We’ve had this conversation before

We’ve had this conversation before you and I when forgotten lore and myth were maturing in to fact and the rolling fields were bereft of infertility. When our minds were one and the invention of distance was yet to be. The evident was not mysterious and our judgment was not amidst the storm of confusion. The refuse of delight was a banquet catering to thousands where the sour taste of sorrow was a rarity among the treasured flavours of joy.

 

When we were merry beasts in the day, pushing simply on beneath the horde of the migrating north; we knew only the whistling omnipresence about our own heads as we gained immeasurable speed and dissolved in to the hills above the setting sun. When what drove us on was scattered away and our aching limbs led us to repose and we fell on our sides, drunk with languor. Our spirits sober and burning, we stared each other down and found that we had had this conversation before.

 

When Conflict eroded our memories of love and weathered the bonds that had strengthened centuries ago, we embraced the icy touch of steel to tear at each other’s flesh. And through the battles that waged on for an unforgivable eternity you sliced me open only to observe time and again that what flowed through your veins did in mine as well, that I writhed in pain as you did when blows were struck down upon you. And as I looked above searching for the heavens and hoping for the impending release, your presence drowned out all noise. I saw in your horrified face the yesterdays we had never lived that were our own. An uninvited nostalgia gripped us for reasons beyond our understanding and like the train of thought that disappears in to oblivion before it may register we both blinked and undoubtedly forgot that we had had this conversation before.

 

The pages turned and the words blended into meaning for some while their shapes were like unto undeciphered hieroglyphs to many. The halls teemed with activity and the rooms exhibited the silence of sleep. Trembling pencils traced out figures that were soon erased and the blue and black of a dozen ball point pens shaped scribbles that were illegible. And amongst these young scholars were you and I engaging in discourse. The drooping lilies resting in the pond beside our window were sinking to the bottom as our words gained depth. Tearing through the boundaries of race and hatred we ventured towards the origins of our being and reflected upon the light from which issued our worth and substance while the teacher droned on. And at last we reached the penultimate levels of creation where the cells underwent mitosis and the magma of the earth cooled in to a sizzling mass. We looked back yet again to find life overflowing within the gargantuan vastness of space at the core of a flaming star. Where resonant atoms collided to form new undiscovered variants of their own forms, where the initial breaths of a vast system of giants were being taken, where unstable vessels were brimming with the essence of life itself within the furnaces of stars. And as you and I passed each other by now as organisms, then as nuclei, we realized that presently and before, innumerable times over as beasts and as fodder, we may have shifted in form and appearance but we had had this conversation before.

Empty

The vessel that I am, albeit a poor one, maybe well chosen for the tasks that are set forth in my list. What ever they maybe or may entail and what ever they may result in, I hope it is good. But if I maybe honest, what I aspire for is to be wholely hollow, vastly empty and completely drained when I am done. I want all that is within to be without and none to remain in the casket that has reached its zenith and is now to be thrown in the trash heap. I want the container to shatter in to oblivion and for the content to flow free unhindered and to mix in to the boundless paramount. Admittedly it will be such as the pinch of salt within a pound of grain, but it will be like unto the flavour within the boiling pot as well; necessary; needed. 

This is no act of selfless devotion to Divinity, one is not so lucky so easily. It is selfish. For when I have reached my end, the emptiness will sketch a grin across my weary face, and I will know I have done what I was meant to. And it will be bliss, it will be contentment, it will be peace.

Perfection

Perfection. There is no such thing. Amidst the corridors of history there have been examples of unimaginable greatness and remarkable achievement. The hallmarks of human potential and landmarks of excellence that have been set in stone were carved by the tools of those that were flawed. And though the shapes they bore in history are admired even today, there still remains an error or two in their workmanship that confesses to their nature. The nature of being human.

Sir Donald Bradman of Australia is hailed today as the greatest batsman to ever grace the game of cricket. His mastery of the game is fully justified by his mammoth of a test batting average of 99.94 runs per inning. However, this average could’ve amounted to a perfect 100 runs per inning if on his last match, Sir Donald hadn’t struck out at 0. This left his total run count at 6996 and the number of innings he was out at 70. Thus an average of 99.94. However, this average in many ways is much better than a 100 because it reminds all of us, and it definitely reminded Sir Don as well, that though one can attain superhuman ability, one will still remain human.

Albert Einstein was perhaps the greatest scientist who ever contributed to the understanding of the world. His theory of special and general relativity began a scientific revolution in physics and significantly augmented the electronics industry as well as our understanding of the entire system that is the universe. However, his inability, despite his many efforts, to arrive at a theory for everything to ‘read the mind of God’ before his death is homage to the fact that one can be potentially, boundlessly intelligent and incomprehensibly esoteric, however, one is still, human.

I can’t think of a proper title for this one

What follows below might seem like the height of arrogance and vanity. But I felt considerably happy after it occurred and maybe that’s arrogance as well. But this may well have happened to a lot of us and its significance should not go unnoticed.

I was heading to the sink to wash my hands after lunch. My hair was a birds nest and I hadn’t shaved for three days so naturally I looked unkempt. My hands reached for the soap and the tap and one of the most mundane processes in the world began. But during that ten to fifteen second task I looked up at myself in the mirror. I looked like a wild man, to be sure, but something in my reflection made me smile. It wasn’t joy at being good looking or handsome, or intelligent, because I’m more or less devoid of any of those qualities. I smiled because I saw a good man look back at me. He had no cunning or malice or violence in his eyes, just simple mindedness and innocence. This isn’t the first time that something like this has happened. I’ve had this habit of looking in to the mirror sometimes and speculating whether it was me standing there or some one else for years. I haven’t ever had thoughts like “Who’s that good looking fellow right there?”, I’ve only been astonished at who stood facing me, because it certainly wasn’t me. But this specific occurrence was different because who I was looking at was someone with humanity. To explain this phenomenon scientifically (and there is a scientific explanation) would sap the aesthetic value of this experience, and I certainly wouldn’t want that. I simply know that there is something in me that constituted and projected that reflection. And that is enough to leave me content, because maybe some day when I’m contemplating murder or robbery to feed myself because I wasn’t able to get a college degree I’ll have this incident to remind me that any such act would be an insult to an inherent quality of mine.

Profound sadness

Melancholy is an expression that defines or at least attempts to define a specific heaviness of the heart that can not be deemed as depression, neither can it be called a feeling of discontent. It is an intellectual weight that rests on the very nerves of the assailed. It inflicts and heals and it injures and it cares and it strikes and defends. This affect which attempts to nullify itself still some how leaves a mark that is otherwise strange and foreign to the  stone-hearted.

This air of clairvoyance that stems from the outpour of a thousand feelings absorbed in to a second of exploding emotion tends to amalgamate the tears of a thousand lifetimes within a vessel that can only take so much. And it is most mysterious that the vessel does not explode with this blind fury, on the contrary, it allows the content to flow ever so slowly in to the physical realm where it takes many forms. What would otherwise give way to tears and heartbreak, does more than that. It inculcates understanding and wisdom; it cultivates kindness and gentleness and it leads the individual to love those around him that have not yet left him; for those that did, taught him a beautiful and terrible lesson.

And even though, the end justified the beauty of the means, the individual prays never to have to feel it again. Though he knows, he will do so countless times more.

Dreams and Subtlety

A dream is the most efficient utilisation of brain power. Vistas of untamed imagery are opened to the mind and any occurrence, however silly, may seem conceivable in this euphoric, potent state. It is very true that dreams can be subtle messengers that convey latent truths to one who cares to overlook them. A dream can suddenly increase or create appreciation for someone out of thin air. It can conjure fascination and jubilation from un told dimensions of the heart where they lie sleeping waiting for their turn to engage in activity.
Dreams have a profound effect of emphasising the obvious and the wonderful. One might dream of a terrible storm where one drowns or an episode where one falls into the abyss, and this same individual might also dream of a great victory in a conquest or even poisoning a snake, if that were possible. All these aesthetic and some times grotesque sequences contain subliminal messages that reach a zenith in their effectiveness at the scene of a dream.
Dreams are a window in to understanding oneself, but not to spend endless hours pondering over. Instead they should be taken advice from and translated in to positive action. They are a means to understand, not a means to influence confusion.
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
Albus Dumbledore

One Last Sunset

The artists were changing duties for the night. The day farer was leaving behind his palette for the use of the night wanderer. This was the routine of these heavenly expressionists. Their harmony and balance kept the canvas of the canopy robust and breathing with vivid colour. Unbeknownst to them
however, was a mystic force that would out do them both in progressive artistry and classical mastery of the electromagnetic spectrum. The passion with which this spiritually precise hand worked was unimaginable. Every day in between the hours of their absence, the canvas was inundated with a different array of expression entirely. A scene such as the one produced could not be more subtly poured with any other medium but colour. The two artists, when in the phase of transition would always marvel at the poise and grace with which serenity and intensity coupled. They would recede in admiration for a moment in silence to allow the undisputed master, time for completion. And then the day departed and heralded the night to shroud the scene with a brush of ink and the master of the two dispersed, as light in to its principal spectra, to let the sunset fade into the shadow of repose.

Latent

Much has been made of the phrase, ‘a diamond in the ruff’. But like most phrases that are universal, only when one experiences the truth for themselves, it doesn’t make full sense. A few years ago I came across the film, Singh is King. It was a routine comedy bollywood film with a few laughs here and there and a choppy storyline with gaping loopholes. But within this sordid affair of cinematic blunders and buffoonery, I discovered such a song that can be deemed at least, memorable. It was called Teri Ore. It took the very old and traditional concept of love conquering all and the spiritual connection between two soul mates and made its essence flow with exuberant verve. Pakistan’s Rahat Fateh Ali Khan and Shreya Ghoshal lend their vocals to Akshay Kumar and Katrina Kaif respectively. The show stealer is without a doubt, Shreya Ghoshal. Her voice flows like water slipping down a smooth surface of marble making its way to never ending orbit and non stagnancy. It is so fluid and vibrant that one might argue that she breathes life in to perhaps what could have been at best a traditional love song and makes it extraordinary. It is truly one for the books.

Equilibrium

Stillness is not the same as peace, stagnancy is not the same as gentle flow and rigidity and stability are not akin. If for a moment the wild winds cease and assume the vibrant flow of Breeze, one would not call it boring but soothing and relaxing. If the daily routine would slacken in pace and begin proceeding in enchanting, rhythmic steps, calm would it be, not stagnancy. If the world was, for one moment on the verge of  taking either direction and tilting slowly back and forth such that the movement would be unobtrusive, one would feel strangely at rest and yet not unmoving but in slow yet sure motion to a destination. Floating through space or swimming through the clouds and gently traversing through fields awakened from brumal sleep is heaven because life slows down just enough for one to smell the roses, appreciate the beauty in every speck of existence and yet streaming through hallways and running to beat the bell is all too common in our daily routine. In doing this we obscure those moments when the universe wills for us to flow in equilibrium. You’ll be surprised how much everything slows down if you do.

Connection

There’s a certain serenity in spiritual association. A sudden calm sets over the world when unknowingly the gold and the white mingle to beam light further and brighter than either can without the other. The wind is a breeze and the seas are pleasantly rhythmic in their flow. The system is fluid in all directions and nature shifts the course for all order to favour the boundless, endless, limitless connection. The fantastic becomes routine and the routine is irrelevant. For a moment that lasts millennia, for a timeless instant and for a finite eternity, peace reigns supreme.