ﻡﻳﺣﺭﻟﺍﻥﻣﺣﺭﻟﺍﻪﻟﻟﺍﻣﺳﺑ.
... I have seen an individual.
I have paraded through stock exchange markets, cinemas, mosques and hospitals. I have seen one body of merchants, one body of entertained spectators, of worshippers, of sickness. One cannot tell brown hair from black hair, skin from skin or high pitch from low pitch. Where does the idea of one person, of an individual, exist? In such places, only the essence of humanity hollers at your senses – unified and diversified.
One can walk through bookstores and art galleries, only to find colors and words screaming at you: "Look at me! I am an individual, a different individual!" But the forms are always the same, whether word or hue. What difference do they preach?But my allegory does not end with this claustrophobic chant to homogeny. It does not end with lack of identity in an individualistic world. I only begin with those wanting to be pompous individuals, when they are but a uniform of delusions.
The individual I have seen was in that stock market, cinema, mosque, hospital, bookstore and art gallery; sometimes a shadow, at other times a thought. When I saw her, I knew I had seen something only I was capable of seeing. I looked at those words, colors, traders, worshippers and noticed a certain daze in their eyes that I felt in my own. I could understand it afterwards, it was my own identity I had come across in this crowd of other monads.
And each monad sees but the identity of its own.
An identity, born again, after a quarter of a century within the Self...
I have paraded through stock exchange markets, cinemas, mosques and hospitals. I have seen one body of merchants, one body of entertained spectators, of worshippers, of sickness. One cannot tell brown hair from black hair, skin from skin or high pitch from low pitch. Where does the idea of one person, of an individual, exist? In such places, only the essence of humanity hollers at your senses – unified and diversified.
One can walk through bookstores and art galleries, only to find colors and words screaming at you: "Look at me! I am an individual, a different individual!" But the forms are always the same, whether word or hue. What difference do they preach?But my allegory does not end with this claustrophobic chant to homogeny. It does not end with lack of identity in an individualistic world. I only begin with those wanting to be pompous individuals, when they are but a uniform of delusions.
The individual I have seen was in that stock market, cinema, mosque, hospital, bookstore and art gallery; sometimes a shadow, at other times a thought. When I saw her, I knew I had seen something only I was capable of seeing. I looked at those words, colors, traders, worshippers and noticed a certain daze in their eyes that I felt in my own. I could understand it afterwards, it was my own identity I had come across in this crowd of other monads.
And each monad sees but the identity of its own.
An identity, born again, after a quarter of a century within the Self...
