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.
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