the dark room

Mao was in a dark room searching desperately for nothingness, but kept finding something all the time. Desperately he clutched on to the object and then threw it far away so he may not find it again. He was trying to find something that would finally make him complete, and he knew it lay all around him. but his finding other things only made him cry and be sorry for his humanness.
Weeping and brawling, he did not know why he was doing what he was doing, but kept faith that it must have a cause since it had an effect. Both his laugh and his cry left him breathless, dying a slow death. Then he found it. By not finding it. And instantly he knew he had fallen into the madness of the opposites.
But at that instant, he saw it. He was his beleifs. And without them, he was naked and unconscious. Without his beliefs, he was an animal who suffocated in his animalness, and died a slow death. He knew he had just experienced the look of existentialism- and wondered if there could be alternate realities to his truth-even while he was flummoxed at the crow.
To himself, he was completely satiated, and did not want to find it. He had more pressing issues next. What must he do next, he thought silently and to himself. The search is the path . And reaching is starting all over again to start a new tangential circle. To complete the infinite.
And then he knew it. He must start again, he thought. And reach where he began. Only to start again, a new journey . And this time, with patience, for he already knew where he will end.

the fight against his self

The little brown bearded man was fighting every moment against the drugs that made him slow and weak. They made his eyes go deep within their sockets, and made him stammer in his speech. More often than not, he would swallow words or say one in incorrect sequence. It was also hard controlling his anxiety-his palms would sweat and his feet would wobble in seemingly normal circumstances, and an invisible force would make him feel retarded even when he was not . He had a constant nausea throughout the day which was probably a result of his not being able to sleep at nights. To make things worse the drugs he took made him lactate. He could make out the difference between what he now was, and what he had earlier been. And this is why he fought bravely at first.

Then he knew it wasn't possible to do it, and so he retiringly chose to accept his condition , and trust the druggist to make him more suited to society....which he was truly not. He had taken up work , but he hardly talked. It was his disease that made him absolutely inept to socializing. Since he did not have feelings, he had no desires, and therefore he often looked as though he was beyond all things. He carried a mystic and retarded expression wherever he went, and that made people not want to approach.

But in the larger order of things, he knew that he existed. And that he would soon cease to exist.

the smile

Once Mao realised he was happy sisyphus, he drank his hemlock lightly and bid adieu to a world he had known for so long. He realised that in a free world, slavery was the only escape. And this known slavery was slowly driving others to believe that he was finally sane. Only he knew his weird freedom, a freedom that lay beyond interconnected causal-ness.

In darkness and to himself, he would often remember how the curious wolf in him had become entangled in the spiked non real sound wire, and was suffocating to death on the silence of reality. Bewildered and exhausted of thinking, he would slowly descend into dreams of incoherent reality, a reality where he turned his back to the world and just fucking smiled.

strange-hood

The agents had passed into a strangehood that lay at the bundaries of the absurd. every morning, they experienced an unbearable lightness in their head-as if their head was evaporating into nothingness. At nights, the felt their bodies vibrating in a strange rythm that emanated from the heart, and stopped only when attention was diverted.

The agents knew their emancipation from the boring life was near. They thought it was time they broke their glasses, and saw the opposite straight in the eye. And then dissolve into nothingness. The agents could finally be free of their guilt, the guilt that stole eight years from the brown mans life.

They can never see themselves because they have glasses. The truth is (not) known by (not) seeing with eyes. But they did not know that according to the ultimate reality the truth is not to be found.

thinking beyond thought

Once when Mao was 26, he decided to quit the superficial existence of his, and resolved to think deeper into what really mattered. For ten days, he struggled to find the reality in life and the true essence of thing. He succeeded. He found that the true essence of things wasnt in themselves, but in everything that was not themselves. In this juxtaposition of the opposites, Mao found true freedom. It felt as if a bag had lifted of his chest. He had found true peace.
Slowly however, he realised that what was true for him may not be true for others. It was this thought that snatched away his peace again. He thought that if something had true essence, it must be true for everybody, and not just him. Little did he realise that reality was particular and not generic.
So he was back to what he used to do, failed , retarded, but resolved not to look back. And then , he looked back.

part leaves the whole

The little brown man realised that he was only a part of the wheel of life, and therefore he could not , even unknowingly leave the system. This thought had suddenly made him stop , and then he heard a mighty explosion, and although half scared to death, realised that he had only transmigrated to a different world. He had suddenly broken the rope of belief that he had bound himself with, and entered a new world. And then he knew it at that instant--he creates his own world. he was the creator and the destroyer of worlds. he was the one. and then another thought struck him with unbeleivable force-everyone and everything holds a diffrently conditioned world, and each of them can break the conditioning and enter a different world, which is a fresh world every instant. He realised how stupid he had been, thinking he would destroy one world-how stupidly he had ignored the fact that he would also create a new world.

And then he realised how every breath he took created and destroyed worlds-and this is how it was all planned. This is the essence of life, he thought, transience of everything. And now when he breath in, he felt as if a rock had lifted off his chest, a rock of such strong conditioning that he was blinded.

Finally he had learnt that every moment was precious, every moment was a gift, every moment was symmetry, whether you be a part of it, or not. And then he started becoming conditioned to this thinking. He suddenly became conscious of every action, and grew more and more confused with the way people behaved. He had suddenly found perfection, and now he just couldnt get back to the imperfect life he was forced to live.

He thought to himself-is there a meaning of this confusion? and then realised his stupidity in asking this--there was no essence, there is no meaning of life, there is nothing but emptiness--and suddenly he laughed so hard, he couldnt breathe.

the wise men

All agents were affecting and getting affected by each other. The balanced minds were needed to calm the unbalanced minds. And Mao's was a balanced mind.

He would sometimes sit cross legged with a cup of tea near his office. knowing that his thoughts were his alone, and he had the right to dwell deeper into this other world of his whenever he wished to. At these times he would often wonder how the tea could know the cup. How could the tea really know if there was a cup to hold it together, and how indeed could the tea escape from the limitations of the cup. He also wondered if the cup was a good thing...for he knew that without the cup , the tea would no longer be useful. How was the tea to find its own limits? Will the tea ever recognize the cup? And then his thought train would end just like that, in one final big sip.

Mao had the ability to look at things from hundreds of angles all at the same time. Sometimes, his thoughts would grow so loud that he had to talk to someone to let all this hot air escape. And these were the times when he thought he was slowly turning insane. But he knew that other people had these kind of thoughts too, they just ignored them. A few drops from his cup gave him more stability, and made him realize that there truly was such a thing as a cup.

Brushing all his thoughts aside at one go, he went back to his world, his world of failed imperfect giant men, and slowly he transitioned to being one of them-ignorant superficial and imperfect;incomplete.

Somehow, those few cups of tea would be his nirvana, those were the moments he cherished most. Those were the moments when he really thought about the big questions in humanity. The questions that really mattered; to him. The questions on the origin of an impulse.

the why circle.

The big huge fair men were random , few and far between. They did not know they were unknowingly affirming the blind man's artificial reality. All they were really doing were helping him, so as to help themselves in affirming their own version of reality; to prove to themselves that yes, it is compassion that makes the world go round.

Their version was common , while the blind man simply heard a different drummer-and both helped each other in finding satisfaction in the otherwise random life each led. More importantly, both offered an explanation to the final question-why did one exist? Answer- to serve the other; to find satisfaction in return.

There were other agents too, but these ones did not know the final question, because they were all lost in intermediate stages of the why circle. They were so engrossed in finding the answer to every why in detail that they had forgotten to keep track of the bigger question- the final question-the question that would set them free or push them into the little brown bearded world.

modern art

A little brown man with an overgrown beard lay masturbating under a tree near the modern art gallery. It disturbed him that he was attached to a ticking time bomb , and if he stopped masturbating, the bomb would explode taking with it all of humanity.

He was saving humanity; and there were people who were helping him in his mission, these agents that were fairer than he was, agents that dropped by and put a hundred in his pocket-affirming his noble selfless task. Sometimes they offered food, and this was how they payed respect, which he ate with his right hand.

Nodding wisely, he would go about his task from morning to evening, and then keep vigil all night making sure he did not sleep, because the world would explode if he were to sleep- and future, or none thereof, scared the shit out of him.

Little did he know that were he to sleep, the world that would explode would be his own world...a world that he had created in his mind, a world that affirmed the balance that he knew and no one else dared to find out. His belief was his alone, and a belief that had stood the test of time. tick tick tick went the bomb, stopping sometimes when he lost his concentration, and the scare the silence would create brought him back to his wits. He knew he could not stop doing it, because then the sound would stop, humanity would blame him for the leak.

He hated the sound of time passing by, and he hated that he was chosen to bare this numbing responsibility. Sure it was not easy to get to it, but he had traded his death to satisfy his curiosity,,,,and now that he knew, he no longer served the purpose of the system, he no longer served the cause effect cycle- and therefore he would be thrown out of the system; unless he served it-knowingly.

It had all begun with a simple question-why. all he did was to ask the why's of everything, and he had found it when he completed the circle of his own thoughts. Looking back, he knew he shouldn't have played around with the whys , because without his why's , the world had been perfectly normal. He shouldn't have asked the questions because he had realized that there is an answer to everything except one question- it was this final question that had turned his world upside down...he had asked the purpose of his existence.