BEING AND BECOMING

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...

Careerism is a ghost haunting the prospective world of spontaneous living. Whole life people invest to make a straight, soothing, and decent image with no avail. The life of a career is nothing more than a speck of dust blown away by storms. Yet, human beings are trained to create a career, to live and die for it. The whole life is wasted for running after an image which is simply a creation of mind, an assemblage of external stimulus, and fixation of identity around symbolic representations and their meanings. This symbolic rationality is deeply embedded in the collective psyche of society like a smokescreen hiding the eternal truth. Every action is evaluated on the scale of career and the price of a person is evaluated on the parameter of its utility in terms of functioning as a career, within the career, and for the career. In the end, retirement gives a sense of loss of the economic and professional values accumulated by economic man, a sense of imaginary losses, which imprisons th...

आदत नहीं हमें कि चंद सिक्कों पे लूट जाना है ज़मीर के सौदागर हमने पग-पग पे देखे हैं उल्फ़त की आँधी हो या बेचैनी का शैलाब जो राह पकड़ के चल पड़ा उसे कश्ती मिल ही जाना है देखे है हमनें बड़े पत्थर दिल वाले जो दिल को छू जाए वही जीवन को जाना है जो बात तोड़-जोड़ कर निकले उन्हीं बांतों में जमाना है अदा जब अश्क़ बन जाए सदायें ख़ुद से ख़ुदा हो जाना है ये कैसी नादानी है कि खिलौनों को खिलौने का शौक है तेरा गुरुर एक बुलबुले सा है कुछ पल में ही मिट जाना है तूने मन के लिबास पे  जो कलिखें पोत रखी है उस मलिन मन के भीतर वो बच्चा जो शांत सा बैठा है क्या तुमने कभी उसे पहचाना है?

Name, you are chasing and chased by You, do you really matter? What if you don’t exist? What if you’re a funny fiction; Invented by a few, fallen from spontaneity? Your fictitious glory is taken for granted As if, you are the beginning and the end You, the first and the final dogma The weaver of the life-stories The gene of romance and tragedy You, the fulcrum of human power The traces of memories  Whose erasure is truly a liberation From the burdening flashes of thy presence! Yet, you are blooming In an Age of Reason and Anxiety!

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...

At the juncture of the silence, The cosmos reveals its sublime beauty, The truth, the substratum of the Witness,   The holy mixture of atoms and their alchemy. Silence reveals the communion of matter and space,   Their constant dialectics,   Appearance and disappearance of forms,   By which the potency of matter is realised and unrealised. Silence lets the voice of nature,   To Blossom and reveal its potential meanings. Silence heals the wounds of speech,   Its therapeutic effects cement the social bonds,   In its profoundest horizons,   Individuality submerges into; The holistic union of finite and infinite. Silence is the mirror,   Which reflects the cosmic dance,   Of light, darkness, and their convergence. In the glory of silence,   Words move and produce,   The cacophony of prayers and meditations, The liturgical magic of religions,   The baffling discourses of academia,   Only encircle in a s...

Spectacles and Enchantment of Power, Power of glory; glory of power, O glorious power,  Where are your branches? Where are your roots? Where is that dark matter; Burnt and sacrificed for your glory? Burgeoning flashes of glory, Narcissistic fever of power, You, the witness of your thousand defeats, You, the player of little triumphs, You, the hero, You, the villain, Power, the inglorious history of glory, Your glory of which, God is also boundlessly jealous! O little thought, The shadow of clouds, The mother and progeny of glorious power, Where is the resting place; On which you stand and deliver; The narcissistic fever of Sapiens! How poetically you weave; The power of glory, And the glory of power? How imaginatively you create, The glory out of nothingness, And the glory into nothingness?