Friday, July 29, 2011

V. Sunset of Age

The days are getting shorter. The gaps are getting wider. The door creaks open. The red sun sets. Where have you come? Are you gonna sit on your heaps of gold trying to get back the days of youth you wasted?

IV. Achievement

It is joyous to achieve something। Mere possession will not do. Success cannot be gauged in terms of material gains but in terms of achievement. No one can measure the level of your achievement but yourself. It measured by the level of contentment in your soul.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

III. Freedom

I would rather not be chained to you. It is too much of a price to pay – anxiety, sorrow, jealousy, guilt. Love is but a confusing term. I‘d love you better if I wasn’t in love with you. Only selfless love is free of Maya. I would rather be free to love you, or not.

II. Circle of Illusion – the question

It is true that death sets everything free. Life is an illusion to those who regard death as the awakening. It’s all Maya – birth, relations, love, greed, anger, hatred, fear, pain, pleasure. To be free before dying is to know that life is an illusion. Only after that realization, one can live to the fullest.

Perhaps Life is best enjoyed as a lucid dream, when you know it’s not real and you can just play along. But that is when Maya comes from behind and you are trapped again. Though you know it was all an illusion, you find it hard to let it go, all the meaningless things become important – there, you’ve come a full circle.

Can anyone survive free of all Maya, free of suffering? Perhaps Buddha knows… (To be continued)

Sunday, July 17, 2011

I. Dreams

He said he couldn’t write unless he was unhappy, unfulfilled, in conflict, in doubt, uncertain. It is one thing to dream it, it is another to realize it. Most dreams are unreal, unfulfilled and forgotten. Many lives are spent in the illusion that somehow one’s dreams will become true; while many just dream, without ever feeling the need to convert them into reality.

He could have spent his life being lost in his fantasies while pretending to carry on with whatever he was expected to do. He could have pretended he cared about empty relations and responsibilities. But he wasn’t good at faking. Or he could have declared that he just wanted to dream and nothing else. He was torn between the two. He was good at hiding though, so he hid for a long time. He turned into a beast. Sometimes he cursed his fate. Sometimes he longed to just escape into the void of a primitive life of the struggle to merely survive. He stopped hiding when he couldn’t dream anymore. Terrified of this, he tried swimming in this humane stream of the mundane but he almost drowned. Imagination is only alive when you make it real, when you give it a form. Then he dreamt again, he dreamt of finding a way to any place he wanted to be. So he wrote…….