This boring dull and humdrum life of mine
is my ouvre and achievement. This is what
I was born to produce. This is my poetry
and my high art.
If not for this, how will that active, riveting
interesting or engrossing life ever seem so?
They see a glowing, bright reflection
in waveless water.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Monday, May 29, 2006
while I will continue that short piece of literature on the journey through tranisitions the other day, a muse for today here.
Is life purposeless? Or does it have atleast some purpose, if not something deep, rich? Well, I reckon these days, maybe its all in the mind. If we look at this life with all its irrationalities, the day to day bursts of seemingly nonsensical chores, the hundred hatreds and angers and troubles and miseries that we must endure until we get to one bowl of nourishment to keep vision intact for the next dawn, it all seems meaningless. No meaning there is, to all this. What bloody purpose on earth has that dying young antelope serve, being chased and hunted cruelly down to death by a hungry lion? What purpose do all those almsot endless types of bacteria or fish for that matter serve, anything better than as food, for other bacteria and fish? Life, with its rich confluence of colours, seems one big meandering surge of nothingness to nothingness.
OK hang on, before you get the feeling that I'm going to say what other purpose does your life serve than as rich source of proteins to hungry bacteria waiting to devour them in your grave. All this is looking from only one angle, trying to bully the complexity of nature to bend and pass through the destructive lens of my oppressive straightjacket of a purpose. Otherwise, there are a hundred purposes to life. Sample just one. That primeval fish ancestor of all land animals which died to prey transmitted that necessity for adaptation to its other surviving relatives. The survivors from some of whom eventually used those survival lessons to ultimately end up walking on land. That same lesson the dying antelope too transmitted. The lessons learnt surviving in some remote jungle in Africa stood in good stead for the eventual wordwide march of that biped a descendent of whom is today typing away these lines. Each lesson that is deep enough to ensure a better life is being lodged deeper, being mastered, transmitted, onward, onward, onward. In the comfort of a preyless survival and the shade of a promise of a life, there is the cool breeze of happiness. In the smile of a young one raised in an atmosphere free from fear, in the happiness of a family, in the shared laughter of a village, there is joy. Extending this joy of being, maybe, is one purpose of life.
And others...? Muwwah, now I'm sleepy.
Is life purposeless? Or does it have atleast some purpose, if not something deep, rich? Well, I reckon these days, maybe its all in the mind. If we look at this life with all its irrationalities, the day to day bursts of seemingly nonsensical chores, the hundred hatreds and angers and troubles and miseries that we must endure until we get to one bowl of nourishment to keep vision intact for the next dawn, it all seems meaningless. No meaning there is, to all this. What bloody purpose on earth has that dying young antelope serve, being chased and hunted cruelly down to death by a hungry lion? What purpose do all those almsot endless types of bacteria or fish for that matter serve, anything better than as food, for other bacteria and fish? Life, with its rich confluence of colours, seems one big meandering surge of nothingness to nothingness.
OK hang on, before you get the feeling that I'm going to say what other purpose does your life serve than as rich source of proteins to hungry bacteria waiting to devour them in your grave. All this is looking from only one angle, trying to bully the complexity of nature to bend and pass through the destructive lens of my oppressive straightjacket of a purpose. Otherwise, there are a hundred purposes to life. Sample just one. That primeval fish ancestor of all land animals which died to prey transmitted that necessity for adaptation to its other surviving relatives. The survivors from some of whom eventually used those survival lessons to ultimately end up walking on land. That same lesson the dying antelope too transmitted. The lessons learnt surviving in some remote jungle in Africa stood in good stead for the eventual wordwide march of that biped a descendent of whom is today typing away these lines. Each lesson that is deep enough to ensure a better life is being lodged deeper, being mastered, transmitted, onward, onward, onward. In the comfort of a preyless survival and the shade of a promise of a life, there is the cool breeze of happiness. In the smile of a young one raised in an atmosphere free from fear, in the happiness of a family, in the shared laughter of a village, there is joy. Extending this joy of being, maybe, is one purpose of life.
And others...? Muwwah, now I'm sleepy.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
A shepherd's journey
I wandered through the desert all morning and forenoon. It felt like I had embraced the embrace of death, like I had wandered into a rain of fire. Up until far ahead all I could see was baked brown earth spread before me, with not a sign of life anywhere. I had set out from home early, to try and find a pasture. Drought had brought my land to a parched pitch-halt. The heat was sweltering and wind had as if entered into an evil collaboration with it. As it blew, it carried all its rage straight into our hearts. The little water left was enough for us to drink and keep selves and bodies together. In the four directions all around, there was nothing but dry broken earth left. The music of the wind raging through the day sounded like the song of death. Nights brought no cheer. Clouds too brought none, they just sneaked past our heads high up in the sky. Today I needed to find a pasture, if my cattle was to survive. So I left home, left early today. I had to find something before all of them died. They had already started dying, one by one. So I wandered on.
I wandered through the desert all morning and forenoon. It felt like I had embraced the embrace of death, like I had wandered into a rain of fire. Up until far ahead all I could see was baked brown earth spread before me, with not a sign of life anywhere. I had set out from home early, to try and find a pasture. Drought had brought my land to a parched pitch-halt. The heat was sweltering and wind had as if entered into an evil collaboration with it. As it blew, it carried all its rage straight into our hearts. The little water left was enough for us to drink and keep selves and bodies together. In the four directions all around, there was nothing but dry broken earth left. The music of the wind raging through the day sounded like the song of death. Nights brought no cheer. Clouds too brought none, they just sneaked past our heads high up in the sky. Today I needed to find a pasture, if my cattle was to survive. So I left home, left early today. I had to find something before all of them died. They had already started dying, one by one. So I wandered on.
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