Friday, 10 July 2009

A zero sum game

For a game there has to be participants, and for the sum to be zero there must be something that would be added. Former is you , but what is latter?

Inasmuch I understand, the components that are to be added are your deeds and their implications , with a positive score for every "success" and negative for "failures". Although , failures are predominant candidates, success pays irregular and unexpected visits, however, when the "end" arrives, both positive and negative scores come at par and the resulting sum happens to be ZERO.

For an end there has to be a beginning, but what I see as the beginning and the end are only consequences of my reasoning setup. If being unconscious is the end and gaining consciousness is the beginning, it repeats for me everyday. Every sleep takes away my consciousness and every morning brings it back. This isn't something right, there is no "end", simply because there is no "beginning".

My consciousness plays truant over here. It forces me to see the world as it understands, but what it understands is something which doesn't seek understanding. Why again I get trapped into the circular traps of my mind? Why does it seek to understand more than what it is?

That which it is , I cant think of, and that what I think , doesn't confirm it. But does my thought fight it? It appears to be so . It fights my existence, it realizes in me sadness and happiness, it leads me to a structure, it plays the part of my guide . Where is my primal identity? It lies not in these words, not in success, not in anything, yet why don't I seem to find it?

Yet, If I find it , how will I recognize it without my mind? How will it be named? How would it appear? I may be asking wrong questions here, but answers are what I seek. Manifest thyself, if there it is , beyond my thinking. I find no answer, yet get a glimpse of it. It reveals itself in the "cuckoo" of koel on the tree nearby, that sings along with me , sharing ourselves. It manifests itself in the green pastures to which I run and the mud I roll in. In the silent whispers of the breeze that furtively sneaks in, and into the sleep that makes all a king.

My primal identity lies not in these words, but they seem to provide me the assurance of its existence. Of the assurance that there is no end, that there is no sum and that there is no game.

Its all just a long,endless, quietude.

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