So I Shed Off

A spasm of fear happened to seize me when just looking across a wide floor, my fellow mates working on the other side, amid random human cries sort of self-inspiring or navigating oneself away from brooding over something. Racking my head now casually, now tad seriously by tethering my illumined wind-like being to myself, I happened draw a conclusion that this diffidence, this fear isn't so much about 'what about me, my life' as it's about an unskilled task to be performed. Once got immersed into it and knowing it, it's gone temporarily, that dooming summon bred by such lack of rational maturity, learning curiosity (partly palled by the drudgery begot fatigue that sometimes turns like into a glimpse of neurasthenia, a fleeting intimation) and being able to view it from different angles. And yes, really, such fear is really enlightening, like my learning that everything has its literacy, even for wearing an arched smirk, even for a drudge. Don't overestimate that you can walk safely.

A Rejoinder: Just A Waste of Breath

Yes, democracy, freedom of speech, and so the culture of preempting rather than listening ensued. Whatever, leave it. I have been hearing a lot so much concerned about money and women and house and vehicle and so forth. Sad but c'est la vie. But sometimes maintaining a silence answers a lot rather than positing forth verbiages against a hocus-pocus, a drunkard's maudlin gibberish, a few scattered paragraphs sort of jotted down in high intoxicated reverie, and, yes, the assurance of the bounty coming up for letting it publish in his name appended with 'former judge' of India high court.

Yes, our dear Sikyong la sounded much concerned about it in his speeches during today's programs related with CTA's Five-Fifty Youth Forum, the first ever of its kind for the shortlisted Tibetan youths from various corners of the world. He sounded sort of much affected, for a single 'rejoinder' hasn't appeared expostulating it. So I hurried myself to google it, and found it there, so bare and crude and so, so defaming the appended title, the title related with law and justice practitioner, namely the only beacon of human existence these days. I wasn't moved at all, and found it like worth not a word. The motive is clear, as it suffuses over each word.

For The Great One: The Enigma of Human Life

“The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves.” VS Naipaul

Murakami’s preference of projecting himself in the first person rather than in the third is so far a means not to lie to himself, like presenting himself as he delineates a scene. Thinking or being assured ‘I won’t die tomorrow’ is, for me, lying to myself. The bottom-line is how a liar can be an artist, for an artistic means of expression knows nothing about self-enlargement and vaunting and funnily shining over others. But, fortunately, everyone possesses the same artistic greatness that can be communicated through even such means like self-communing.

Such Void is Inexpressible

Despite being what it's, the dreamy world including the notion of me, my feelings and minds and consciousness, and this body, despite being the only means to reach out to the dreamy experience of infinity, namely the complete negation of such conceptual jumbles or minds or ideas of ours, wading through its quagmire, the repetition, the treadmill, holding on to a faint hope of 'better tomorrow', is really adventurous. For having such a split-second illumination on a so seldom basis, really, I think, even living is an adventure. So you can think you're a hero. Then, if tending to explore further down the meta-world as per one's endowed intuition, if you think you're doing more than just living, then don't forget that you're just dreaming.