Happy 2 Thousand & Ten!!!

We exist in choices.

Choices are hurling around us, popping up, sliding, swiveling, scintillating and tantalizing - dancing around us.

We are guided by a plethora of choices that have probabilistic patterns of occurring and emerging as our existence unfolds from one moment to the next.

Its our mind that makes these choices, but each choice that we make, each moment of our life, is in itself a probabilistic pattern of occurrences, emerging - in our mind - as it too unfolds in a pattern that is consistent with its ontological history - 'our' ancient memories.

These choices extend back into time - eternally.

And these choices connect to everything - through the branching patterns that extend infinitely into a space that emerges in such eternity.

'This' is here and now - it is our only choice really.

Everything moves unpredictably, but probabilistically, into and towards, a future - certain with uncertainty.

And when there is a moment of pause - we think.

We wonder what this is all about.

We ask, "who are we?"

We don't really exist as a single personality do we?

We exist as a resonant composite of multiple personalities manifesting as probabilistic occurrences - events, moods, rituals, practices, exercises, protocols, belief-systems, regimens - states-of-mind(s)!

How can something, that is constantly moving, be imagined as something, which is constantly static?

If everything in the universe changes, then so do we.

The sun travels 250 kms each second (each second) to make its orbit around the galactic center of the milky way.

Thats how much we move each second.....Each second on earth that is.

There are 86400 seconds every day - which is really just once around ourselves from a terrestrial perspective.

But from the solar perspective, we have moved 21600000 kms in a single earth day, tethered along with the Sun, moving into the unknown.

So what really is a year?

Once again around the Sun?

Happy two thousand and ten!

Soul without a clue (or a goal)

As a warped up soul without a goal he drifted off too soon to the clue.
His woman was lost, his friend was a ghost and he didn’t know what to do.
So he walked along with a song in his mind trying to keep it real.
The beating sun had chased him blind and he didn’t know what to feel.
The mountain lions from side to side were often where he would hide
His courage was a bag full of rotten sage - his eyes had cried and dried.
The following day he made his way towards the giant trees
He wished he could rest under its shade and feel its gentle breeze.
The poachers had found their prey and were waiting for the heat.
He wondered what would happen now if he asked them to retreat?

That night he heard a deafening shot that caught his bleeding shin.
With many more months to walk, he could no more hide his skin.
They say he faded into northern woods besides the dairy queen
The world had yet to discover then what lay within his broken dream.
Without a pause the cause of being – everything said before was lost
In time the viceroy made his speech, he said everything has a cost
So what would you be if not for the tree that gave away to his soul?
What would have been where would it seem that we have reached our goal?

Homeless sells 'em "Oh!"

There is a black hole looking for a place to stay.
It is all awkward to think about in a way.
Who ever imagined that a black hole would require a place to stay?
I mean, it has all the space to stay in.
I mean, 'it' is a black hole for crying out cloud - the birthing place for galaxies!!!
Either ways, the news item says that a black hole is looking for a place to stay.
And it is looking for this place in some galaxy to be specific.
Makes you wonder what it all means!
Does it not?

"Why would a black hole need a place to stay?", for instance.
It was referred to as homeless - without a home.
So what happens when it finds a new galaxy and it makes itself at home?
What then?
Now knowing that its a black hole, it may certainly swallow parts of the host galaxy - being homeless and probably starved!
After a good meal, it may meditate like the Buddha, and achieve enlightenment, nirvana, zen.... freedom of mind, body, and soul, ....
.....union with a moment in eternity....

And what must that be like?
We can only wonder.
After all we have to wonder a lot just to 'imagine' a black hole.
But if we do manage all that, we can imagine that it’s most likely that the black hole will birth a new universe, a new cosmos.
And with the new cosmos will be born new worlds, new suns and moons, planets and comets.
And who is to say that the possibility of life on one of these planets is a totally odd suggestion?
After all, one cannot even 'imagine' a black hole without mathematical data and scientific conjecture and proof!

I wonder if in the aftermath of one such black hole finding its place, could be born one such universe and if in one such universe there is one such planet, where one such life form is wondering about having a nice good meal and sitting under a tree to meditate?
Would it not be home.....
....free?

Further instructions in imageless continuity.

Beta testing of alpha particles failed miserably as the technology that was invented to salvage us overlooked the intricacies of our caged slavery.
It was all self-inflicted too!!!
That was the hardest fact to swallow.
But with a little binder, almost all bitterness can be made into palatable mind-candy.

So here's yours:

You stick out you tongue when no one is watching.
You seem to be aloof when someone is trying to catch your attention.
You are too self-involved to ask for the objective truth.
You are too shy to express yourself.
Your arrogance is only surpassed by your utter reverence to irrelevant deities.
You never look up at the sky and wonder about your place in this infinite universe.
You are often distracted by a countless choices every moment.
You are trapped in a prison built by your own mind.
You dream of freedom, but you have no idea where to begin.
You are completely oblivious of your true self.
You are helplessly impatient with true virtues.
You are misguided by fate.
You intentionally pass on coincidental opportunities.
You worry about the opinions of those who do not exist.
You are needlessly afraid of the inevitable end.

The last one there is where I would begin with, but then some people like to begin with the dessert.

Speaking of sweet endings, I recently dreamt of a mirage, speeding invisibly through the highway traffic, stealthily hidden from the eyes in the sky.
They are watchful always you know.

Before you move on to other things, why don't you sit and relax a bit.
Can you feel the space between your skin?
Can you see the continuum of your body extending boundlessly for eternity?

OK. Now you are ready.
Go ahead.
Do what you want!

The most commonly occuring words on this blog...the knots in the invisible thread

return to innocence

Briefly some children can think for themselves and ask for themselves the questions that they can answer for themselves.
Yes, the adults say that its all imagination, but then where would the adult world be without imagination?
Where would the wheel or fire be?
What about art and religion?
And what about the language and technology that we have embodied us through our evolutionary journey?
There is nothing without imagination.
No primordial beginnings, no apocalyptic ends, no quantum bottomlessness and no semiotic fractals of the biological world of which we consider ourselves as the supreme arbiters.

Children work with facts of course.
They work with the facts that the adults tell them.
They work with the facts that the world tells them, their history tells them, their culture tells them.
Children however are equipped with an infinite imagination power.
They turn the letters and words into interesting rhythms and rhymes.
They transform mud and sand into castles in the air.
They paint animals in the sky with just the colors and shaped of clouds.
The facts of information have relatively unpredictable effects on the nascent minds of infants, toddlers, and the naive talking entities of innocence that explode into hormonal eddies as adolescence approaches.

It is irrelevant that personalities take shapes and characters are moulded to make social animals out of the quintessential infancy.
It is also without doubt true that the young ones of all species are fundamentally innocent. But then how far back does it go?
Is our cellular nature even more rudimentary as far as our existential reality goes?
How about our genetic self, our molecular self?
We are all information encoded as ATGC as far down and as far back in time we can go.
But it does not end there.
It goes on and on.
What is our true nature?

It is clear that in the context of the infinite, we are ourselves untouched epiphenomena of the universal nature, what the Hindus call the Brahman.
The innocence of our childhood is a testimony to this premise.
But we are born into a world that is created based on some rules.
No doubt that these rules are inspired from nature itself.
And its certainly true that these rules are borne out of our own nature - human 'and' animal.
But our unawareness of this reality is also a consequence of this rule-based world view, where nothing is strictly 'real' in an objective sense.
Our minds seem to be under this natural selection pressure where we appear to flip between the world of the Brahman, and the world of the ignorant fool.
We seem to constantly struggle between the polarities of our spirit and our body, and if we are lucky, we mature through this journey by gaining wisdom.

The suggestion here is that wisdom is connected with innocence.
Experiential progress through the world of constantly fluctuating information results into emergence of states of mind that are aided buy the semiotic inputs and outputs that typify our day to day existence.
As these events accrue and reach inherently placed individual thresholds, the innocence metamorphoses into wisdom.

Life is a creative process punctuated by imbalances and inconsistencies that form feedback loops emanating on the horizon where transformation takes place and the mind reaches beyond the material constraints of sub-existence. We are no more adults then.
Such is the full circle that spirals infinitely.
Such is our return journey to innocence, from whence we came!

Patience for frigid philosophy

It rubs on ice they say-the perfect contours of the sea as it flows in the dark depths of the cold frigid poles from a certain reality.
If the waking thoughts of the know-it-all have not yet believed in such possibilities, then too bad. But one thing must be sure, there are such places as these - the poles that are frigid with reality.

In the sun the fun never ends.
We have friends, beer, and barbecued meat to sauce up our tales.
In the frigid poles the water never melts, the food is good but could be several days stale.
And the sky?
The sky is menacingly calm and blue with only a distant cloud shrouded only by you.

Beyond the fairy tale theaters of the little children games, the minions of these invisible emperors have safely made their way to the bustling city of New York.
Liberty waved a thread of unbleached flames as they torched up a caustic sky.
Our dreams have melted here.
Our present moments have suffered at the foot of this growth.
In these cities we have escaped from that which we could never recognize.
Beyond the walls, windows, and doors, we have encapsulated ourselves to be free.

Free from what?

Shades of black and blue danced on the pavement.
A strong wind pushed through the roof.
The coffee seemed to come alive with spiral clusters of cream and sugar.
The sun seemed further from where it was before.
The lonesome wolf just stared at the shore.
For hours, he just stared at the shore.

Imagine the lonely existence of an Eskimo philosopher, hanging out alone at the periphery of his fears.
Imagine the things he would have said if he had a friend to speak to.
"Who are these thoughts for then?"

Below a vastly changing landscape the newborn fishes swam in glee.
It was after all just a few months before summer would peek in to see.
The view was embellished by the shy conjectures that ran through his mind's eye.
It was some sort of a flashback mirage.

Losing touch of the sight may make one blind, but touching the slight gravity of long gone feathers and sheets can barely justify these aching, fleeting pangs of pain.
Why don't we all smile then?
For now, why don't we avoid the avoidance of pain, and just be?
Why don't we start now, and never finish?
Really?

Sure

How sure can you be now that you do not live in a future simulation of a historical 21st century?
Somehow it seems un-true. You know, like an intuitive gut feeling.
But surely you cannot be 100% certain. You cannot be 100% certain about anything.
Yes true.
So?
Well...if it is a simulation, then it’s a darn good one. I mean, what I am saying right now, what you are asking me, what we are thinking...it’s all part of the simulation right?
Yeah...there's a chance that it is.
But what if it isn’t? Isn’t it still a simulation in some sense?
Yes. The world that we experience is the world that we create.

Message from 1600-China.

Translucent porcelain

shattered in vain
this time has broken
into pieces again

The sand has spilled
on the island of seas
the sun is shining
through one broken piece

Lifting its gaze
the mind seemed to freeze
at the sight of disaster
unfolding with no ease

Words from the past
are NOW out of sync
the future reveals a canvas
whitened by fading ink

Purposefully we wait
in this present sort of moment
and our ideas about fate
come back from where they went

Are we really awake then?

Perspective # 3.14

Beyond our skin, our facades, our charades, beyond the walls and fences around us, beyond the boundaries, conflicts and contradictions, beyond the atmosphere, the sun and the moon - is infinity. We are here - now.

Where are we? Are we in our bodies? Are we in our mind?
Its all moving - constantly - time.

Past, future, and now - are just images - symbolic communication.

Matter - in our 'material' sense is finite.
If we look beyond, we are part of infinity.

Futile Enlightenment....

Last night I dreamed
of exploding moments
when universes were born
and the minds that had dreamed them

It was like a mirror
was floating in space
Reflections of emptiness
on a starry sort of face.

Eternal motions
were dancing insane
Time was an explosion
Space was its name.

The future and the past
were locked in its cage
One was imagined
and the other - an image.

What next?
I wondered.
And I wondered,
"Why? ...Why even try?"

Circular Arguments

Absolutely true.
We agreed upon a subtle point, a moot question, and an uncertainty that lurked
constantly between the brain and the heart.
Its all metaphorical really.
We think with our head and feel with our heart.
We feel our thoughts and we think its the heart.
In the end we are again at the start, wondering,
"where to from here now?"

But by beginning to stay on or off before burning the cognitive bulb one needs to consider flying without wings.
Perform an unnatural task, if there is any such thing as that, and it will become instantly clear that the murky confusion of pursuing these questions was irrelevant in comparison to the redundant insights obtained in the end - or at the start.

The long and winding road encapsulates flurry beings that our minds carry along with our soul. We come to birth and die while a countless moments imprint upon us the persistent illusion of reality.
Its a game, a joke, a poke in the sides of a giggling mind, a melancholic tale of masochistic eccentricity - resting before exploding freely in our collective consciousness.
To do what we have done before we need to think of what we need to do.

Circular traps are present around every corner.
Triumphant Cinderellas are watching dreams beyond fading TV screens with Latin sub titles flowing in Arabic scenes.

Directions. Some of us are past these things.
Some of us just cannot stand these meaningless themes.
Some of us just don't care.
When we smile at ourselves in the night we feel safe in our secret insanity.
Our disturbing identity is mysteriously hidden behind the countenance of normalcy.
Its all apparent, and we all know it.
It is just that we have no choice.
Its too much work to cause an upheaval of societies.

So we trail along like the ants up an ant-hill. We serve the prodigal queen and we wander aimlessly in her search.

Besides that its all absolutely true.

9 to f.i.v.e.

When the sounds of the resounding thunder melted in the afternoon air, the trailing dust and smoke from the bus settled deep within the confines of mundane memories-slipping away one at a time. The people seemed to be everywhere at once but going nowhere in particular. Some were aloof and some were stunned. The highlight of the ride was the beggar who seemed to smile with a hint of tears in his eyes. The blue sky above begged for some more rain.

The clouds seemed to care less.
They just drifted away.

Across the green the golfers swung their clubs. The water was placid and glassy, almost like ice. As the passengers moved ahead and got off at their destinations, the driver began to grow restless.
The bus was emptying in quick succession.
Soon the last stretch would be spent in constant loneliness.
But he never talked to anyone.
At all.

To whom the directions were sent, those people simply wasted away their time on the non-trivial banalities of splendid games.
The winners and the losers were all out on board - ready to fight at the sight of the flag.
Peace was lost in the checkered patterns of right and wrong.
"Which side are we on?"
- they all wondered.

The blinding light of the late afternoon faded into am exploding sunset.
The ocean seemed calmer as strangers returned back towards their homes.
Some were afraid they would never see another sight so beautiful again.
Some just smiled for what they had won.

The living were spread out amongst the dead.
The breathing of their brains pulsated with the whining of their muscles and skin.
Within each one resided a human being.
Beyond the skeletal support rested a soul...unknown and unseen.

"How long has it been?"
-the passenger asked again...
The driver came back to the crowd clinging behind his seat.
Its been 20 minutes sir - he said.
And then he was dead.

The crowd gasped in unison.
A small child on the front seat began to sob.
The tears from his mothers eyes glistened on his forehead.
The bus went out of control and drifted off the highway, into a valley between the hills
-it just tumbled down the sides.

When it stopped. There was a rose petal buried under it. Several hundred years ago, a young boy had planted its seed. Today, the funeral had arrived to the flower's red feet.
Today, a thousand martyrs had suffered what one had expected to defeat.
Freedom was just around the corner, but blissfully ignorant.
The souls just wandered back to the shore, waiting for the sea to embrace them like before.
Just then the bell rang. It was time to stop again.
Another passenger got off, and the bus continued its course.
The sun set in the distance, shadowing everyone with its glow.
There were smiles in the crowd.
Another day off work from nine to five.

In search of a quest.

Surrender in your thoughts

to let go what you have got
when the time is up to speak
you can wake up and shriek

The wells have gone dry
these words just stumble by
you have slept in them for too long
now its time to sing The song

The music is in your head
and your mind has often sped
the following footsteps seem
out of sync don't you think?

If these were sounds of tomorrow
then where have we been yesterday?
What were we up to then
that led us to this day today?

Oh I know. Why ask such things?
But then what else is there to think?
Why not break this tiny machine
and let go ourselves in a whim?

Often the words pause
and then simply flow
what are all these thoughts?
And where really do they go?

Carpets are covered with skin
the books are lined within
with wisdom and tales of times
that have often seemed to smile

Over here there is another thing
over there it has a different ring
the truth is always out there
but the search is always with in.

An ob ser vation on now.

You are you.

On the left is you.
On the right is you.
You are the one, watching you.

You are eyes, ears, skin, and a brain.
You are behind your smile.
You are over your own pain.

You exist as good and bad.
You are the one who is extremely happy.
You are the one who is terribly sad.

You want some more when its more than you have.
You hide yourself from the mirror and the sky.

You walk alone with someone by your side.
You are never alone so you constantly hide.

You are all that exists for you.
You are all who lives through you.

You are afraid to die so you cant seem to live.
You are afraid to live so you slowly seem to die.

You are connected with others and others are with you.
You are followed by your shadow and others are by you.
You are in here and you are out there.
You were then - and now - you will be.
You are the one who always sees.

You ask why, or who am I?
I am you and you are I...

Woo Who??

In absolution without dissolution of traits,
the floating manatees will never meet our gaze.
We will drift in their waters on shallow hurdles of pain.
We will wait and debate whether we will see ourselves again.

After losing our sight we will fight for our vision.
Through division and subtraction we will add to our confusion.
Before we know it we will beyond this dimension
Demented emotions will earn ephemeral damnation.

Through the wind the thoughts will bind
beyond the thoughts our ideas will rewind.
Before we know it we will have forgotten
the memories of a future and that passing illusion.

Together in this sea shall we strain for our souls
Gathering the reasons we had drowned in some hole.
From pole to pole we stretched these wings
And for what we asked? Just mere worldly things?

Before we know it we will certainly be through.
Through and through of an aftermath of a clue.
We hope we will wait - and probably debate
whether we will see who we lost our selves to...

Suspended Incognition

Blasted furnaces.
The thinking and sinking of cellular winking just could not take a break.
For the sake of passing time the grim themes of the movie set were the right sorta thing to get. After all how many times can a man walk down and pretend that he just cannot be?
So here we go.
From somewhere near we start to call out in sheer numbers- shouting away to a glorious day. Bellowing out towards the crowd. Waiting silently in our skulls. Wondering where the voice is coming from.
Waiting.
Waiting to be seen.

So every time the wind chimes in the notes of a distant bell we stop in remorse or respect. Because we can take it we take. Because we can give, we give. Beyond the established madness of sane asylums and normalcy lie the borderlines of individuality.
Beyond the fences lie the blasted furnaces.

The invisible enemy approached the bunkers and the soldiers just fell dead.
Greedy with life the others marched by.
Bullets of thoughts piercing through their brains, they marched on to the shifting sand.
It was a life well spent - bled to the grave.

The sun rises again. Yet again. For the umpteenth time, it rises again.
The light penetrates the dust and guts -
the spilled out spleens and testicles in stark shame.
Decay is such a slow aftermath. Such a languid consequence.

In a few hours an atom was about to be split.
The separation of two lovers was about to be pushed to a new extent.
The birth of destruction was looming in a fractal string of numbers that were awaiting mans decision to paint a gloomy cloud.

The sun rises again.

Victimised vindications over stale eggs and juice

There are secret ways to give away the most obvious truths.
No one can tell and no can know. Its all under the sheets, behind the curtains, and locked in a box that says, "don't open before doomsday!"
All kinds of stories are left behind by the silent makers of history.
In the glory of the accomplished, the naive dreamers stare at the pedestals with disillusioned eyes and confused thoughts.
One wonders if someday in the future of humanity money will stop spinning the world around! It is clearly not the end of the world if such a thing happens.
The fate of our universes are beyond the position of the corners that we inhabit in infinity.
However, it is interesting to note what "would" be of importance if money got extinct.
What would it be replaced with?
Material replacement of a currency that was devised to overcome the clumsiness of the barter system is an immature speculation.
Would it then be up to humanity itself to validate its value? What would individuals do in this case?

Is it possible to understand the impossible?
If yes, then it is not the impossible that we have understood.
If no, then we have acknowledged the impossibility.
Either ways, one thing is for certain - everything is uncertain.

Occurrences are phenomenal.
They exist as probabilistic outcomes.
Moreover, all that can be imagined is real. So why not speak up?

Morality is a constantly evolving quality of the evolving mind.
Laws are in place to act as feedback checkpoints.
Judgments are not based on laws. Judgments are based on the subjective assessment of the laws. Unfortunately, this means that a 'victim' can be described subjectively too.
So what is real really?

Windows Vista

Outside there are noises of all kind.

And there is a light that is pure white. A plethora of sensations flooding through the eyes.
The body remains a living organic machine - sensing all the time.
Women, men, and children - they are all insane.
The homeless across the street, die slowly on the boundaries of our genuinely remote assembly - expelled by time and rejected by space. Homeless indeed.
Minds appear walking rapidly towards some destiny.
If you really ask them - its absolute ambiguity indeed. Certain insanity. Precise instructions - definitely awry.
Programmed obedience - clearly simplified.

Amongst all this, a question about identity lingers painfully in the puzzles of the mind.
The dancing chemicals comply by orchestrating a new theme. The neurons fire to a new tune. A new drama begins to unfold. Its time for the next scene.

Wake up. Brush your teeth. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Come back home. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Read. Sleep. Dream.

It seems the whole routine is laid out. All you have to do is just believe.
Believe and deceive.
Perhaps that's why the enlightened have always called it an illusion. "Its just make believe."
Its obvious. How could it not be?

But wait. There is more. There is more you have to hear. And there is more I have to tell. Don't run away. Its just the beginning. You will never miss the end.

How do I know?
I can tell...

No really. Wait for ever.
Its an eternal state - this life.
Death is but a punctuation mark. There are sequels to follow. Alternate story lines to write.
The readers are plenty - their gaping jaws hungry for more. More knowing.
The writers keep on writing. Keep on feeding into the machine. The machine keeps on going. Rushing rapidly towards some destiny.
Its absolute ambiguity indeed

Knowledge is power - the kind that can get to your head. It penetrates your mind while it enlightens the blind.
Obscure visions are as commonplace as the lucid imaginations of a soulful schizophrenic.
The split is not between you and the world. Its really between I and Me.

You - on the other hand - are no one.
Just a figment of my imagination. Just a construct of my mind.
We are playing with toys. Don't you see?

The rest will keep on flowing, like the traffic lines through the window. Its quite a sight.
Nature, nurturing our lives.

The Wall

A piece of me
over there
a piece of me
over here
Shallow hearts bring out the fire
Turmoil crave
for a mind in fear.

I laugh
at my drying tears
crying never
seems to clear
these things
that I have accumulated
over years of pain and slander

If only I could hold my smiles
and ask them why they are smiling?
If only I could hold my pain
and ask if it will see me again?

I have loved it and I have tried it
I have tried to but haven't had it
The closer I got, the farther it flowed
I could never find my way back to that shore

I am broken into pieces
and I see myself in each
I have worn out all my worries
and I have overgrown my peace

It seems the thing to do next
is settle down in silence
let go of every thing again
there's no point
in this pretense

Dreams, goals, ambitions and souls
are all awash my drifting worlds.
Locked inside my fractal self
I am building myself a wall again

Behind the fence across the road
I watch the sun shine through the rain
I've never seen the birds there
Twice now,
they have driven me insane.....

A piece of me
over here
A piece of me
over there
I have had my tales to tell
I have had my secrets shared

Anniversary

Its a blessed, blended, day.

These flights of fancy seem to be going everywhere, dragging me along to the edge of that lofty chaos.
Seems like years have passed by in an eternity.
Seems like moments have faded into seconds - exploding back into fountains of memories, neatly lodged within the astronomical galaxies of my organic mind.
A sound here, a whisper there.
The birds make noises from patterns of my cares.

I looked into the flower and saw the whole world.
It was perched on a pollen, hidden inside a twirl.
Instantly the colors jumped into my eyes.
And I saw it all over again.

My memories seem to rejoice in the pearls that had collected in various corners of my mind.
I trust them to rescind those occasional few things that occur unavoidably outside my self.


I took leaps of imagination wondering where I would land - finding myself waver on the palm of some divine hand.
I played my strings till the evening brought a foggy beach in front of my eyes and I waved till I found what a lovely dream this was.
Somehow I knew I was not alone anymore.
In love I had found the eternal forever.

What a lovely, blessed, blended day!!!

Ideas about Reality

Blinded eyes can still see even though the light that reaches them is meaningless in a strictly physical sense.
But then, in a strictly physical sense, seeing is more than accessing the visible, isn't it?
To see is to penetrate the countenance of reality - a part of which is the act of seeing itself.
So the eyes are as real as the sun that they see.

But remember - don't look directly at that star.
It will burn the delicate network of tissue and blood that conveys its very identity.
In such an extreme sense, the message destroys the recipient, while the messenger remains free.

The seer himself is destroyed by the sight.

Beethoven's deafness ironically built around his creativity a wall that imposed a mocking challenge - "Make that which you cannot perceive!"

After I read this, I dreamt of a man who was hidden from the dream.
One by one his senses severed, to be taken far away from him.
First his sight, then the sound, followed by touch, smell and taste.
He remained awkwardly subtracted from the grand unified deity who gave him birth and then waited till he died.

Of course this realization severely paralysed him.
And now he could neither move nor speak.
He could neither look nor shriek.
Silence was his friendly enemy - sometimes uplifting but mostly a bitch.
He had nothing to do but just wait and be.
Surprisingly he lived till he was about 90.

And then when he died it didn't feel all that odd.
For this man from my dreams, the transition had been smoothed out of existence, and death was now merely a concept in his unequivocally defragmented mind.

No greed or desire had touched his side. No food or wine had gotten him satisfied.
He had drifted through the machine like an outdated key - with no intention to leave or any need to believe.
He remembered the feeling when he could touch the violin strings. The sound that it released had set him free.
Of course now it was but an ambiguity.
Just an uncertain memory.
He wasn't even sure anymore what music could mean.

The old museum that he had first visited when he was three, was now inseparable from the paintings that he had seen.
He had walked through a Renoir and dozed off in a Bellini.
Colors were notes of music to a degree. But then what was music if not wavelengths in deceit?
He had once felt love and that's all he really knew for sure.
Other than that he was not sure of anything anymore.
The uncertainty clung to him like he clung to his ideas of reality - all the while drifting through the unearthly white serenity of some sterile make believe.

How does it feel?

Anticipated Visions

Slowly the infant crawled across the floor, moving a little bit more.

Somehow, suddenly one day, he was walking on the road.

The road to 'nowhere in particular' really, because the stars in whose constellation his blue planet was nested was hurling into a future destination about which no one had a clue.

So he walked and he learned to ride the bicycle. He learned to ride the scooter and the motorcycle.

He was soon behind the steering wheel of a boltening fast car and the first time he flew was in an aircraft that touched mach 2.

Somehow, suddenly one day, he was 32.

And the space occupied by his solar system was still changing rapidly by the year...., hour, and second.

Time passes by and you pass along.

It was just as sudden that he fell in love.

It was just as sudden that he made love.

Somehow suddenly one day he too had a son, crawling on the floor, desperately trying to run.

Three more decades passed by like three hours in the sun. The clouds came by and the seasons took their turn.

The old man was 62 as he watched his son - take off to the moon. He remembered the time when he could barely run.

HE remembered the time when "he" could barely run.

Millennia passed by like the circles around Saturn. Thoughts came in and thoughts went out. Generations of men and machines came about. Lifetimes had stretched into hundreds of years while ghosts were living and smiling without tears. Wings of fire burnt in the shade of virtual realities prophesized by the sage. He had lived in these times when this was a past before a future inevitably "hidden". It was all happening off-stage.

He looked far into the horizon. There was infinite space and eternal time. What more can you expect anyway.

A new view you always knew..

This is a Pythagorean room with an Euclidean view.

Nothing here is old and nothing here is new.

It all comes down to two things alone.

Without being undone, you cannot go ahead.

So instead you wait some, for the static sun to burn.

The earth to turn and the moon to return.

This is an imaginary room with an imaginary you. If you see this view in your dreams you better believe it’s true. Sometimes it may appear to be moving very slow. But mind you it’s just you who is really keen to go.

So go on. Continue with your goal. Continue to find your mind. Continue to seek your soul.

Fallen angels will kiss your feet and dirty dirt will taste surprisingly sweet. So continue to walk through, it’s just your own self split in two.

At times the sun explodes when it shatters on the floor. This room is not all that stable, especially when you have never been here before. But don’t be alarmed. It is just a perfect storm, which blows out your eyes as you stare through this window and expect it to snow.

Look again. You can see yourself running - away from the rain. At the end of a mountain, you sit and stare. You have been here before, and you know that it’s true. There is a slight smile and a dull memory of pain.

The flowers have changed colors while the trees grew taller. You have missed subtle moments when you went after that shore. The sea was static waves when you watched it long enough. It was you who is flowing when the wind whispered “hello”...

Do you feel you are trapped here alone? Think about those people who have been here before.

Look at the ceiling, up high above. Do you see those smiles splashed across the door?

Ok. Now you have found a way. Pass through it and you shall instantly see the trick.

But first wait. Are you really prepared to deal with such intense uncertainty?

Or are you so uncertain, that you'd pass this fun reality?

Time keeps dragging on, don’t you think?

If we just wished it away, it would let us peacefully sleep.

And what then when we wake up again?

What if you find yourself escaping in vain, this room full of views that changed and will change again?