“We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves”
I am a victim of beauty!
It chases me like a hunter chases the wild animal in a forest.
It is not that it finds me on its own: I always walk into its trap willingly like a fool.
Because life the catalyst in life’s milieu incites me to search for something that I do not know, in every created object. Usually when my vision sights something, I experience a strange pleasure not comparable to any pleasure familiar to all people.
I cannot face this pleasure and I feel at once vanquished before it. It is such a total surrender to it, that it is equal to instantaneous death.
Sometime later I come out of it limping, due to the unremitting monster of life knocking at the door of my consciousness. Then perhaps I am said to be living; although I feel I was pulled out of that state of being like the dentist pull out the tooth. I am an addict of this killer pleasure and my so-called life is but a string of alternating moments of living and dying.
Why do I search for such pleasure so obstinately and why do I die in the process and why does it not deter me from the search.
May be it happens to may other people too, but their number in the world is I suppose infinitesimally small.
Can you explain the experience of this pleasure? No. Sometimes I doubt whether it is pleasure at all, because even deep sorrow either mine or more so of the other person, catches me in the grip of a similar state of mind. You melt now into some primordial liquids and flow away, so to say.
It maybe rather like an intense involvement with something. It is more poignant when that something is other than your subjective-self. Perhaps Buddha passed through this moment when he saw an old and shriveled man and a dead body on the street and plummeted into a lightening decision to leave his wife, his child and his kingdom, to go and melt away like a granule of salt in the vast ocean of humanity.
How many fascinating dreams. I dream often, how many visions of men and women of the earth, of the creation I get, how many ravishing desires infest my being to fashion and pattern the world at the point of WILL! How many impulses and instincts goad me and lead me to the fantastic articulation of speechless metaphors and dumb symbols helplessly swimming in the dormant waters of my consciousness.
When will it all end? or This is normal?!…
~A spoken word is a moment. A written word is eternal~