ILLUSIONS OF SELF

Why did i not say delusion?? Dont know. An illusion paints a picture. It is a sort of an entity physically away from one's body. Almost as if your soul - translucent and similar in form, has stepped away and is looking at your body.

I have learnt recently to not self opinionize. You think you know something and then you realize that knowing it actually makes you a dupe. Claiming that knowledge is like claiming your sweat.

The acceptance of truth is much above anything that you realize, learn or fashion. I am a living being. And that in itself is more difficult to accept and grow with than any other "ascetic wisdom" that i might acquire. No act of abandonment, nor thought of triviality will ever be able to stand against the simple truth. I live.

Triviality is like a gravitation force. It will hold you down but you are most likely to find something more worth while and drift away. A slight push and you attain escape. So all my opinios about myself and here on after- abandoned. Its pointless. One can never trivialize through self judgement...

I live for the game, the cruel, vicious, half discovered circle. I live as a drifter and as a driver, as an absolute and as a relative. I reserve nothing and wait for nothing. I patronize time- nonetheless worship it. I never loose sleep and am always awake. I seek all even when i dont wish to find it. I abandon all despite a small will to retain it. I desire no one and yet i conquer all.

I live in days, count in years, breath in seconds, write in miles.

I die in pounds.

None the Wiser

As i buzz past the lobby i see an old friend being discarded. A very pretty Van Gogh replica. A sketch that he drew of himself in his young years, used to hang in the front lobby of our office. And i would interact with it often. I felt stupid about feeling sad for the painting. Even stupider when i realized i would actually miss it. My father always told us- "never get attached to objects". But as i grew up i realized- more often than people, one gets attached to objects. Hell i could get more easily attached to a calculator that i have used too often than my own neighbour!

Why so? the very obvious answer is continuous proximity. But a more deep seated reason is the unresponsiveness of an object. Your neighbour would say ten things, 5 out of which would hurt you. But the "metallica" calendar on your wall is like an ever passive companion. The eternal observer and endurer of all that you say or do.

Coming back to the sadness. With the departure of an old friend, another dilemna presented itself. What is so alluring about "old". An Old friend, antique furniture, Old books with yellow pages, Old unpolished jewellery. granted each of these articles have sentimental value for some and financial for others. But wisdom is the actual atrraction. See, these things have lived for long. The very thought of what all they have seen and felt, how many times they have crashed and been remodelled, magnetizes you. One is always fascinated by what endures.

People are big time worshippers of wisdom. But the real tough nut to crack is to identify that wisdom in other people. Is it there? Or is the person a pretentious "encyclopedic" knowledge mass? That is where this Van Gogh comes in. It cannot pretend to have wisdom. If it has been up there for 10 years, i know that it has witnessed quite enough and asorbed more than i ever could in its place. It never boasts of wisdom. How can it? Its a replica in itself. All that beauty is acquired, so is all the wisdom. So it just soaks in everything. And that, right there, is why i love my metallica calendar and my old copy of "whuthering heights" so much. They are genuinely wise.

Just like this Van Gogh. Love You, old friend.