The Monkeyed Zone in Reconnaissance

That’s when a monk is zoned out in the swirls of his own making and did I say a monk?
Yes, I did.

There are thousands of trails and trappings to be one, almost tailored to your monk-y fancies. But being one unconspicuously needs controls over one self and does that make you powerful? I don’t know if anybody treats someone as powerful when all he has done is overpowering himself in good parts.

There are times when the wheel hobbles and thank God for a system where no matter how young the mind goes on growing, the chrono-matter shows which period you belong. There is no time to hark back to being a bad man or being a man walking into zones not to everybody’s comforts. Being a ‘nice’ man has left me where one should proverbially be and being monky is the natural option; no effort (other than on professional front) seems to promise anything that I would fall for. Copping a feel of life not bargained, with birds and bees for company literally - birds on the tree and wasps building their nest on my balcony railings. I wish I had scope to stoop from here.

And just being happy for nothing is the blessing I count.