What does it take to become an ice cube? Does one go sit in the freezer and watch one's own blood turn a tepid hue and then solidify to a blue of an icicle? What an analogy.
I think the human nature is finding it's darker forces at work, as the time flies and civilization moving forward, is sliding backward into a pit of violent cave man like thinking. Except in the case of the cavemen we could give them the benefit of the doubt. They were allowed to be that aggressive for they had lesser knowledge, lesser empiricism on their side and a need to survive the harshness of an open wilderness. But here in these tall buildings, these granite grandeurs that one passes by every day, the cars whizzing past in lanes so fast you do not even have the time to acknowledge it happened, here in the here and now - why do we see the caveman emerge again?
I think if one gets a chance to read Stephen King's book "Cell", he seems to have grasped the actual horror of what is happening to us. We are becoming animals again. Ugly, violent with no control on our baser instincts. Is this what being civilized has accorded us? When did the self begin to prevail so much that it went beyond the bounds of selfishness to pure hedonism. Each man literally an island unto himself. Humanity as an emotion standing at the edge of an abyss about to fall in. And once humanity the emotion falls into that all pervading dark, then humanity as a species has little or no hope.
Wars over religion, bloodshed over economics, scaled down silent battles on terror whereas the forces of good are themselves the biggest terrorists. A game of greenbacks, oil and absurd wealth that each country is after. And the self same countries then translate the same to their individual citizens. Where is the humaneness of religion, the economics of giving, the simple act of kindness that sets us apart in the species jungle. Nowhere....sad and despondent as this piece may seem there is always light at the end of the tunnel. The Lamech Vavniks may pray us out doomsday, but there are more than them. There are some good people left. But their numbers are in deep reduction, almost like the white Bengal tiger, the good have are becoming an eradicated genus.
God...? Force? When and where did we make Him such a mythical creature that we almost stopped believing as a cumulative mankind, that He exists. It is not enough we worship in our individual hearts. God the myth also has to be translated into more than just an emoticon on our IM's. Wake up people. Somewhere in all of us lies the beauty of creation and if we could see it in ourselves perhaps we will be able to see it and care for it in all other forms.
Ciao.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Takmil - A Journey of Completion
What a sad distaste, life sometimes becomes. Everything you hoped for, dreamt off, envisioned, all simply vanishing like a rainless cloud into thin air, before your eyes. Where does one go from there then? Is the loss of all, the end of a journey or the beginning of some new hope. I don't know. It was supposed to be a simple transaction. Life is supposed to be give and take. But I have only viewed parasitic takers or people who are just stuck with giving. What kind of balance is that?
These days when I look inside myself its amazing that every day brings a new change. But yet, yet again I feel this avid emptiness. I want to move forward and then I find there is nothing I want to move forward to. But each day must be making me progress. Right? Is that not the law of nature? The laws of God? Then why? Why this bout of desolation which sinks me from within. Is it mine? Is it someone else's? Is it the general human condition? In apparence and appearance all is well.
But beneath the surface a strange kind of dark song plays in my subconscious. The tune is seductive and I want to fall prey to the pit of self effacing depression. It is so much easier to be depressed than to fight the every day hell of life. The imperious struggle between man and nature, with almost always man falling and failing. Who am I? An incomplete block of DNA, that thinks it has a soul. How laughable is that. Somewhere across some ocean I can hear someone I know laugh at that. They like laughing at everything.
Life is so not funny. And yet it is the funniest thing. If my sarcastic wit did not save me from my moronically dark self, then I think by now I would have jumped off the nearest cliff. That is how much I hate what we people do to each other. We imbibe hope and love and the fallacy of togetherness into our piteous lives and then we take the pleasure of taking it away from the very people we claimed that love to. We are a sick species. If it were not a sense of God then I think we would have sunk eons ago.
One long journey. A few short steps. Kaboom. All over. That is life. Just a journey. Never any completion. I would love to put into this equation today for I almost always do, but my highly poetic irate self conscious has decided to let it ignore the biggest thing that saves, completes us. Our God conscious. The little nagging voice within us, its almost always Him. How many of us are going to plug some ears into our chests and actually decide to listen. I don't know. I often do, but sometimes, just sometimes, as is these days, I decide
to go deaf.
Completion. I look forward to the darkness of my grave. It is the only bed I think I have wisely made. Safe, home and finally secure from the ravages of a sad sad world.
These days when I look inside myself its amazing that every day brings a new change. But yet, yet again I feel this avid emptiness. I want to move forward and then I find there is nothing I want to move forward to. But each day must be making me progress. Right? Is that not the law of nature? The laws of God? Then why? Why this bout of desolation which sinks me from within. Is it mine? Is it someone else's? Is it the general human condition? In apparence and appearance all is well.
But beneath the surface a strange kind of dark song plays in my subconscious. The tune is seductive and I want to fall prey to the pit of self effacing depression. It is so much easier to be depressed than to fight the every day hell of life. The imperious struggle between man and nature, with almost always man falling and failing. Who am I? An incomplete block of DNA, that thinks it has a soul. How laughable is that. Somewhere across some ocean I can hear someone I know laugh at that. They like laughing at everything.
Life is so not funny. And yet it is the funniest thing. If my sarcastic wit did not save me from my moronically dark self, then I think by now I would have jumped off the nearest cliff. That is how much I hate what we people do to each other. We imbibe hope and love and the fallacy of togetherness into our piteous lives and then we take the pleasure of taking it away from the very people we claimed that love to. We are a sick species. If it were not a sense of God then I think we would have sunk eons ago.
One long journey. A few short steps. Kaboom. All over. That is life. Just a journey. Never any completion. I would love to put into this equation today for I almost always do, but my highly poetic irate self conscious has decided to let it ignore the biggest thing that saves, completes us. Our God conscious. The little nagging voice within us, its almost always Him. How many of us are going to plug some ears into our chests and actually decide to listen. I don't know. I often do, but sometimes, just sometimes, as is these days, I decide
to go deaf.
Completion. I look forward to the darkness of my grave. It is the only bed I think I have wisely made. Safe, home and finally secure from the ravages of a sad sad world.
Perforations
Do any of you know what holes are? Tiny little subatomic manholes within a person. Small yet large enough to engulf the spirit of happiness in a person. The funny thing is, that when you are getting on the train called Life, no one tells you that every station actually takes you somewhat forward and somewhat backward. At the end of it you find an inertia. Action yet no real movement. That is what life is, action without movement. You begin on point A and end at the same point under the bloody assumption that you have traversed on a long long long journey.
Forget life. Back to holes. What an amusing idea. Subatomic manholes in a persons character. Take Mr.X for example. Looks normal to you. Walks to work, which is only two blocks away, in the morning. Does his job fairly well. Smiles at his co-workers all day. Expects a promotion every three years and usually gets it.Everyday he comes back home and eats dinner with his family. Shares a joke with his wife, makes love to her every alternative week and takes his kids out camping every summer. Money is alright. Life is alright. But one day Mr.X, walks to the San Francisco bridge and jumps from it to end his existence. What was that you ask? That my friends were the holes.
Normalcy is an illusion. We are all full of these manholes. Tiny perforations that are peppered across our very beings and only don't appear because they are in the OTHER realm. The one which is composed of light and air, the one we can sense but not see. The one that we can dream into but not come out of. The reality that is but cannot be substantiated. It is cemented over by our worldly physical selves. Where we appear to be in action, where we appear to be in movement, where we appear to be normal. But it is never really so.
So how come almost 80% of people never notice them. These holes. Well because they are so well cemented into their lives that they do not wish to notice the sucking splurging noises within, when our insides pull into ourselves. They ignore them. And most of them ignore them long enough to live through to their grave. But alot of people like Mr.X, suddenly get so deeply sucked that they end their journey faster than was necessary. They jump off bridges, shoot themselves in the head, get a disease and die, start wars that eliminate the thousands of people around them and who they cannot identify with. So on and so forth.
Holes. So what do we do? Well some of us acknowledge we have them. We take our little chisel hammers and break away at the cement of our physical selves and let the other side pour out of these holes into our real time lives. Not possible? Madness? I am nuts you say. Ofcourse I am nuts. Its only the nut cases, the fruitcakes, the demented that understand the holes. Because they can SEE them. Unfortunately no one understands what they are babbling on about and stuff them into madhouses because sometimes those rantings hit close to home. The mad people begin to make sense and the NORMAL people do not like it. So they put them in big cement buildings called psychiatric hospitals. Or force them into jungles or temples or wherever, where they do not need to interact with them. Where they do not have to hear those achingly irritating noises these mad people make. They do not want to see their holes.
But some of us mad hatters are a little more cunning than others. We identify with our holes and pretend we are normal, all the while busy with our chisel hammers exposing holes in other people. Silently doing our work, watching and waiting for the whole world to acknowledge that true method only lies in madness. But then again, if I were so cunning I would not be telling you about the holes would I? ...Maybe, maybe not. Who knows while you read this, me and those like me, are busy with our hammers on you right here, right now. As they say all holes lead to God. Depending which ones you open. Think about it...
Ciao Mateys,
From The Madhatter in Alice in Wonderland.
Forget life. Back to holes. What an amusing idea. Subatomic manholes in a persons character. Take Mr.X for example. Looks normal to you. Walks to work, which is only two blocks away, in the morning. Does his job fairly well. Smiles at his co-workers all day. Expects a promotion every three years and usually gets it.Everyday he comes back home and eats dinner with his family. Shares a joke with his wife, makes love to her every alternative week and takes his kids out camping every summer. Money is alright. Life is alright. But one day Mr.X, walks to the San Francisco bridge and jumps from it to end his existence. What was that you ask? That my friends were the holes.
Normalcy is an illusion. We are all full of these manholes. Tiny perforations that are peppered across our very beings and only don't appear because they are in the OTHER realm. The one which is composed of light and air, the one we can sense but not see. The one that we can dream into but not come out of. The reality that is but cannot be substantiated. It is cemented over by our worldly physical selves. Where we appear to be in action, where we appear to be in movement, where we appear to be normal. But it is never really so.
So how come almost 80% of people never notice them. These holes. Well because they are so well cemented into their lives that they do not wish to notice the sucking splurging noises within, when our insides pull into ourselves. They ignore them. And most of them ignore them long enough to live through to their grave. But alot of people like Mr.X, suddenly get so deeply sucked that they end their journey faster than was necessary. They jump off bridges, shoot themselves in the head, get a disease and die, start wars that eliminate the thousands of people around them and who they cannot identify with. So on and so forth.
Holes. So what do we do? Well some of us acknowledge we have them. We take our little chisel hammers and break away at the cement of our physical selves and let the other side pour out of these holes into our real time lives. Not possible? Madness? I am nuts you say. Ofcourse I am nuts. Its only the nut cases, the fruitcakes, the demented that understand the holes. Because they can SEE them. Unfortunately no one understands what they are babbling on about and stuff them into madhouses because sometimes those rantings hit close to home. The mad people begin to make sense and the NORMAL people do not like it. So they put them in big cement buildings called psychiatric hospitals. Or force them into jungles or temples or wherever, where they do not need to interact with them. Where they do not have to hear those achingly irritating noises these mad people make. They do not want to see their holes.
But some of us mad hatters are a little more cunning than others. We identify with our holes and pretend we are normal, all the while busy with our chisel hammers exposing holes in other people. Silently doing our work, watching and waiting for the whole world to acknowledge that true method only lies in madness. But then again, if I were so cunning I would not be telling you about the holes would I? ...Maybe, maybe not. Who knows while you read this, me and those like me, are busy with our hammers on you right here, right now. As they say all holes lead to God. Depending which ones you open. Think about it...
Ciao Mateys,
From The Madhatter in Alice in Wonderland.
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