I think, therefore I am.
But are either of these worthwhile, what I think, whether I am?
My fundamental reality is dust.
Just that.
And the reality of my thoughts, are the ashes we call words. The paradox is there, thence; words cannot acquire dust-form, for meaning cannot turn to dust. Why one feels disillusioned by a mission, is perhaps disillusionment with life itself, in a macrocosmic view. And this can only be because there is that senseless sprint after purpose…
“Our Lord, You have not created this (world) without a purpose…” Divine words, from a marked Chapter…but carry that spike… that pricks the mind… with thoughts… thoughts… wanting definitions… all laid out. And limited.
Purpose… purpose… purpose…?
Dreams of monotonous rain appear more purposeful than the waking up at six o’clock in the morning routine. The purpose of Sleep, a necessary waste of time, is more defined… more worthwhile, apparently.
Whether Purpose, Meaning and Feeling are divergent or converge somewhere down the path… I don’t know. There are meaningless feelings, and purposeless meanings. There are events, of Feelings… but only the Meaning is carried across, down to the memory lane… and even there, the Purpose maintains its clandestine aura.
The poet with his Feeling, scribbles in fervor, but only the Meaning remains. Sometimes, not even that. And then, all this is not created without a purpose?
Just momentary venting of Feeling?
What is the point of all this prattle? Absolute junk… just hedonistic games with the pen, a necessary waste of time… to sprinkle big words down on the screen, generously, and watch them take form… and feel disgust and love all at once.
Just a luxury of big minds.
There is one thing I cannot bring myself up to agreeing with. There are no incredible minds, except the prophetic souls. The rest must lead a life of dynamic struggle to achieve incredibility. The Bedouin, with his simple-hearted mind, no education, no complex cognitive processes, took the Kalma better than any of us could. He did not ask Mohammed SAW whether he was making a political statement with his monotheistic doctrines. He was tortured and killed for a simple truth.
But are either of these worthwhile, what I think, whether I am?
My fundamental reality is dust.
Just that.
And the reality of my thoughts, are the ashes we call words. The paradox is there, thence; words cannot acquire dust-form, for meaning cannot turn to dust. Why one feels disillusioned by a mission, is perhaps disillusionment with life itself, in a macrocosmic view. And this can only be because there is that senseless sprint after purpose…
“Our Lord, You have not created this (world) without a purpose…” Divine words, from a marked Chapter…but carry that spike… that pricks the mind… with thoughts… thoughts… wanting definitions… all laid out. And limited.
Purpose… purpose… purpose…?
Dreams of monotonous rain appear more purposeful than the waking up at six o’clock in the morning routine. The purpose of Sleep, a necessary waste of time, is more defined… more worthwhile, apparently.
Whether Purpose, Meaning and Feeling are divergent or converge somewhere down the path… I don’t know. There are meaningless feelings, and purposeless meanings. There are events, of Feelings… but only the Meaning is carried across, down to the memory lane… and even there, the Purpose maintains its clandestine aura.
The poet with his Feeling, scribbles in fervor, but only the Meaning remains. Sometimes, not even that. And then, all this is not created without a purpose?
Just momentary venting of Feeling?
What is the point of all this prattle? Absolute junk… just hedonistic games with the pen, a necessary waste of time… to sprinkle big words down on the screen, generously, and watch them take form… and feel disgust and love all at once.
Just a luxury of big minds.
There is one thing I cannot bring myself up to agreeing with. There are no incredible minds, except the prophetic souls. The rest must lead a life of dynamic struggle to achieve incredibility. The Bedouin, with his simple-hearted mind, no education, no complex cognitive processes, took the Kalma better than any of us could. He did not ask Mohammed SAW whether he was making a political statement with his monotheistic doctrines. He was tortured and killed for a simple truth.
And he died for no high-brow, artsy philosophy, only love.
And I feel, at times, the rest of us pompous talkers, will just swing between sincerity and insincerity towards faith… as it says in 'The Grande Chartreuse'...
“Wandering between two worlds,
one dead,
The other powerless to be born.”
--Matthew Arnold
SOS, God.
Please.
Please.
4 comments:
:)
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on a more serious note, I was thinking yesterday whether we think so we are or we communicate hence we are...and I
thought about a child who is born, does he cry unintentionally after coming to the world or does the cry comes after cognitive thoughts of alienation after being in a new environment?
What do you know?
Lady! (sure very young) Why you write so difficult things?
Anyhow, ultimate of every thing is dust. Burry different materials in to the earth and after time (different for different materials) all will be dust, of course, if God does not keep it's original or convert to some thing new.
SOS?
You seem to be doing well.
With your pen anyway.
Rest assured, this is something no one really can get it right all the way.
We could never agree.
And you won't Convert, even after being beaten in a debate;)
Anyway...if only you were me...
But then again, I tremble thinking what if i were you ...
Disillusionment is a funny word.
Anyway, to each his own set of illusions of disillusionment.
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