Tuesday, 12 July 2011

The hour before sleep!

Silence! No, Dead Silence! No, Deafening Silence! I don't know, how can I explain the quietude around me. It's dark and it's silent, both sound and light are too conspicuous by their absence. Buzz of evil mosquitoes, fill my ears, as does the gentle flow of breath in and out of me.

Monday, 11 July 2011

Individual Idealism - means to human end.

Thesis and anti- thesis, dualism, unity, all have been talked a lot about. Something of a kind of  distant invincible dream that could never be achieved, yet always imploring the seekers of truth towards itself.  None live it, and any wish to be the beholder of such “ideals”, if they may be called so, is nothing more than an ocean’s wish in mid-desert, forgetting, apparently, that all that we need is a water body, and something of an oasis would do well enough ( if not just a gallon of water).

What would we do with ideals, considering that they have been realized in a hypothetical world? What would you do with happiness alone, or honesty, or for that matter that single joy, that harbinger of all?  By any standards of betterment, neither monists nor dualists would welcome that. Therein lies the error, of  our times. However, a deeper look brings out the actual truth. In absence of a system that could talk about such subtle things, such subtle virtues or vices that lie between (or across, or beyond, or just behind) those ideals, that  actuality, that subtlety, and that intangible ideal, elusive to the constructs of language, that such idealisms have been resorted to. 

Truth or rather its realization within self, was and is something that has always been the idea of human achievement, and  was never supposed to be written or taught, for it can never be transmitted from one to other, by way of language, or by human instruction. It can never seek itself in idealism established by someone that has never been the being whose truth is in question. It can never be imparted. If there is something, some idealism waiting for us to be discovered, it’s lying patently “within” us, if we can talk in that jargon. 

The perfection has so many grounds, not necessarily on the scale which moves from lower depths to higher summits. Linearity is not the prerogative of perfection or idealism.  Euclid’s geometry’s parallel with human condition, and explanation of it has been a patently mistaken idea.  

Why write of it then? If there is no purpose to be served, within the bounds of language, why invoke it? Perhaps because this is my medium of expression, perhaps because this kind of manifestation of self will evoke from within me that what have been my experiences of truth!

Considering this chain of thought, I understand, that I have been that perfection, that product of multitude of events that has shaped me. Idealism, like unity, dualism, and honesty etc. is that common phrase, shared so that we may communicate those subtle truths in some parlance, in some frame of understanding.

Achieve worst, achieve worthless, achieve sub human, and achieve futility. When we have all been through this myriad of emotion, and this realization of human aim to be utterly futile will we all realize that we have been living our beauty, our perfection all along.  My form of beauty will inspire you perhaps presently, it may inspire the confidence that perhaps we have all been brilliant as “mediocres”, but take note. This is that confluence of word that made you think, and forced in you the realization that has been achieved in you. It is not yours.

Sadly, contrary has been the fate of human thought, it seeks understanding in what it learns, it seeks understanding in what it can communicate, while at all times, its attempt has always been the idea of communication. A lot is lost in that. Apparently, reader may agree that at times, too much of the central essence could be lost.  That is why we have poetry, music and silence as the medium of better communication (note that it’s still not that what is being expressed), for in them lays an open wide horizon, leaving it upon “the end” the onus of meaning, of understanding, of idealism. 

Then, why exist? Why see the next moment flit by us, when the onerous present is unceasingly dreary and wearied. Why seek “existence’ to another day? 

I don’t find answer in written words.  A glimpse of that elusive answer lies in suffering, in growth, in reaching a higher plain of thought, but it’s all too meek in front of that purpose that does make me go by the next moment, that makes me keep within myself the framework where one second follows another. This 
“Purpose” alone is the existence’s aim. All thoughts are mere subversions of this central idea, and sadly it may not be “central” at all in its own paradigm, but vital enough, to have our existence by it, for it, forever, and ever.

As an aside, perhaps this would be the aim of thought, to render beauty within a shape and yet understand its shapelessness. All truths understood would be mere interpretations, but not necessarily of a single, unquestionable truth or anything like that. The thought, the idea would all be means to that single end, human. And may it dawn on us all, in our own uniquely distinct ways, such that we have the greatest difficulty in establishing that version of truth, and yet experience it unceasingly in our consciousness.

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

What is and what could be!

Unbeknownst to me, in the tiny little specks of flitting moments, that what is being expended is my self, unlike that ficticious ghost which assumes place in that distant world, in that distant time, bearing my face, and yet is far from realization.