More than Words !

(10th November, 2016) The year 2016 has been a year full of actions and reactions. And it has always been so. But we had never been exposed, fed and actively involved in all things probable, like this year. This is unique and profound. And we truly are privileged in this process, to live it, to encounter it and to observe it. I consider myself an observer and an outsider. Yet, I am an insider and the experiencer. I am attached and detached. The last 20-30 years, has led to the moments we are living today. The rise of Trump was inevitable. Brexit. It was a must. And it happened. We all are equally responsible for this. Democrats, republican, libertarian, non-sectarian, queen or whomsoever, everyone. We have created a society based on diversion and differences. Differences are truly beautiful, it creates a spectrum of variety but when we only focus to what makes us different, we tend to forget that there is so much which is common and in unity. We are so tightly focuse...

the fragrance of a flower is always present in the muddiness of consciousness, for the flower is there, even if it is not the lover asks his beloved, 'does the flower have a heart?' 'not the beating one but the being one and the non being one', she replies the fragrance follows the lover like the void of cosmos, never one, but never two as-well, such wondrous play, such suchness the lover asks his beloved, 'does the flower bloom in the night or the day?' 'you are always blooming, dear one, always blooming', she replies no words of bliss and ecstasy can define this, so stay silent beloved, stay in silence, never, uttering a word just your fragrance

'discover your own identity'  As he took his first step into the horizontal capitalistic society, he confronted a serious flaw in his own existence. His thoughts were invisible here. He belonged to no groups, no normalization, no stereotypes, and no revolution. Philosophy was a constant incessant irony. From where he came, knowledge was not to think but to see. Here, even the possibility of thinking was un-reflective, vision was a rare commodity. The traditional culture portrayed this land as a land of individuality, democracy and freedom. But he found very less humans, conspired oligarchy and slavery.  Was this to be the new Atlantis, he wondered. Kierkegaard was very right, humans are condemned to freedom. But no one wants to be free. This place seems to be what Huxley tried to explain, that dysfunctional society. Where the choice of leadership is between a cruel thief and a xenophobe. Both scared of change and unity.  This place also has another face, hi...

them beautiful struggles are like quadruple doses of brilliant illusions riding faithfully to the notorious feels of being in the enterprise of lucid poetry mystical yearnings of a unit experience embracing words like a lover convinced that-- this hoax would simplify things, amused by its collectivity to define that'ness just a blissed-out state, just this moment that is why poetry is an adrenaline rush a mental molestation of your fancies, your fears your insecurities and your imaginations poetry is a close encounter with the naked person a girl, or a boy, that doesn't even matter poetry is the highest compliment, the dreadful lie poetry is reality characterized as an imbalance of abandonment poetry smells like rotting flesh, a new born baby or like Kathmandu when it rains compassionate, yet fearsome finding solace between lovers in bed or cactus in a desert impending darkness exploding lightness just the eyes of compassion just this awareness poetry is a naked person

an apocryphal story of a conversation between I's the myriad of forms is divided into two: atoms and the void, each separate, together one the dualism is the medium of communication art and science, heaven and hell, black and white the dualism is a bridge of connection a circuit through which information is penetrated into reality; that in its own rights is the most Greek view of life, Democritus once said that- "By convention hot, by convention cold, but in reality atoms and void, and also in reality we know nothing, since the truth is at bottom" because in 'ether' man is just a vibration, a being in the swift currents of life, not a human doing, but a human being thus thinking is an art of being, but as we row our boat in the rivers of time, we tend to forget that science and spirituality is an artistic one crisscrossing and ricocheting within their own walls, they were meant to dance in dualism but we are cursed to eternity, hence we fight for one, when in r...

the spring calls her beloved, wake up now... turn down the furnace of grief be gentle and walk around when daffodils sing enjoy the dance of birds do nothing at once do nothing at all just be the moment the observer observed in that observance be steady enough, to hear the soundless calls of love do not cling to ego be not bounded to sight see from within the true beauty beyond thy eyes the spring calls her beloved, wake up now...

This is subjective. Miraculous.  Only true if you can really see through the vile.  If that is so, move along. Or else thy shall return.  To your objective circle. An easy way out from here.  That is particularly where you choose to belong.    But this is for the risk takers. Mad painters.  Outspoken poets. Riddlers. Thinkers. Explorers.  Writers. Magicians. Seekers. Occasionally- artistic gods in human forms. The futurist,  the melancholic destroyer of thoughts, the hedonist.  The archaic, the high humpback whales,  the atomic tingles. The surreal.  This is for those who don't belong. Not here or anywhere.  This is for those who find youniquenss in the complex  dictionary of thought and realty. To those who alter genes.  To those who change and merge. Blend and reoccur.  This is for those who came with no manuals written. This is for those who believe in ...

the space bends you into shapes forms of colors, taste and deepness but you are not you, that you which you define  you are not you, that you which you defend  you are not you, that you which you see in the mirror you are but an expression of that divine that divine which cannot be defined by you or I,  you see, how this all is so goofy such humor, such paradox, such lie no names, no divisions, no arrows  and no bows can ever distill you in your heart,  you are free, you are freedom personified  the only cage that can bind you  is nothing else but 'YOU'  and in that joke the universe giggles  you are the giggling universe 

Partly because he had an unfathomable need for an collective altered state of perception, where wired framed lenses of his eyes could learn something more, subtle and lucid, now this is not a bandaged undertaking, not a ceiling over the concrete head-- or a stammering psychopath in my head. Its completely okay, you can take your time in circling the vistas of words but I do see him talking in third person, so that who you think is reading this, possible needs a surgeon of his own, possibly someone who can dissect the amygdala out of his brain, reminded that you cannot use any cursors or thought implants to do this, you have to jump, because he is already ciphering your needs, and you have given him a name, GOD, its certainly your own ideas of him has nothing to do with you, nor his to you, its relative: but thought once digitized gives you a sense of what we together can tap into, a language of no sense, here is where you will and can first read this a Bible of a sort, or a Geeta, ...

the magic is in the death & decay because that is what transforms life,  that lets it grow and expand  that gives it meaning the meaning of life is simple, 'DEATH' everything dies in this enterprise called the universe  nothing briskly remains as a token,  nothing for granted  nothing static  nor kinetic  but the quivering chills of a lover's breath remains as an eternal hangover,  and in that state of mind, t he universe collides  into a star, there is no death and no life  there is only death and only life  so please be happy and mourn,  because you are dying  and you shall  never die  holographs !