Where were you when you were needed?

Living Undiscovered and unheeded

Across the quantum of silences

Racing past with unleft traces

Staying same in changing forms

Been changing forms all along

Open places to run, closed nooks to hide

With a lie feeding your every crevice

Nothing to say you were misleaded

Where were you when you were needed?

A heart so heavy that it makes you sink,

With a head so light that it makes you think,

Of truths and possibilities,

Of tomorrow and today,

Of a yesterday that happened,

But just couldn’t stay.

After having spent years dilly-dallying with non-belief there comes a time to take a stand more firm and repercussive than pedestrian skepticism. Maybe it’s out of a sense of responsibility towards ones faculty of decision-making or out of sheer ennui that time tested intellectual lethargy needs to give way to ideological vigor.

Logical fallacies make a good amusing list of nuggets but they apply to your perceptual bias as well. What good can knowing everything be if we do not apply it to our lives? We cannot suggest with clout and neither would we have experienced it unless practiced with at least a modicum of intent.

The questions have a way of persisting by staying unanswered. When a questions will to dodge resolution cannot be fought how then do we fight the will of an entity that doesn’t wish detection by conceivable means?

Famous representatives of opposing sides succeed in providing a lot of engaging literature but not the solution to the problem that sides have to chosen on your own volition. I can be thankful to my mental makeup for persisting the pressure to take sides but there wasn’t really anyone applying any pressure. People seem to have accepted or have overlooked others’ beliefs.

We only connect and disconnect on a material plane.

The demons and angels that steer our lives are so human in their makeup that if they didn’t seek us out themselves we would still end up melding ourselves with their form to birth a new life that would hardly resemble its human source.

So busy we are in feeding constructs that are just worldly realizations of superlative mortal ideals.

In our daily exchanges we subconsciously concede that the best connections are formed between apparently different people who are similar on a not immediately apparent level. Same goes with these constructs too. The resilience of practicing abstracts to maintain a singular form is so tremendous that only by becoming an abstract yourself can you hope to achieve any level of conciliation.

An organization, a group, a thought; pursue only what makes them survive. Your success and disaster are concerns to only you. When you would have passed on they  would still endure.

While you are around, you have to make the choice between shaping the destiny of an abstract with your intransigence or transform into a replica of the notion that the shaping hands are directed by.

Pursue what you want or pursue what you need. A line need be drawn between the deserving and the cheat.
- E. Noe Neemus

We live entire lives looking for a reason to justify our existence. Only in moments of extreme despair does the trivial nature of ‘existence’ arrive upon us, and that too only to be discarded by our well-honed confirmation biases. We can blame the entire world for the inconsequential greatness that we perfect with years of good-natured malice and when that isn’t enough we even concoct entities out of the luminiferous ether to serve as a receptacle for our leftover reproach.

The need to find a purpose seems inherent, but is it really? If you are too busy perfecting something on someone else’s endeavour, and are so committedly engrossed in its realization that the thought of questioning and validity the purpose doesn’t even occur, will the first moment that you put down your tools, due to some godforsaken reason, be the moment that the light of questioning penetrates your decidedly biased brain? 

Will your reasoning be strong enough to generate questions that are right and comprehend answers that challenge your flawed logic? If the pain of re-birthing into a thinking organism is too great to bear is it not better to be a biological machine with flesh and blood organs for nuts and bolts parts?

Any entity that has the faculty to make repeated decisions is faced regularly with the conundrum of making the right ones on multiple occasions in the pursuit of a single first set goal. Among the most certain ways that expose the failing of our being is the time-dishonoured recommendation to keep an eye at the ultimate goal in the barrage of decisions that demand being taken, like a cheap prostitute in the thoughtless back alleys of your psyche, for a quick release of pent up responsibility and a quick surge of momentary satisfaction. It gets increasingly difficult to focus on the ultimate well-thought aim when there are quick decisions of a digressing nature to be taken on a regular basis and indulge our need to be responsible for our  own demise. 

If everything you do, contributes to the ultimate cause you are a winner on an evolutionary scale. That is how life as we know it came into being - survival being the aim. With every conscious detour we take, thoughtlessly, on the route of our lives, we almost prove that the tipping point of human evolution has passed us and a tendency to the reverse will make sure that most of us are compacted into statistics. 

Profligacy of our decisions needs to be balanced by the austerity of our aspiration.

Every once in a while it hits you; a realization, a concept, an idea, a feeling, a wall. It’s your responsibility to be surprised, or at least manage some appropriate form of response. The event seeks approval for its unique nature. If it is not, approved that is, it does tend to seep out of the pores of memory. How then will you account for the effect it nonetheless has on your existence?

The question to ask now is ‘does everything that happens to you, leave a lasting impression?’ Lasting - of course not. Impression - probably more than we realize. I remember reading that our eyes capture everything in its minutest detail but we do not have the brain power neither the need to process everything for our conscious processes. But the scrap yard of our subconscious holds on to everything and even , on its own volition, puts pieces together to make marvels out of our discarded abundance; an fathomable artistry of which we only see glimpses in dreams and hallucinations.

Maybe that’s why we feel at home in our dreams; they are made of us. Alien worlds, unseen faces, unaccepted emotions - all us. Yet, that does not make dreams a discipline of study. The amount of world that needs to be taken into account for the whole picture to make sense is far too vast to be a single person’s endeavour and even when we succeed there is no guarantee that our conception is appropriate.

We are wishing to get away with a waking rationalizing of our dreams. 

Of all our yearnings the one that adamantly denies being quenched definitely is that of the elusive happiness. We try to believe, and succeed to deceive, that the levers our of satisfaction are controlled by our hands, but the measures of happiness are so skewed by collective perceptions that none of our selfish endeavours ever yields an endorphin harvest big enough to last in the barrage of constantly refilled unjust expectations.

We only have one place to go then. The soft, squishy haven of our past. Tomorrow bound time has a knack for smearing a sepia-tinted glory on yesterday; even on the grime.

At least it’s over, at least it happened. At least we felt something new, at least we have something to look back at - everyone does. Is our mental make up aligned to send us on an unending scavenger hunt of worldly pleasures? Is it a subconscious submission to the realization of our insignificance in the grand emotionless cosmic scheme? If not, then are not the one’s who have had more instances of being drenched in happiness shower more successful than the others? How this happiness comes about should be a moot point given how even our bodies cannot differentiate between a fake and genuine laughter.

Only when you start to force yourself onto your life that the definition of ecstasy gets customized. The cost of individuality is sleepless night waiting for ideas to come, unfinished projects, unwritten stories and unlived lives.

…but it’s worth the wait.