals what she wants you to see.

She hides like a child, but she's always a woman to me.

She can lead you to love; she can take you or leave you.

She can ask for the truth but she'll never believe.

And she'll take what you'll give her as long as it's free.

Yeah, she steals like a thief, but she's always a woman to me.

She takes care of herself.

She can wait if she wants; she's ahead of her time.

And she never gives out, and she never gives in,

she just changes her mind.

And she'll promise you more than the Garden of Eden.

And she'll carelessly cut you and laugh while you're bleeding.

But she'll bring out the best and the worst you can be.

Blame it all on yourself, because she's always a woman to me.

She takes care of herself.

She can wait if she wants; she's ahead of her time.

And she never gives out, and she never gives in,

She just changes her mind.

She is frequently kind and she's suddenly cruel.

But she can do as she pleases, she's nobody's fool.

And she can't be convicted, she's earned her degree.

And the most she will do is throw shadows at you,

But she's always a woman to me.


15/22

The new becomes old, kinship quickly vanishes, mighty become disgraced,

abundant becomes little, affection dies out and its pleasure does

perish.When I was young and discovering myself, my convictions were hillsfrom which i looked at the world, now as I grow older they seem to be

turning into caves in which to hide, well beautiful things grow to a certain

height and then they fail and fade off, breathing out memories as they decay.

And just as any period decays in our minds, the things of that period should

decay too. So let your lips, speak words of kindness, your eyes seek out the

good in people. People, more than things, have to be restored, renewed,

revived, reclaimed, and redeemed. And if you ever need a helping hand, you

shall find one at the end of each of your arms, and as you grow older, you

will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself and the

other for helping others. Our lives are defined by opportunities, even the

ones we miss; mine, some I find sweeter when theyre lost, for much has

turned to dust in my hands I find. Was I actually in love? I often wonder, I

felt a sort of tender curiosity, slipped briskly into an intimacy from which I

never recovered, my scars betray me so, as I find myself among strangers

drifting here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me,

alas! Every morning I wake only to find I moved and breathed in the same

world as I did.


16/22

Please forgive me;

I'm not shouting "I'm clean living'."

I'm whispering "I was lost, and

Now am trying to find myself."

I don't speak of this with pride.

I'm confessing that I stumble

and in need of guidance.

I'm not trying to be strong.

I'm professing that I'm weak

and need His strength to carry on.

I'm not bragging of success.

I'm admitting I have failed

and need God to help me clean my mess.

I'm not claiming to be perfect;

my flaws are far too visible

I still feel the sting of pain.

I have my share of heartaches

so I call upon His name in prostration.

I'm not holier than thou;

I'm just a simple sinner

who received God's good grace, somehow.

When I say I am I am not


17/22

And one spoke and said: life has dealt bitterly with our hopes and our

desires. Our hearts are troubled, and we do not understand. Comfort us, and

open to us the meanings of our sorrows." And his heart was moved with

compassion, and he said: Call me not wise unless you call all men wise. A

young fruit am I, still clinging to the branch, and it was only yesterday that I

was but a blossom. "And call none among you foolish, for in truth we are

neither wise nor foolish. We are green leaves upon the tree of life, and life

itself is beyond wisdom, and surely beyond foolishness. The space that lies

between you and your near neighbour unfriended is indeed greater than that

which lies between you and your beloved who dwells beyond seven lands

and seven seas. For in remembrance there are no distances; and only in

oblivion is there a gulf that neither your voice nor your eye can abridge. Life

is older than all things living; even as beauty was winged ere the beautiful

was born on earth, and even as truth was truth ere it was uttered. Life sings

in our silences, and dreams in our slumber. Even when we are beaten and

low, Life is enthroned and high. And when we weep, Life smiles upon the

day, and is free even when we drag our chains. Oftentimes we call Life bitter

names, but only when we ourselves are bitter. And we deem her empty and

unprofitable, but only when the soul goes wandering in desolate places and

the heart is drunk with over mindfulness of self. Many persons have a wrong

idea of what constitutes true happiness. It is not attained through self-

gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose. This purpose is not to

be happy. It is to be useful, to be honourable, to be compassionate, and to

have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well. Life is deep

and high and distant; and though only your vast vision can reach even her

feet, yet she is near; and though only the breath of your breath reaches her

heart, the shadow of your shadow crosses her face, and the echo of your

faintest cry becomes a spring and an autumn in her breast. And Life is veiled

and hidden, even as your greater self is hidden and veiled. Yet when Life

speaks, all the winds become words; and when she speaks again, the smiles

upon your lips and the tears in your eyes turn also into words. When she


18/22

sings, the deaf hear and are held; and when she comes walking, the sightless

behold her and are amazed and follow her in wonder and astonishment."

And he ceased from speaking, and a vast.


19/22

Friendship improves happiness, and abates misery, by doubling our joys, and

dividing our grief, so it was said, for life is nothing without it. A nation can

survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from

within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries

his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate

freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls

of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in

accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments,

he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the

soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine

the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer

resist. A murderer is less to fear. So is the man who backbites an absent

friend, nay, who does not stand up for him when another blames him, the

man who angles for bursts of laughter and for the repute of a wit, who can

invent what he never saw, who cannot keep a secret - that man is black at

heart: mark and avoid him, Though silence be not necessarily an admission,

it is not a denial, either. For nothing stands out so conspicuously, or remains

so firmly fixed in the memory, as something blundered, so never injure a

friend, even in jest. As for myself, I can only exhort you to look on

Friendship as the most valuable of all human possessions, no other being

equally suited to the moral nature of man, or so applicable to every state and

circumstance, whether of prosperity or adversity, in which he can possibly

be placed. But at the same time I lay it down as a fundamental axiom that

"true Friendship can only subsist between those who are animated by the

strictest principles of honour and virtue." When I say this, I would not be

thought to adopt the sentiments of those speculative moralists who pretend

that no man can justly be deemed virtuous who is not arrived at that state of

absolute perfection which constitutes, according to their ideas, the character

of genuine wisdom. This opinion may appear true, perhaps, in theory, but is

altogether inapplicable to any useful purpose of society, as it supposes a

degree of virtue to which no mortal was ever capable of rising. Lets live as


20/22

brave men; and if fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts, for it

is foolish to tear ones hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by

baldness, just as with many fleeting pleasures--travel in their company,

enjoy them every so often, and then get on with your life, for dearest friend,Men, of course, who have no resources in themselves for securing a good and

happy life find every age burdensome. But those who look for all happiness

from within can never think anything bad which providence makes

inevitable. Hours and days and months and years go by; the past returns no

more and what is to be we cannot know; but whatever the time gives us in

which we live, we should therefore be content. But men may construe

things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.


21/22

Taste of real life have I none, moments in my dream to live in, for a night, a

week, a year. I couldn't have lived better under the skies even for a hundred

years. You won't fail me, will you? Only for a moment, and you are happy

forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps we reconcile ourselves with

ourselves, resolve all doubt. When I wake The city grows cold, as the leaves

start to fall, The streets still lit, the bars at last call, some Looking for love,

others looking for when. I hand the postman my final letter to be sent. Some

to the ground and some to thin air, weve all got to be going somewhere.

Freedom, friends, stories in dusty bookends, Stories past cigarette ends, some

are born,

others remain dead. It seems to me like some snatch of a tune I had heard

somewhere before but had forgotten the melody of great sweetness, was

coming back to me now. A world of magic is less tragic, You can't hold it in

your hand, You can't feel it with your heart, And you won't believe it But if

it's true You can see it with your eyes. If and when you fall in love, may you

be happy with her. You don't need to wish her anything, for she'll be happy

with you. May your sky always be clear, may your dear smile always be

bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss

and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart. Isn't

such a moment sufficient for the whole of one's life? Just keep your feet on

the ground when your head's in the clouds.


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Be an earth for him and he will be your sky;

Be a resting place for him and he will be your pillar;Be his Bondmaid and he will be your slave;

Do not make excessive demands for he will then desert you;

Do not become too distant from him for he will then forget you;

Should he draw near then draw close to him;

Should he become distant stay away from him;

Shield his nose, his hearing and his eye

so he will smell nothing from youBut that which is sweet

hear nothing

but that which is good;

And look at nothing

but that which is beautiful.

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ON THE ROAD, BY MAHINDA VITO