We are your friends

We are beautiful. Together we shine.
We are loud, we are music. We are dance, dance, all night.
We are permanence, like love, like hope, like time.
We are ephemeral, like wisps of hash smoke,
Exuding like visual poetry from your lips to mine.
We rise and we fall, to the moods of the skies,
To the drone of the planet, to the hum of the cosmos that never dies.

We live, to live hard
We choose it - living hard, over hardly living.
To live, is to keep moving,
We understand this truth.
And we pay homage to it in our dance moves.

We seek moments.
Moments of laughter, boisterous and great.
We take our laughter with a side of stomach ache.
We seek moments of ecstasy, piercing and soulful.
We feed off the lifeforce of numinous truths.
We seek moments of caring, compassion and tenderness.
We bask in the warmth, the buzz, the fuzziness.

And we seek moments of meaning.
Meaning so overwhelming, that words collapse before it.
Meaning so profound, that silence is its true language.
Meaning so meaningful, that there remains nothing to explain,
But simply behold, in totality, in our souls, serene.

We live to love, to be loved,
to make love and to take love.
We love to give, and give to love
And we have confirmed in each other, that there is love.
In one beautiful moment, that we felt simultaneously.
The moment that stretches throughout eternity.
And we now know that love is all, in all, for all.

We have rules, a few essentials.
No fighting. More dancing.
Soul singing. More loving.
Always remember to live deeply,
To live through me as I live through you.
Embraces, funny faces and shared spaces.
Never lose the chance to see a sunrise,
To gaze upon the abyss with its crimson traces.

Together we shall conquer all buzzkills,

We shall wipe away mind-ills.
We are getting ready to launch to the god-head of being
So we may look eternity in the eye, and redeem
What history was all about.
Why? Because we can, and we will.

Comments

Know Thyself: An attempt at deconstruction

Long before the Oracle pointed Neo to the words above her doorway, numerous teachers, sages and mystics have uttered different versions of the same maxim - "Know Thyself". Although historians credit the Greek philosopher Heraclitus (~ 500BC) with the first written record of the saying, there are various articulations of the same aphorism which date back even further. For example, in shamanic wisdom traditions, some of which find their roots 5000-6000 years ago, there is great emphasis on acquiring deep self-knowledge before assuming the role of a shaman. Similarly, Buddhist teachings dating back to around 2500 BC centre around meditative practices that equip one to delve into one's inner universe. Closer to present day, the Hadith quotes Prophet Muhammad saying "whosoever knows himself knows his lord", highlighting the importance of self-knowledge for communion with the divine. Meanwhile, in the bible, when Jesus Christ asks his followers to "know the kingd...

Linked But Not Tainted

F: I could accuse you of the same fault Terence, of sweeping generalizations and knee jerk aversions. T: As is your prerogative of course. But do tell more. F: Your constant tirade against modern science and rationalism , bears within it many contradictions you know. It seems like your demonization of science is solely calling for the glorification of the irrational. How can that not be anything but simply reactionary? T: Granted. I do have a particular bent for the irrational and absurd . And I do seek out and revel in finding the edges of the impossible , the improbable , the unexplainable , and to some the indigestible . But, the way I see it, I am simply tooting for the underdog here. Don't you think the irrational deserves a mascot too, like science is for the rational? F: But don't you find that to be quite myopic, un-ruminated? T: Rationally, yes. Irrationally, well.... F: Now that is just aversion! T: Okay. You got me there friend. But my reverence for ...

The Meaning's Edge

The Soul of Time by Trumbull Stickney THE SOUL OF TIME T IME'S a circumference Whereof the segment of our station seems A long straight line from nothing into naught. Therefore we say " progress, " " infinity " — Dull words whose object Hangs in the air of error and delights Our boyish minds ahunt for butterflies. For aspiration studies not the sky But looks for stars; the victories of faith Are soldiered none the less with certainties, And all the multitudinous armies decked With banners blown ahead and flute before March not to the desert or th' Elysian fields, But in the track of some discovery, The grip and cognizance of something true, Which won resolves a better distribution Between the dreaming mind and real truth. I cannot understand you. 'T is because You lean over my meaning's edge and feel A dizziness of the things I have not said. ...

Materialism, Consciousness and The Totality of Truth

What is reality? Where does one anchor one's sense of what is real? In other words, what is the true nature of the phenomenon of our experience? These questions contain many loaded terms, much-debated and discussed. As such, they can quickly become philosophical dynamite, the kind that could burst into flames by the tiniest spark of a misspoken word or an ill-pondered conjecture. Nonetheless, some deem these questions worth asking, to grab hold of that philosophical dynamite, to stroll through the cloud of metaphysical splinters, to brave the tumult of the raging epistemic tempest. All in the hope of reaching some imagined calm centre of understanding, enlightenment, deliverance, redemption, yada, yada, yada . Here is one such attempt. Things and Stuff: The fetish of materialism, as manifested today through consumer capitalism, is no stranger to anyone, anywhere, anymore. While it takes different forms in different places, the essence of the obsession is the same. On Wall St...

Reality and Fiction: Collective Hallucinations

This is a story set in my city, Dhaka, when one autumn day in the early '90s, hundreds of people gathered outside Dhaka Central Jail in protest. They were seeking to stop the hanging of a man who was apparently on death row, within the premises. However, the problem was, the man was not in the jail at all. In fact, he never existed. When I was 8 years old, Bangladesh was a country of 120 million. Dhaka was a city of 7 million. And we all had 1 television channel we could watch - Bangladesh Television. Back then, a TV was a matter of novelty. And coloured TV sets were only the luxury of a select few in Dhaka. It was a time when people across the country were crowding around the one television set in their villages. Congregations formed inside lone huts juiced up by a stolen power line, where scores of people would gather to watch the entertainment. The magic box would bring us a select range of programming - from the state-scripted nightly news, to heavily censored 80's Ame...

Remusings

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