Rainbow in my eyes is black and white for another, the dancing fog and a cool breeze for me is like a shapeless wraith for the other, what I see is my reality, to them it is an illusion, then what is the truth?
Glorious joyous memories imbued deep within, a place, a depth from where also rise our poignant ideas and reveal what a suffering life is. Is it explicable to be such a medley of emotions?
If we are This and we abhor That, to such an extent that we swear to reject That and worship This forever and ever, being like a book culled from various intransigent ideas and generally clueless, merging and confusing This That to such a severity that This That becomes one and we altogether start abhorring Them, then where are we heading to?
It can’t be a joke of an ulterior nature because jokes aren’t secretive and it can’t be an earnest tragedy because the ending is not sad, but is blissful, then what is this dramatic life about?
When nothing is certain except change, when change begins it and concludes it and when we too are bound to change, then does it make the definitions fallacious? What do they explain and how can they when everything changes?
All forms will become formless; absolute existence, absolute consciousness, absolute bliss. Like it was and it will be.
