Dark Chocolate

In the realm of Nothingness. 

I look around. 

There is nothing here. 

No thought. No idea. No feeling. 

Just Peace and Nothingness. 

However, in that Nothingness, there is identity. There is attachment. To all but Nothingness. 

The attachment to Nothingness is sacredly approached by the earthlings. 

Taunted from standing afar, slowly approached to be torn apart. 

This Nothingness becomes an object of witness. 

No, it has change colors. 

All conspire. Paint it in colors. Give it names. Give it expressions. Give it emotions. 

All dress it up so that it exists on the stage of the World.

So that each feels happy to see another alike. 

So that each feels less threatened to see another similar. 

In the realm of Nothingness. 

I look around. 

There is nothing here. 

No thought. No idea. No feeling. 

Just Peace and Nothingness. 

But it shouldn't last, it couldn't last. 

For it has to enact the fears, the joys, the emotions of existence. 

For it has to disguise in a definition that symbolic. 

For it has to appear in the costume of the musical. 

For it has to become the prince of his own. 

For it has to pretend to just hear what was said. 

But it has to enact exactly what was unsaid. 

But truly within, It remains what it is. 

In the realm of Nothingness, exists the Nothing it truly is. 

A happy, A peaceful, that shall be torn and remade

Into a definition of goodness that calls for pretending. 

I am the Nothingness and I am the earthling. 

Within each of us lie, a Peaceful Realm of Nothingness

and within each of us lie, an earthling that becomes the color of the other. 

an earthling that runs to another and team then combines to color the deny the Nothingness that exists. As Peaceful as Joyous. 

Somewhere in the Realm. 

Nothing makes sense. 

For it is Nothingness. For once, a thing that is not suppose to make sense. 

Borrowed thought. 

Imagine the river telling the sea.
Imagine the light in the room turning back to the candle and asking the candle to burn differently.
Imagine the passenger telling the driver how to drive.
Imagine the beggar laying conditions on what he is receiving.
Imagine the patient telling the Doctor how to treat. 

Imagine the mere "effect" telling the laws of Creation to the "Cause"  

We confuse who is asking and who is providing. 

We can state, plead, beg, request and try. But that's it.
What we can and should do is utter a mere request. a pleading of the beggar. a whine of a little child before that bitter medicine.

What He gives is a blessing. 

He is the Guide of the guides, the Giver of the givers, the Healer of healers.

Why do we then in our limited capacity think as if He owes us giving in a way that we want. 

Why do we then in our limited capacity think He should be healing us the way we want. 

Why do we then in our limited capacity ask Him to trust us instead of telling ourselves to trust Him?

This friend.

I once had a friend. 

I loved that friend. 

This friend of mine, intrigued me. fascinated me. 

There was this aura of mystery around this friend. 

I loved how this friend would question me. Yet be the answer to my questions. 

I loved how this friend said exactly what was in my mind. 

Until I became obsessed with this friend. Totally. 

And then started the games. 

I realized this friend of mine suddenly had started playing games. 

Games of all sorts. Hide and seek. Run and catch. Stop and freeze. 

I began liking those games. Loving those games. 

I became part of those games. 

Because it was challenging. It was intriguing. 

But then, this friend, never spoke to me directly. 

This friend just spoke through games. 

That remained the only conversations we had. 

And then, one day, tired of losing some and winning some games. 

Tired of no conversations but games.

I stopped this friend of mine. 

Stopped this friend right in the tracks. 

Caught this friend finally. 

Caught this friend's attention and asked. 

Asked about the games. 

This friend just looked at me blankly.

Blinked. Once, twice and just blinked.

Looked directly into my eyes and went mute. 

As usual.

Another game...

But before I could label this silence as yet another game..

I heard a voice. 

Some voice. 

It hit me. 

I realized. 

This friend was nothing more, nothing less than a machine of thoughts. 

This friend was not a game player but a part of the game I had imagined. 

There was no game. 

There was no player. 

This friend..was my brain. My mind rather. 

It was just a fabric of my imagination. 

The games. The chase. The talks. The obsessions. The hurts. The pains. 

With this world, with myself, with others, with my ideas, with my successes, with my failures. 

Every single thing..was nothing. No Game. Just me and my mind. 

My mind processes thoughts. A web of it. 

Pac-man like. Entangled web of thoughts. 

And then, letting me fall victim to processing those thoughts. 

Running and chasing, stopping and freezing. 

Running and chasing, stopping and freezing. 

Running and chasing, stopping and freezing 

Illusions of completeness, illusions of emptiness. 

Illusions of pain, illusions of happiness. 

And in all these illusions, I began making this friend, my friend. 

And in all these people, I began making this friend, my friend.

And in all this time, I began playing the games with this friend. 

This friend, my mind. 

And in searching for something to fill the emptiness, I began telling this friend that it was the only thing that could. 

All these people, things and materials that I look to fill the emptiness with, all this outside of me, all this is nothing but my mind's figment of imagination. 

An illusion..of nothing but of this friend, my mind. 

I spent double the time and effort to convince this friend that it was and could be the friend that complemented. 

If only I had spent half of that time and effort to convince myself that I was wrong. 

If only I could break this illusion of this friend, my mind. 

For nothing lies outside my heart's wisdom. Not even in my brain. 

Only what lies is inside and with Him. 

Just like the mirror, it works I realize.

I look at my hands, I feel so strange. 

I look into the mirror and realize I am more than just what I see as my hands. 

I see my face, my nose, my eyes, my body. 

I see my image.

I raise my hand and touch my nose. 

The person in the mirror does the same. 

I realize it is me. 

I now know where I began and where I end. 

I smile and the person in the mirror smiles back. 

I notice a pimple on my face and cover it with foundation to appear like the one I like. 

I see myself as if I am seeing somebody else. 

I walk out of the room. 

I smile at the person on the street. 

The person smiles back. 

Just like the mirror. 

It works I realize. 

I meet a lady complaining about traffic at the grocery store. 

I nod and agree to what she is saying.

Suddenly she seems calmer and nods back. 

Just like the mirror. 

It works I realize. 

I walk to the clothing store and pick up a pair of jeans. 

I wear and see, feel happy and hit back the streets again. 

I see a young girl, my age, appreciate my new look.

I look at her confidently and thank her. 

I look just like her. 

Just like the mirror.

It works I realize. 

I enter the cafe and join my friends. 

They are talking about the college breakups. 

They pause and ask for my opinion on it. 

I join the gossips and I feel good. 

They all agree and offer me a drink. 

Just like the mirror. 

It works I realize. 

On my way back home, I curse the traffic as I go. 

I imagine the heavenly roads and humanly traffics of some other country. 

I horn like animals and break the signal because I am in a hurry. 

I justify and I move on. I ignore some part of me like the pimple on the face. 

Just like the mirror. 

It works I realize. 

I join the protest, I update my status. I tell my friends and smile when they like my posts. 

I do all that and more, I hate when I am criticized and I ignore those who tell me otherwise. 

I go to depths to find reasons for how the society is evil. 

I choose friends, probe people to justify how society is worse than I am. 

I do all this and more. Just like the mirror. 

It works I realize. 

And when I am alone, on my own. 

I love watching movies in my mind. 

Of my past, of my future. If things are bad. 

I like the victim of the movie because its me. 

I realize she is the victim so she deserves better. 

She looks like that person from the mirror. 

Just like the mirror. 

It works I realize. 

On my death bed, I struggle and struggle. 

It is not the pain but the fear of dying. 

I won't exist I realize. 

There is no mirror as I lay on my death bed. 

There is no mirror. No person. No memory. No excuse. 

For the first time I see. I am not me. 

I realize I am not the person in the mirror. 

I am that pimple, that scar, that part of me that I ignored. 

I am that voice of others that I ignored. 

I am the horn, the breaking of traffic light that I justified. 

I am not the perfect me as the mirror told me so. 

All my life, I carefully chose the validation from the mirror, from others. 

All my life, I lived the wrong me. 

All my life, I silenced the Real Me. 

As the angel of death approaches, I question about the Death of this Life. 

He smiles and says, you could have lived if only you did not believe the mirror that day. 

For if you had shattered the mirror that day, you would have lived forever as You. 

With that, he picked a little stone from the ground. Threw it on the mirror, shattering the image of me. 

I felt dead. I felt Nothing. I became Nothing and in it, I became Everything. 

With death, came the Life I could have lived. 

With death, came the Liberation I could have lived. 

For only and when we die to our egos in the mirror 

Do we start Living and Feeling The Souls that we are. 

With this I finish, as I sip my coffee. 

Taking another validation of my perfection from the world. 

Just like the mirror

It works I realize..

to us.

For the love of peace and unity.

To us, to us - the ones living in denial, to us the ones living in comfort, to us the ones waiting in turn, to us the ones giving up our resilience, to us the ones scared, to us the ones numb, to us the ones disappearing silently, to us the ones killing, to us the ones being killed, to us the ones - the champions of unity. 

I wonder at a man standing at a funeral

Consoling his friends from the comforts of his security.

I wonder at his confidence of thanking his God 

for saving him, protecting him, from making him stay away.

for letting him remain frozen and in denial. 

I wonder at his knowledge while reading history.

I wonder what his eyes read and what his mind infers.

I wonder when he supports unity in his country from the depths of his insecurity at being judged otherwise.

I wonder when he ssshs his friend, takes his defense and silences him for the sake of peace and unity. 

I wonder when he does all that with a sword of "you're killing us too". 

I wonder when he, in the name of peace,

takes the human ashes, buries deep down in the soil and puts flowers of unity.

I then wonder at Unity for unity you need two.

But today, it is just him.

One by one, slowly and gradually, as I wonder, he comes nearer.

Takes my pen, takes my defense, takes my protest, whispers Unity and Peace.

Escorts me to the Soil of Heavens and smiles as he bids me farewell..

For the Love of Peace and Unity. 

Women and Sympathy.

I have a problem. A serious problem with two words. Women and Sympathy.

I feel utterly disgusted, sad and equally sorry when women are felt sorry for.
I wonder at the educated elite as much as I wonder at the illiterate
street labor.
I wonder at the rich married executive as much as I wonder at the
unmarried youth.
I wonder from one corner of the world to another.
I wonder from the nudity of branding this gender to glorifying the
ambitions of this gender.

I wonder not just as men. I wonder at women too.
I wonder at every human who looks through the lens of sympathy,
looking for the fragility of a woman, diagnosing her as victim and
prescribing her sympathies.
I wonder at every woman who leverages the eyes of sympathy to justify
her bitterness at this evil world.
I wonder at every single one of us.

I wonder at every parent, every girl, every woman who accepts and
internalizes the notion of a prince.
I wonder at every girl that exploits her fragility in the society by
assuming herself as damsel in distress.
I wonder at every girl who depends on becoming a damsel in distress to
get her knight in shining armor.
I wonder at our society's obsession with colorful lens.

Anyone who is a feminist and anybody who is an anti feminist are
equally worth of wonder.
For they both present a skewed representation of identity.
For they both reflect their rigidity of choice.
I wonder at our rigidity and impulse to feel for women.

I wonder how the world romances with women.
Stripping her off her strength, inculcating in her the need for sympathy.
Subtly flirting and probing her pains at the society
Proving the society as evil to position her as the damsel in distress.

All along in this pseudo praise and celebration of her fragility.
She is being used, exploited and positioned as a victim
Not because she really is, but because her victimhood gives an ego
boast to the society.
Her being a victim, in pain, in need makes the society run to her to help.

She maybe the weaker gender.
She may even be the victim of this society.
But that, does not, in anyway, give anyone the right to celebrate her
victimhood and shower her with sympathies.

The only woman I don't wonder is the one
who amongst all this game of sympathies
does not take part at all.

The one who has herself for herself.
The one who doesn't need to become a damsel in distress to seek her prince.
The one who refuses to accept herself as a victim.
The one who refuses to be the victim. Of society, Of society's evils
and Of society's sympathies for her.

The one who cherishes her Pain as much as she cherishes her Joy.
The one who doesn't use her pain to appear more feminine.
The one who doesn't use her pain to become a bitter evil feminist
revolting against the world.
The one who doesn't fall victim to the society's remedy for her.
And maybe, the one who has Him to rely on.

Mark of a real human is to remain the Soul with no rigidity either way.
Mark of a real human is to look at her without the prejudice of
finding a victim in her.
For if a human is looking through the eyes of ego, it is easier to
find her as a victim, easier to label her as one,
For then, it is easier to create in her the need for dependence.

For mark of a real human is to recognize her just the way she is.
Nothing less. Nothing more.
No feminist. No anti-feminist.
Maybe its time to teach our daughters not to seek the prince who seeks a damsel. 

Seek a prince that seeks a human. 

The day we stop seeing her as sad, bad, weak, in pain and as a
victim..is the way when we'd start seeing her as a complete human.
For only complete humans, refusing sympathetic exploitation of their
pains, take humanity forward.
They know the power of Empathy for others, rather than sympathy for themselves.

Waves.

Waves. 

I like waves. 

I like the waves on the shore. 

I like how they smoother the sand.

I like how they fill the pitches in the sand.

I like how they leave sea shells.

I like how they tear away the castles in the sand.

I like how they keep coming and keep going. 

I like how sitting there, I know they'd keep coming and keep going. 

I like how sitting there, I know they'd smoother the things. 

I like moments. 

I like the moments in life. 

I like how they smoother the life at Present. 

I like how they fill the pitches of past and future. 

I like how they leave beautiful feelings. 

I like how they tear away the castles of illusion. 

I like how they keep coming and keep going. 

I like how sitting here, I know moments are the Reality. 

I like how sitting here, I know they are the Only Reality. 

I like how this, right here, This Moment, This Present, This Now is the Only Reality. 

As I stand on the shore, with waves taking away the sand from beneath my feet,

I look forward to another wave bringing back the base beneath my feet. 

I stop focusing on sand from my grip. 

I start focusing on waves and their feel instead. 

For I know, waves don't stop. 

I take comfort in moments to come and moments to go.

For I know, moments don't stop. 

As far as we are standing at the Shores of Now, Moments will keep coming, will keep making us Feel. and Live.  

Sold.

I look around.

There are two people in front of me.
One gives money, the other hands over a cup of coffee.

I look around.
There are two people in front of me.
One gives a smile, the other continues the conversation.

I look around.
There are several bunch of people in front of me.
One gives a nod, the other laughs, the third appreciates, the fourth disagrees, the fifth snorts.The conversation continues.

I look around.
There is a guy sitting alone. Aged. Scottish by looks.
He sips his coffee, rolls up his sleeves, glares into his macbook and starts writing.

I look around.
There is a young kid, fidgeting with his cell phone.
He reads something on his cellphone screen and smiles.

I look around.
There is an old couple walking outside. A lazy stroll.
The lady holds the old man's hand. The old man offers his shoulder instead.

I look around.
Each second, each moment, we are sold. we are bought.
We trade through emotions and words. We buy validation, comfort, security and further emotions.

It is as if, we can't exist without the whole buying and selling here.
We sell. We buy. Each day, Each second.
We auction brains, bodies, ideas, thoughts, emotions.

We are sold.
We are bought.

There is a sea within. An everlasting supply of thoughts within. Looking for a buyer. Looking for a transaction. Looking to be sold. All the time, every time. 

And we sell. We breathe. We think. we sell. we live. we die. 

In between all this, we never pause a transaction. we never bypass our thoughts and our mind to Cherish the Soul of Silence and Peace. 

Just Silence. Peace. Him and Nothing. Where there is no trade. no selling. no identity. Nothing. Where we blink our eyes to capture the Feel rather than selling our time to capture on technology. 

Where you can hear the Heart Beat rather than transactions of your thoughts. 

But then, 

as if happily noting the observation, excited with a new thought..I think.

I look around.
My brain says to write.
I start starting. 

Sold.

If only

Some piece I stumbled across while going through old stuff - 

What we can and do express are never the moments. They are never the feelings of those short lived experiences. We only express whats right before or right after the very moment of essence.

If only.

If only is a wonderful phrase. Shunned away, looked down upon by optimists and happy people like me. We see 'if only' only as an acceptance of mere human emotion-regret. We associate it with moments and people stuck in the past.

We never see it as something beautiful. I admit. I admit the strength of those who use the phrase despite the fear of being judged/labeled by the champions of brutal honesty like me. I admit my failure at expression of any moment of Now.

When you see 7 planes hovering in the beautiful skyline, all highlighted simultaneously on the backdrop of thunder/lightening, you are jolted out of your wonder. And you squeeze your eyes-as if requesting nature to replay. And nature does. But too late. You couldn't capture.

What we can capture are moments right after or right before. But never the moments themselves.

No witness to what we just experienced. No witness to what was felt. No expression.

What we can express is our failure to express.

If only. What a beautiful phrase.

At any given point in time of our life, we can only express our failure to express.