I don't agree with what I had to say on identity last year. This evolution is real. I find that the passage of time and space does change me. This sense of change challenges me to accept that only reality which exists in our world is change. Those, who try to arrest change also may find their change in approach of arresting truth, and encaging realities. The biggest challenges, which knock at our doors, are not about becoming a perfect person or perfect entity. Nothing, in fact, is perfect, or everything is perfect in its imperfection, in its transition. But to remain with the flow, with the current and change, to appreciate the change without having any desire of perfection is the best method to appreciate life. Only a process of change is life, whether it improves or deteriorates the life energy. I find transition everywhere, in plants, animals, rocks, dust, humans, etc. Everything is a marvellous piece of writing, written as a destination in teleological sense may not be necessarily true, it may be written by perspiring zeal. Our 'will to life', to refer Arthur Schopenhour, is the life energy, which is simply transforming. Nothing new is written. Everything is processed for a higher existence. Our every action, every word, or every gesture is a unique piece of grammar, which isn't a copy of something else, or it can't be copied. It will change for the sake of life. It does change, in fact, but it never dies. I don't write for the sake of immutable truth. In fact, none is immutable. I write because my writing is a fragment of life-energy. What I write is not necessarily true. What is true is judged by perspective. William Blake is in agreement when he says, "If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite" (Huxley, The Doors of Perception). Writing is necessary not for the sake of truth, not for the sake of knowledge or power. Writing is existential. Through, this medium of communication, life energy is unleashed and becomes a apart of the whole creation, which is, in fact, not fixed but expanding.
पढ़ता हूँ हर एक दिन एक ही पन्ना, हर दिन हज़ार ये मालूम पड़ते हैं। जबसे होश संभाला है एक ही पन्ना सवांरते आया हूँ, लोग इसे ज़िन्दगी कहते हैं। इसपे लिखे हर एक लब्ज़ जो मेरे मालूम पड़ते हैं, ना जाने कितने जुबां पे चढ़े होंगे। आज हम भी कुछ पल के लिए ही सही इसके सारथी हैं, जाने से पहले कुछ रंग मेरा भी इसपे चढ़ जाए, बस इसीलिए एक ही पन्ना बार बार पलटता रहता हूँ। हर कोई अनजाने किताब की तलाश में बाहर निकलता है, जिसका हर एक पन्ना वो ख़ुद है। जब ख़ुद के रंग को समझ ही ना पाया, तो भला इंद्रधनुषी किताब के क्या मायने हैं? अस्तित्व में ना जाने कितने पन्ने बिखरे पड़े हैं, बस एक से ही अवगत हो जाऊँ, उसके हर एक शब्द को चुनता जाऊँ, कुछ पल के लिये सही, पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का।
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