When Time will start rushing past me, I will crave for this immobility, stasis. The wheel must roll, but what of its pace and direction, they are to be orchestrated, yet be left on its own to take its own due course.
The stuffing of the constituent moments are vapid, empty and unimportant. When the objects of import start filling in, when the store will be overwhelmed by the amount it has, I will yearn for this emptiness, this vapidity and this facile recesses in order of time.
There are flashes of such moments, granting the faith that I might be pretty close to the state. The state which is its own understanding, yet too fragile to store. Too effervescent to muse upon. It’s both present and absent, yet never out of reckoning.
The faint view of this promised state entices me, and I keep looking around for wisdom of men or at times wisdom of silence. Yet, when the state itself is the wisdom, wherefrom could the wisdom of it be fathomed, but within it. This belongingness would be to my supreme.
I know I am close, yet far enough, looking for ways to approach it, to get nearer and nearer to it. To God, to delusion to the truth. The feeling begins to faint with my aggressive pursuance of it now and thus I draw back to my shell.
No comments:
Post a Comment