Landscape of the Mind
Blessed by introspection
colored in anecdotes
the memories coalesce
as I travel back in time...
With subjective awareness of the myriad of imperfections never reaching the final conclusions, I am sure they are destined forever to be etched as vague musings. I realize this afresh with the solidarity of me that exists in the possibility of different dimensions. Nonetheless, I connect with those different versions of I, and we are never so sure that they shall remain as mere musings.
The present I wish, how I wish, I have far fewer minutes to contemplate and far more hours to act... without regrets.
Still, as natural as breathing, few discernable thoughts persevere, whispering of time that was and perhaps... will be.
(Though time is not consecutive as we perceive it to be, it being one and the same, we are the memory of yesterday and the potential of the future)
This very moment, this present, I bridge them, unraveling them to their simplest essence:
Freedom
Love
Happiness
&
Meaning in Life.
Freedom is about choices.
Love is a spontaneous feeling arising as the natural union between polarities that transform into a singularity.
Happiness is about living in the moment.
Meaning in life is embracing those three, as one discovers oneself before passing into the void.
From nothing to something and then to nothing...our existence is a blink of the eye
There are times, we decide not to choose. Choosing not to choose might be closest to being free. Only then we are alive beyond the constraints of our biased minds. No more is the truth mere assumptions of a subjective mind. No more do we see and interact with the outside world based on the colorful lenses founded since childhood. Knowing this true freedom is as real as the solemn promise of knowing, learning, adapting, and overcoming the self. Unbothered by the dominant narrated ideas of this century, we have choices, we are no more fateless.
So we choose, and yet many of our choices are defined by the decision made for us that we willingly accept. Is it not what we have been doing so far? Letting our freedom of faith defined by a priest, the need to be civil to society, and even the relationship between you and I, through these monologues that sadly can barely scratch our shared experience.
Therein we are happy, confined within the illusion of the control bestowed by the will of our superiors.
Therein, ignorance is bliss...
Is there true freedom without a freewill?
More importantly, do we really have the freewill, to begin with? Human history is wanting. It leaves us in more confusion as we delve deeper into the crux of its eras. What is truth and what is falsity? We were not alive then and even if we were there, we could not be in the exact place and time before the protagonist to witness the true history. Even if we were, could we have changed what was already been done? Changing the timeline if possible, will it erase ourselves and the change could not have happened in the first place?
The truth is, history is written by winners and so is the ideal of freedom that we strive for explicitly each possible moment as we let it go implicitly for the sake of happiness. That happiness amidst the delusion of free will, shackled by the chains of our past, not of our own...
Even if freedom is possible and we believe in its existence, yet fear it. For with freedom comes the risk of loneliness and constant boredom. A free man should be willing to carry the burden of freedom, watching the rest of humanity toil in the meaninglessness of their existence. And perhaps undo all that life nature has created.
As part of this creation, we search for ourselves. Search for self i.e. neverending. Enigmatic by nature, just beyond the grasp of consciousness, ah it invites reflection.
Reflection rich in different points of view, it is
Is it the body that holds no unique differentiation from the rest of humanity?
Or is it the concept of I that encompasses all that is me and mine?
Indeed! As a thinking feeling being, the self is an identity one so confirms one's existence to be, perhaps false, but it is mine, to say the least
Feelings are fickle. A moment ago, we were happy, and the next angry. It has no logical progression or degression. It is more than often reactive to external stimuli. Unlike a well-prepared speech, akin to life, it is unpredictable. Incoherent and difficult to articulate, they accumulate to burst out like a dam. A force of nature it is. Yet feelings are what make us who we are. We are so different, so unique from each other. More alive when we feel as compared to our dead self that functions to survive. To survive, it endures the lethargy of daily toiling synchronized with the clockwork, as the cog of a huge machine called capitalism.
If I have a reason to wake up early
and a reason to sleep late
then I have a reason to say
I am alive and happy
Then there is happiness. It is overrated but everyone wants it. And we toil till the end of our days for a future that may or may not come. Was it not for tomorrow that we toil today? Our work which can be easily replaced by someone else, is it worth it? We think so, for this toil rewards us with the means to continue our fragile physical existence, as our mind wanders in the sea of boredom.
The same routine repeated, over and over again...
We aspire to grasp and prolong certainties, delving through possibilities and diminishing the probabilities of failures.
No wonder we sacrifice today for tomorrow.
No wonder the mind endures the meaninglessness of toil, building the stress, to let go later in the hedonistic of pleasures, the next extreme of boredom.
February the month of romance: Just Another Business
It is easy to assume, and far easier to believe romance = love.
But is it true?
Well, what it simply is, is a magic show, shrowded in the dazzling spells of capitalism.
The more you pay, the greater the pleasure... of owning spells that magically bring you closer, and closer to your target; one to whom you profess your undying love!
It's the beauty of capitalism, to sell anything, anywhere, and anytime.
And to anyone, not a random guy down the street, but one with money or a value equivalent or better exceeding the perceived monetary value.
Even those without money, one can always exchange time and labor, slave-away minions, hail capitalism
And romance is a full package deal with lots of perks with a subscription.
Begin with a bouquet of flowers with a readymade postcard, then the date of candlelight dinner for just two, the endearing whisper of flirtation accompanied by the sweet aroma of wine, the glasses clinking away...
Ah! The imagination goes wild!!
Reality check:
Just a few days back, Feb 17 was Rose Day. Basically here in Nepal, on average a bouquet costs around NRs. 500, and per stick NRs. 50-100. That is just the start, warming up for Feb 14, Valentine's Day.
Well, there is chocolate day, Teddy Day prior to the actual Feb 14.
And all of this is based on value, the value that is created by men who thought and acted a bit differently, for the people who live to enjoy life.
How is value created?
If humanity is categorized by its financial status, then it by the rule of thumb can be categorized into:
The middle class, which is the majority strives to maintain the visage of honorable people of class.
The lower has no care for status, their one and only goal is to survive, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute
And then there are the few, elite. Life is often boring for the top. And it is to them that entrepreneur's mind has found the perfect target.
The myth of a diamond ring and a big mansion, then that of a car and so on, it never ends...
Love is a powerful feeling spontaneous and all-embracing. Romance is its reflection that is enticing to the senses. If love is the flower, romance is the perfume that invites the beholder.
In a lifetime of ups and downs, love is the courage to suffer, for someone that is not the self. It is to let go of ego and be vulnerable, to someone who is so different from ourselves.
It is to be selfish, but no more for oneself as it encompasses all that we love tied of invisible albeit strongest knots till death does us part.
Romance is the hopes and dreams, mankind cannot do without for it directly relates to creativity that is vital for moving forward, to make the boring life at least bearable.
Love is not seen but felt, and romance makes that feeling take substance. The material object whose value signifies the level of love you so feel, the value when realized makes it representative of love, for now.
So we carve for romance within in love. Losing it, we lose a part of ourselves.
Dissolving into the nether.. gone forever.
In the end...(as February marches into April, before May advents)
"I am left with a reflection whose sun-kissed surface displays stars swaying with the gentle wind rolling with the sight of mesmerizing sublimity of glory"
And those purple Jacaranda stretch together towards the heavens, a sight to behold every summer.
And I realize we are like that Jacaranda, blooming for a moment, a moment of beauty, too short, passing away...
Mortality is terribly fragile yet is the most beautiful, a candle burning in the endless encroaching darkness of existence.
(Note: Meandering through the thoughts that pass as a monologue, I absolve past foolishness mine and let the victories find themselves pacified in the simmering experience of the present.)
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