Skip to main content

Beyond Struggle

What is the first moment of struggle? Perhaps, world is manifestation of inner struggle. The first struggle begins in the moment of wishful future: a struggle from being to becoming. All wars are invented to assuage inner struggles, however, inner peace cannot be achieved in the language of struggle or through the language of struggle. If goal of being is struggle to survive like Charles Darwin hypothesised; struggle to reach on top in the competition of name, game, and fame; struggle for fickle identity; struggle against present; struggle for the nostalgic glory of history; struggle for unknown future; struggle for moralising possibility of justice and development; struggle for peace, virtue, and morality; struggle all too struggle; then, can there be peace in the language and through the language of struggle? 


You may argue in favour of dialectics to justify antagonist binary of thesis and anti-thesis like Hegel and Marx did; the struggle between two autonomous-opposite ideas for the sublation and transformation, from being to becoming. The circular game of struggle, which appears in our mind, makes a strong case to despair and despise the moment passing through here and now. You may argue for change like many poets of power and morals do. You may behave like a pretentious artist, struggling to convince the world at large to dream something far distant, for strange and unfamiliar landscape; nevertheless, the moment is changing without being noticed its unique possibilities. 


Life is struggle; this amusing affirmation is everywhere; from mythical epics to the poetry of power-hungry sophistry of ordinary souls; they're struggling within their own consciousness and imposing their own struggles as the goal of humanity. For them, Buddha is too idealist to embrace. This is the place from thereon the language of power, cleverness, and realpolitik is propagated, and struggle is portrayed as heroic possibility for future. The first leap of emancipation is knowing self and non-self. The clouds of anxiety is the language of future. From Platonist world of ideas to Christian kingdom of heaven, and from Kantian transcendental morality to the language of hope in secular theology or Marxist anxiety of change; everywhere, a consciousness of past and movement of emancipatory future are imagined. At what cost? Present is always compromised; life is always forgotten; the best and blissful nights are available to those who are living within moment, without anxiety of a distant future. Those, who are better historians of ideas know this truth.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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।
1 comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more

Dreamer

Empty is mirror, Yet it reflects what is. Chit is absolute abyss, Yet it contains the existence, Like unending horizons of sky. Chit in bond with manas, Creates and witnesses, The playful dance of life. Shunyata is the absolute truth, Yet it is all of the possible worlds. Out of its voidness, World appears and disappears. Is it real or unreal? Or merely the Dream, Of all the possible dreams? If it is the case, Who is dreaming, the dreams of all? The One, the Cosmos. What if the One is also a figment of imagination? What if the world is a poetic creation? And the Poet has deployed itself, In every form of poetry? The poetry of life. What if only bhokta is bhojan? Only observer is observed? Only worshiper is worshipped? Only subject is object? All are the waves of same Ocean.
Post a Comment
Read more