I can swear
I have not written one line
I cannot even write one line
I have not written one line
I cannot even write one line
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Nothingness (unfinished)
I feel intense pain. It is not bodily pain, neither mental, but rather that heart sinking feeling. I want separation from everything outwardly, to live beyond the reach of anyone who knows me, for I do not know myself. When I do not know myself, how am I supposed to interact with anything?
There are wars.
Humans are never happy.
I said and it all became a lie.
I want to hide, within my own shell.
What is so wrong, with it?
But, would I be happy?
I do not know.
Is it worth knowing anyways,
I would think so.
How can I erase
There are wars.
Humans are never happy.
I said and it all became a lie.
I want to hide, within my own shell.
What is so wrong, with it?
But, would I be happy?
I do not know.
Is it worth knowing anyways,
I would think so.
How can I erase
Stupid Heretic
Why should I not be a creative evolution of Mohammad
Have I suffered any less than the Messiah
Do I stutter any less than than Moses
Am I any less important than Abraham
Was I any less clay than Adam
Then why this morass
Just show up, just a peak
For I am looking at the wrong door
I long for light
I feel light
But these eyes yearn for your presence
If all these remain illusions
Then let yourself be an illusion too
Come talk to me too
I am tired
It has been one-sided chatter for too long
You will find my love,
I long for nobody else.
Why hide?
You made these eyes,
Made me yearn to see you,
Yet, you remain hidden,
Within these clay pots.
Let me assure you,
I am the lowest of the low,
But I have become, what I am,
From longing for you, unknowingly, knowingly
Let these words be the testament,
Who has no Oneness?
I am going mad here, swinging between answers
I find no solution, in the answers either.
WallAllahlam
Have I suffered any less than the Messiah
Do I stutter any less than than Moses
Am I any less important than Abraham
Was I any less clay than Adam
Then why this morass
Just show up, just a peak
For I am looking at the wrong door
I long for light
I feel light
But these eyes yearn for your presence
If all these remain illusions
Then let yourself be an illusion too
Come talk to me too
I am tired
It has been one-sided chatter for too long
You will find my love,
I long for nobody else.
Why hide?
You made these eyes,
Made me yearn to see you,
Yet, you remain hidden,
Within these clay pots.
Let me assure you,
I am the lowest of the low,
But I have become, what I am,
From longing for you, unknowingly, knowingly
Let these words be the testament,
Who has no Oneness?
I am going mad here, swinging between answers
I find no solution, in the answers either.
WallAllahlam
Friday, May 13, 2016
Montaigne in the now
I am thankful for writing a post, after a long time, where I do not have a subject matter for, rather just awry, haywire thoughts, all jumbled up in a beautiful piece of art. I would like to quote Montaigne first:
"The trick is to maintain a kind of naive amazement at each instant of experience—but, as Montaigne learned, one of the best techniques for doing this is to write about everything. Simply describing an object on your table, or the view from your window, opens your eyes to how marvelous such ordinary things are. To look inside yourself is to open up an even more fantastical realm."
Montaigne mentions the secret to living an amazing life, and I can testify the amazing results it holds, along with a Hellenistic maxim: "amor fati" that is the cheerful acceptance of whatever happens or love of ones fate. The two ideas collide, to result in an amazing life full of appreciation, love and mystery. I am living in an interesting period of my life. I have found an amazing girl, who has taken over my existence in the most amazing way. I am still going through the initial period, where everything is beautiful, just taking a breathe has an artistic beauty, rivaling those of any pieces from Michelangelo or Raphael. However, I am also conscious, that my existence, always in constant, influx and out-flux, will change, and change for the better. The conventional wisdom says, at least from the older people, which I see no example in the life around, is that love dies off, and the marriages turn sour, as a result. It sounds reasonable, I guess. However, I am compelled to do just that for this love, even for a moments sake, is a blessing. Who else would know the euphoria of love? And, I being a skeptic, can tell you, I am not the one to accept things at face value, or at least, hastily.
I want to express myself in a manner, analogous to a mad animal, because I would be free of any prejudices, biases and rational, except the true self. I am led to believe, that my love has to stem from something very primordial, constant and ever-existing--whatever it might be. I have to tap into my carnal self to understand the realities that present to me, instead of me sketching new realities.
The primordial self is not something that anyone should fear or even question. It is beautiful and perfect in its understanding and expression, considering it finds itself in an expression through the body. Instinct has to be connected with the primordial me, for instinct seems to fit into places.
I am not concerned with the past, nor concerned with the future. I am concerned with the now of things, right here. Just a word rolled over from her beautiful lips, a moment worth of loving gaze, her touch, her laugh, her attention, her presence, her subjects of discussion, her exciting hair, and I could go on in the most mundane and monotonous activities, are a source of joy.
For what is love, has been a question since the invent of humanity, starting from Adam. Not to imply, love was absent before humanity. Just that, humanity was able to see its own reflection, and recognize the different states of being. And, I am certainly not the one to start the debate here, for I wish love can be expressed in anyway other than metaphors, for feelings are states of being, without clear words for expression. So the next best thing is to resonate the feeling with feelings created through metaphors, although a very poor method of understanding feelings, but the only one we might have. However, I will say one thing. Love is amazing. Love is not infatuation, crush, lust, craving, but is more intense that anyone else. Love is selfish and altruistic in its every sense. There is a dominant example in Sufi traditions, where a lover is analogous to a moth. A love loves like a moth loves the light. The light may be, and usually is detrimental to moth's existence, but moth flies towards it without doubting even for a second, and loses all sense of being to achieve and become one with the light. What light does to the moth, that makes moth forget death or any other conscious except the urge to fly towards the light, without anyone ever explaining to the moth what light is or the possibility that light can kill the moth and even the notion of madness, somehow obliterating moths own existence for the light, even though light can provide nothing material to the moth, is exactly what love is. Love should incite a flame so true, so absolute, so inevitable that its hard to face away from it. If by any chance, anyone finds a reason for love, let that love be damned. For love is eternal mystery, eternal lack of equilibrium, madness if you might. However, everything else looks damp in comparison.
I am thankful to my special one. I request Oneness to provide me even half of the pain--read extacy--of the love I have found, and I will become a follower, that prophets, and hell, even Messiah will cringe. I was born to love. We are all born to love. We all should love. We all should at least try. If not, at least keep the option open. However, I would say, love cannot be brought up, or forced into, or any form of attachment. Love hits from a dimension unknown. And, what an amazing collision it is.
"The trick is to maintain a kind of naive amazement at each instant of experience—but, as Montaigne learned, one of the best techniques for doing this is to write about everything. Simply describing an object on your table, or the view from your window, opens your eyes to how marvelous such ordinary things are. To look inside yourself is to open up an even more fantastical realm."
Montaigne mentions the secret to living an amazing life, and I can testify the amazing results it holds, along with a Hellenistic maxim: "amor fati" that is the cheerful acceptance of whatever happens or love of ones fate. The two ideas collide, to result in an amazing life full of appreciation, love and mystery. I am living in an interesting period of my life. I have found an amazing girl, who has taken over my existence in the most amazing way. I am still going through the initial period, where everything is beautiful, just taking a breathe has an artistic beauty, rivaling those of any pieces from Michelangelo or Raphael. However, I am also conscious, that my existence, always in constant, influx and out-flux, will change, and change for the better. The conventional wisdom says, at least from the older people, which I see no example in the life around, is that love dies off, and the marriages turn sour, as a result. It sounds reasonable, I guess. However, I am compelled to do just that for this love, even for a moments sake, is a blessing. Who else would know the euphoria of love? And, I being a skeptic, can tell you, I am not the one to accept things at face value, or at least, hastily.
I want to express myself in a manner, analogous to a mad animal, because I would be free of any prejudices, biases and rational, except the true self. I am led to believe, that my love has to stem from something very primordial, constant and ever-existing--whatever it might be. I have to tap into my carnal self to understand the realities that present to me, instead of me sketching new realities.
The primordial self is not something that anyone should fear or even question. It is beautiful and perfect in its understanding and expression, considering it finds itself in an expression through the body. Instinct has to be connected with the primordial me, for instinct seems to fit into places.
I am not concerned with the past, nor concerned with the future. I am concerned with the now of things, right here. Just a word rolled over from her beautiful lips, a moment worth of loving gaze, her touch, her laugh, her attention, her presence, her subjects of discussion, her exciting hair, and I could go on in the most mundane and monotonous activities, are a source of joy.
For what is love, has been a question since the invent of humanity, starting from Adam. Not to imply, love was absent before humanity. Just that, humanity was able to see its own reflection, and recognize the different states of being. And, I am certainly not the one to start the debate here, for I wish love can be expressed in anyway other than metaphors, for feelings are states of being, without clear words for expression. So the next best thing is to resonate the feeling with feelings created through metaphors, although a very poor method of understanding feelings, but the only one we might have. However, I will say one thing. Love is amazing. Love is not infatuation, crush, lust, craving, but is more intense that anyone else. Love is selfish and altruistic in its every sense. There is a dominant example in Sufi traditions, where a lover is analogous to a moth. A love loves like a moth loves the light. The light may be, and usually is detrimental to moth's existence, but moth flies towards it without doubting even for a second, and loses all sense of being to achieve and become one with the light. What light does to the moth, that makes moth forget death or any other conscious except the urge to fly towards the light, without anyone ever explaining to the moth what light is or the possibility that light can kill the moth and even the notion of madness, somehow obliterating moths own existence for the light, even though light can provide nothing material to the moth, is exactly what love is. Love should incite a flame so true, so absolute, so inevitable that its hard to face away from it. If by any chance, anyone finds a reason for love, let that love be damned. For love is eternal mystery, eternal lack of equilibrium, madness if you might. However, everything else looks damp in comparison.
I am thankful to my special one. I request Oneness to provide me even half of the pain--read extacy--of the love I have found, and I will become a follower, that prophets, and hell, even Messiah will cringe. I was born to love. We are all born to love. We all should love. We all should at least try. If not, at least keep the option open. However, I would say, love cannot be brought up, or forced into, or any form of attachment. Love hits from a dimension unknown. And, what an amazing collision it is.
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