Are heart and mind separate entities? Or is mind but an alibi/alias for the ego? Thoughts arise from needs and memories, which arise from the survival instinct. the survival instinct at its root has fear, which has the final root in the death.
All our laws, morality, rituals, prayers and other such things are but the result of fear.Even the way love is professed on terms of demand and supply; the laws of trade are but the repercussions of fear. Fear is the primordial emotion. There is no escape from it.
Momentarily, we might devise things like work, entertainment and other such hundred things from it, but somewhere in the life or most of the times, fear is present as sorrows and/or pains. the sensual pleasures and the life around it may be a diversion, and a good one too. But fear waits patiently, biding its time; just around the corner. When you are all alone, bereft of support, internal and external, it catches you in its unforgiving grip.
And then ensues a combat, a mortal one, when your heart is filled with true sorrow. Perhaps that seems to be the way of the world. A quest, a thirst arises, to know oneself in all nakedness, devoid of name and other traps of recognition. The primal root of existence beckons us. The delusions are torn off from the flesh, and the dreary mirage of reality awaits, yawning its cruel and relentless jaws. It is a harsh journey where sometimes the destination is not an oasis, but a barren dune of ashes for your grave.
Fear shall however drive you on and on, until the path is red from the tracks of your bloody feet and your mind becomes a dark abyss of madness.
Naturally then , the question arises if there is a path out? The human civilization has had more than ten millennium of gods, prophets, enlightened soul and all the carry along paraphernalia; still we are the same barbarians. only our tribal instincts have been taken over by nationalistic greed, religious fanaticism and other such things. the insanity remains incurable and the number of patients keeps increasing.
Definitions always rest on the wobbly ground of beliefs and hence the discrimination of right and wrong is always the choice between the devil and the deep sea. The time runs short and yet we bury ourselves into the mire of illusions as the ostrich would in sand, despite knowing the imminent danger. The internal conflict and resulting violence and hatred rot the introspection that might provide a respite and retreat from the self destruction we willingly but ignorantly choose.
We let the moments fleet past. Every one have their own reason, motives and alibis. A mad rush descends upon the senses and intellects as the sandstorms blocking the sun and all that is left is the sand and darkness, when its all over. The hourglass drains on.
We let the childhood pass in play and youth in careless fun and frolic. or their are more 'respectable' pursuits of fame, wealth and power. the simple, sweet connections with nature, both external and internal are slowly severed or lost. A silent smouldering flame of desires quietly burns away the existence and we are left with nothing but ashes when it is all over.
Evening lit by the tender and shy young sliver of the moon, rises above the merrily flowing river.
The forest is all bathed in the enchanting golden light, smooth as silk. The very leaves seem to be magical, as if they will vanish with the slightest touch. A silence, arcane, covers the trees even as the quaint voices of night seem a part of the quietude hanging from the vines. A trance as if has settled over the dark canopy of the jungle and a magical beauty keeps watch over the night.
There is a slightly chill breeze that picks up from time to time and the rustle of leaves with the distant hoot of owls, remind of a watchman's call. When the wind dies, the mysterious silence once again spreads her satin cloak over the foliage.
Even dreams might loose their way into this dense archaic maze of verdure, blackened by night. The shadows of the tress from the moon seem darker than black and older than time. the haunting music of a forlorn solitude plays on the lips of the watcher. All these scenery exist for his senses only and yet he is a part of it, but somewhat apart too; or perhaps they are same. The vibrations resonate softly in the hollow of heart and a virgin desire is born, to roam in the forbidden territories of consciousness.
Where-from the dreams come? Are they but the remnants of the waking consciousness as the science would have us believe? Or is there some impenetrable secret behind those facades to an alternative reality, which are exclusive to ever individual? Perhaps they are a ghost town; the refuge of sanity where mind and heart are free from all the sham they create in search of safety and security.All names, forms, laws, rituals and relationship with the ego at the centre are lost in the streets of slumber town.
May be deep inside us all there
is a dream, the quintessence of ourselves. The never-land we can just be witness to and never ever actually find. It is the place where I am just me, without you, anyone or even myself. Its a me unaware of its own existence. The only thing to do is sit in the shade of the tamarind tree by the river, and look up at the clouds floating in the azure skies. the murmur of river mixing in the verdure of the smiling earth and everything in harmony of love.
