This is called
degeneration of mind. The feeling is accentuated by the simple act of reading
and re-reading the blog that I all over again fell in love with. Its my pride.
And yet, its degenerating. And I am letting it go to rot.
There are a
zillion things which revel to me daily, every waking moment, and sometimes
sleeping too. Yet I sleep on them, kill them. Then there are days like today
when I lament why did I lose all those precious moments to trivial stuff when I
could be writing away to glory.
Years ago, and
for a very long time, I would sulk over finding my passion. I’d ask myself this
question “what would I want to do during the last minute of my life, when the
last breath is anxious to leave me.” And I had no answer to that. Or worse, I
would think “I would want to spend that last breath in the arms of my love.”
Bullshit.
No one cares
if I die. The family is obliged to care and be sad, but just enough. Besides
those few, there is no one on this planet who would wish I were not dead... I
were not dying, if somehow they could bring back life to me.
But today, I
know I want to die reading. I want to die writing. Writing not about death,
but- ironically- about life. That despite everything, it was a good run.
Enough about
dying. I want to live. And I want to talk about living.
Why do we
live? And the answer cannot be because we are born, and once that minor detail
is taken care of, you have no option but to keep at it. That’s too
transactional. And, if not anything else, I am not a person of transactions.
Why do we see
life as a third person? When we are its creator. Life is because we are. We are
life. Then why separate it from our being?
This and many
disparate thoughts have been, not troubling, but poking me for sometime now. I
am reminded of college exam time when everything would suddenly start appearing
pointless, when I would be on the verge of giving it all up, seeking meaning in
life, wanting only the bigger picture without realizing that a picture, however
small or big, is created with a zillion single strokes. Why would I then want
to do away with the strokes and still want my bigger picture? Silly me.
Today, I am
25. And I am no different than when I was 20. Happily, my heart hasn’t stopped
beating. Sadly, my brains have diminished as my heart has grown. Today, I seek
everything and see everything in the bigger picture frame, often by-passing the
smaller details. I wouldn’t care less if I lost all money, or lost my job, or
lost a person. It will make me sad for insanely unhuman amount of time and then
I’d be back to living once again. Again, bullshit.
The mind is
just too cluttered to write something meaningful. I fear I’d do injustice to
the rest five hundred million thoughts if I write about one particular. So
where do I begin?
No where, says
the mind. Its deceitful I tell you. Whoever said that heart makes you do
irrational thing was probably thinking from their ass. Mind manipulates. Mind
calculates. Mind searches for logic and reasoning. While heart innocently
believes. Heart accepts. Heart forgives.
So what is so
wrong in following your heart when you don’t like what your brain makes you do?
People on this planet sure do use their brains all the time. I ask... why? To get some
more recognition? Or power? Or money? Or sex? Or status? Only a hollow being
would want to be on a perennial want for more. They are the ones who manipulate
earth. World war happens because of people like them. The bad news, u ask me?
ALL men (I use it generically, referring to people from all genders) use their
brains. That’s what they do best. And that’s how they do worst.
This thought is now giving me a head-ache. I don’t usually have head-aches. I told you, I use heart. Heart doesn’t give you head-aches. It gives you heart-burns. I am awesome at sustaining and surviving heart-burns. But not head-aches. I go crazy when I get one. I don’t usually have head-aches.
Right, I already wrote that.
