Skip to main content

What will I do with Truth?

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.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Imagination

Student: I want to excel in my life. Over the years, my graph of success is achieving a new height. I am doing hard work to become one of the smartest and richest persons on the Earth. Teacher: Wonderful! Who is  achiever and what is achieved? Student: I am the achiever. My name and fame are shining day by day.  Teacher: Who is this ‘I’? What is the material by which it is produced? Student: I is the ego which is the agent achieving successes and facing failures. Teacher: Whether ego is real or imaginary? Student: It is made of name, form, and function. Teacher: Whether name, form, and function are eternal?  Student: No, they are changing. Teacher: Anything changes does it exist? Whether these are real or merely fictitious images appearing and disappearing before the sightscreen of mind? Student: They are the images constructing my identity as a person. Teacher: Well said! What is the stuff by which these images are made of? Who is maker and what is made? Student: They ar...

पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का

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।

Time and Love

Time passes by Like moving in a train of thoughts Its sequence is always forward Vibrating like a cosmic dance of Shiva Time is creating and engulfing The little waves of the ocean Going where? Nobody knows Like a dream does not have a destination It is as true as any absurd play With friends of pleasure It moves like speed of light With friends of need It is felt like a moving river Allowing a little moments of thoughts Before everything becomes a history With friends of virtue Time becomes a sublime touch Soothing and healing the pain Becoming a spectator To watch the cries and follies Beauty and ugliness The rainbow of joy And an album of suffering Time touches Yet it remains aloof Like Purush is witnessing The colours of prakriti Yet remains unblemished And untouched The union of two is always mystical Their touch is a source Of creation and transformation Time is witnessing everything In its sequential movements Who is witnessing time? What is independent of the originatio...