A Note on Mithya

It is ironical that for all the value we give to the rational, life is primarily governed by the irrational. Love is not rational. Sorrow is not rational. Hatred, ambition, rage and greed are irrational. Even ethics, morals and aesthetics are not rational. They depend on values and standards which are ultimately subjective. What is right, sacred and beautiful to one group of people need not be right, sacred and beautiful to another group of people. Every opinion and every decision depends on the prevailing myth. Even perfection is a myth.

~ myth=mithya by Devdutt Pattanaik

Sometimes, its astounding - the complexities of human kind. We are a billion different worlds co-existing in a complex grid, directly and indirectly effected by every other entity, human and non-human. Our minds concoct a picture of a shade, motion, sound, script and actors of its own choosing, many times unaware of the colours and shadows and noise from other parallel pictures. 

i think sometimes, that one of the more intelligent ways to exist is to always, always negate the adamance of our ego, our desire for approval, for respect, for admiration. To always remain humble and harmless, and patient. To remember that our self is insignificant, but the potential of our energy is unlimited. 

Every thought- expressed or unexpressed, is energy. Love, sorrow, hatred, ambition, rage... once felt, they spread through the air and they linger and they cling. 

But we don't understand, we don't realise. We see only what is near us - blind in perspective, eager for our desires. We are slow in learning, quick in judging and mostly foolish. 

A billion worlds. A billion afflictions.... all huddled on this tiny speck of blue dust.

At Dusk

In the evening, when the sun has disappeared from the horizon of the city, and the light beyond the window is like a floating wisp of air about to leave, the birds make a little fuss settling down for the night, and my mind feels sad for the day coming to an end.

For ends remind me of cold mornings in January and cold evenings of February, when the world had become a blur of mute screaming noise and frozen movements. It had rained on both the occasions, a dreary deathful rain, seeking to wipe out all joy from life, all smiles from my sinless lips.

A strange moment during dusk happens each day, a moment between light and darkness, a moment between the known and unknown... a little window to a world where shadows have life, a realm of a possible meeting of the living and the dead. That moment, if caught, can tear away our false sense of well-being, certainty and intelligence... and make us breathe the air of a strange nether world, whose smell can make us remember old forgotten memories of centuries ago.

What is true, what is a shadow? What is life, what is death... where do we live, how do we exist. How many dimensions are there to a point of my life? Might we be living in one frequency, in a shared space and time, with other beings of another world?

Can the shadows see me, hear me, feel me....................... do they know me?

.

Who is not me...

Sometimes i do not recognise myself

As if it is a new world

And i am in possession

By some person

who is not me...

Sometimes, i remember things

which seem so distant and vague

As if, those memories are not mine

They belong to someone else

Who I do not know

Of a song...

Once, i heard a beautiful little song being played on the piano, and it appeared to me as if the sound was sadness itself -  the sorrowful acceptance of all the hurts and aches that life presents to any soul with some awareness... The slow melody of the piano that echoed that acceptance in such a simple way, made the soul walk with it into the dense forest of remembrance of this lifetime... and beyond...

Nothing takes away the vacuum of a lost touch, a voice, a face... a beautiful pair of brown eyes... 

All that remains is that which has always existed, and some fresh new salty dews in the eyes, in the darkness of a quiet inner world, closed to everyone but the absent one...

Is the sea full of tears, or are our tears full of the sea... Where do our memories go once we disappear into the darkness of death. Does it go sleep in the depths of the oceans, to rest itself and settle down, and become the force of gravity that pulls everything inside so powerfully...

The keys of the piano keep playing the same slow sombre song, that keeps reminding me of those stories that once wove into my being...

The Untouched Core

All my dreams seem so silly now.

Now that i have opened my eyes,

Cleared my drowsy head

and seen the world without glasses.

A reality that may not even exist
In the way we have known forever

All the tales and sagas of ages old

May have been so futilely told...

If i close my eyes 

And remain silent

By the sea

under the stars

Can i then touch the core

And remember all truths of yours

- Of the origin of life

Of souls on earth and their secrets inside..?

All is transient, all is unreal
What is life, what is death

Why we love, why we fear

What is the meaning of our tears...?

Wise Man says...

" HEYAM DUKKHAM ANAGATAM "
A short conversation on Life and its Meaning

Wise Man: In existentialism, the individual's starting point is characterized by what has been called "the existential attitude", or a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or absurd world.

Camus, like many others, rejected the existentialist label, and considered his works to be concerned with facing the absurd. In the titular book, Camus uses the analogy of the Greek myth of Sisyphus to demonstrate the futility of existence. In the myth, Sisyphus is condemned for eternity to roll a rock up a hill, but when he reaches the summit, the rock will roll to the bottom again. Camus believes that this existence is pointless but that Sisyphus ultimately finds meaning and purpose in his task, simply by continually applying himself to it. The first half of the book contains an extended rebuttal of what Camus took to be existentialist philosophy in the works of Kierkegaard, Shestov, Heidegger, and Jaspers.

Me: I guess i will have to read the book to make sense how Sisyphus finds meaning in the pointless task. May be, the best solution for humanity is a resignation to life's meaninglessness and in this situation try to have all the fun and follow all the passions that one has... since there is nothing better to do anyway.

Wise Man: That is escapism or evading looking further and harder! Existentialism is a  philosophy that emphasizes the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience in a hostile or indifferent universe, regards human existence as unexplainable, and stresses freedom of choice and responsibility for the consequences of one's acts.

You are blessed with  (or condemned to?) Freedom and can not escape the consequences of your choices. Realizing the existential crisis is the first half of the story but having woken up to the reality of it, it just is not possible to sleep walk through life, if you want to do so.

Me: Yes, we cant sleepwalk through life... and we have to bear the consequences of our acts (and thoughts), as well as that of others' acts & thoughts, whether we are connected to them or not.. A person can lose his life/become handicapped in an accident with a complete stranger for no fault of his... So, we dont really have as much Freedom as we wud like to believe we have... this world is such an interconnected grid of cause-effects... in which i have control over only a part... 


So, may be, ignorance is bliss. Existential questions does nobody any good.... it is without end, these questions... and, those who have them... have no choice but to suffer.

Wise Man: Yes, you bring out the "absurd" kernel of life, which says that there is absolutely no rationale, and cause and effect chain stops at the boundary between objective inanimate world and, sensing, feeling, world of living beings.  Freedom, you may look at it as a curse , yet you can not opt for desirable (?) bondage of  ignorance. Knowledge, awareness of one's situation and even conviction about the "absurdity'" is a cross and you have to bear it ! I totally agree...

So one Indian thought is " The best you can do is to minimize the sorrow that has not befallen yet !

" HEYAM DUKKHAM ANAGATAM "

HEYAM  = worthy of avoiding
DUKKHAM = Sorrow
ANAGATAM = That which has not arrived yet

{ Thanks for this opprtunity to exercise those cells and memory locations and thoughts which are endangerd species ! }

Me: Absolutely, i am your student! Thanks...

***

End Note: Camus concludes "one must imagine Sisyphus happy" as "The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart."

More on Sisyphus here.

On going away...

When i die... perhaps my life force shall flow into the world - to the soil, to the trees and flowers, to ants and beetles, to the air, to space and the stars...

May be, i shall be the wind that blows on a bright moon night, somewhere near my home... and i bring the sweet smell of the flowers... to my loved ones... 

...perhaps...

m-thoughts: Self & Ego

Words and Silences

Like a Memory of the Universe

My mind is like a clean slate. It is as if I was born today. Nobody taught me any ideas, nobody handed me any religion. I am free from all outside influence. I know nothing. I only see and sense for myself. And what do I experience…?

I find myself alone. I am just me. And there are million others, just like me, alone themselves. But we also have each other for company, for loving, for sharing and for supporting. We call them our friends and family. We see strangers everywhere- all of them with their own stories, each of them with their thousand experiences of life, filled with both sorrow and laughter. I see prosperity and comfort, and I see people sleeping on the roads, while i pass by them at night. I feel this whole cacophony of sounds and sights filling up my senses when I am amongst the world.

I hold a little baby in my arms and I see life that is innocent, alive and absolutely pure- the proof that perfection of life is a reality. I put her to sleep singing an old nursery rhyme and I feel I have lived well.

In the nights, I see the white moon, shining on quietly. It is so still and calm, although I know that it is moving all the time... When it rains, I get hold of a hot cup of coffee and sit by the window, watching the rain drops wet the leaves of the swaying happy trees and I feel intoxicated. While I travel to the hills, I see the clear night skies, filled with a million stars. I see the beautiful green pines and I see wild orchids in the meadows.

Sometimes i hear the notes of a haunting song that fills my heart with sad melancholy... 

I go to the seas and I feel an ancient tug inside me, as if the sea has been there since aeons and I have stood by it all the time – the sound of the waves, the salt in the air, the gravity of its depth, all so familiar. I have been there before… or am I just a dream, dreaming an old dream, in the memory of the universe… who am i, i often ask….

Uncertain Story of a Dark Rainy Night

Such a dark night it was, i still remember. I looked up at the sky from my bedroom window, and i could make out no star, no moon, not a flicker of any remnant of a light there might have been in the vast expanse above. Moments later, when i heard the thunder growling angrily, i realised how the dark clouds had covered all the goodness of the night sky. I waited. The rain should come falling down anytime now, i thought. Let it wash away the dust from the roofs of the forgotten cars, from the hidden crevices of the window sills, and from the very soil of the earth itself. Let it satiate the thirsty leaves of the tired trees and let it set free the desolate souls lying awake at this time of the night in their impoverished hopes.

I waited patiently. Let the rain come and play its music in the air. Let it drown all the echoes of the ages that have settled so stubbornly in various nooks and corners of the musty room inside my head. I need to get rid of them. I need some silence... And so i waited quietly... in anticipation and in some graceless impatience.

The very next moment, a lightning flashed and illuminated my dark room for a second. It took me some time to realise it, but i couldnt be mistaken... i clearly saw someone sitting in the corner next to the old wooden cupboard...

He was here. How did i miss it for so long, or did he just come in... I sat tensed and still for sometime in this sudden knowledge, and waited... "May be he will say something, I don't want to be distracted and miss his words. I have been waiting to hear the words for so long..." My heartbeats were gone for a toss, may be to some inhuman rate of pulsation, coz i could not breathe anymore, and yet, i was conscious and sparklingly more alive than usual. Was the oxygen in the air a little manipulated, or was i actually weightless...

Hours passed. We both kept sitting in the dark in each other's presence... not saying a word, yet saying everything..  all our heartaches, the missed tales, the unshared secrets... Rain had come and gone. The night was about to end, and suddenly, i feared the onslaught of the harsh dawn that would empty that corner of my room where he now sat. The bliss of his presence, the overflowing love in the room and his smell..... i couldnt bear to lose them... not again. No, they have to stay.

And even as a slight drizzle continued to wet and patter, I knew what i had to do... it was time...

It is all right and correct now. The world is alright now. The morning arrived, and my room was quite empty...

Paradoxes of Life

Questions of life, universe and everything... we may choose to think about them, we may ignore them, and yet nothing changes. Life goes on as it is supposed to go on. We may choose to make life complicated, and we may keep it simple, and neither idea would be false. For, this life is as paradoxical as the word paradoxical itself.

Life is beautiful- extremely, unimaginably, fantastically... magically. And life is tragic- extremely, intolerably, cruelly... Your heart could be full of laughter one day and the next morning, you could be thrown down the harsh precipice of eternal sorrow.

Life is mundane, and life is unpredictable. Life lets you breathe, and life breaks your wind pipe and takes the mortal energy out of you in a whiff. Beautiful life. Cunning life. Merciful. Harsh. Every moment is a new chapter, every day a new beginning. What has happened in the past is dead and gone, and yet no matter how much you try, you cannot forget the past, for you are what you have been, not what you will become. 

The world is so full and all of us are so lonely... Life is long and yet so short. There is god and there is no god anywhere... 

Tears and laughter, love and hatred, everything that you wish for and everything you abhor, this life brings to you all without rhyme or reason. Our minds are volatile and we keep thinking of 'stuff'. We live and we die, and still this life, the universe and everything, goes on and on... cruelly, intolerably, heartlessly...