Zazen

"To see what's in front of one's nose needs a constant struggle."

-George Orwell

I was in front of the PC screen, a cold starry night outside, and was trying to think of the one thing that mattered to me most at that very instant. As it often happens, whenever you try to think what you're thinking now, the mind returns a blankness and a silence, which otherwise would have been welcome. But as of now, I wanted answers, I wasn't getting one.

Concentrate, Huzefa, focus.

Nothing.

As such, trying to concentrate and freezing up you skulls muscles is not a legitimate way to actually concentrate. I discovered this way back in my life but for some reason, this old habit has stuck with me. For instance, whenever I want to think, I tense up my head, as if to say that by concentrating on the skull, I'll get a boost in my cognitive and intellectual faculties. I would do this at my exams. Why do people tap their heads when they think? I don't think it helps much. It is a cultural thing that everyone kinda does.

Alright. All I needed to do was to recognize what was truly important.

One of the lines I had read in the book I am that, seized my attention for a brief moment:
"That what you don't know of, you're a slave of. Once you know it, you're the master."

I wanted to be that master. I wanted to know what is going on. Thinkables, within a mind that I call my own. But how could you call your mind your own, if you don't know what's in it? Like how can you make your mind, if you don't have a mind to make it? But who made the mind which made the mind in the first place? OK, who made that mind?

The screen was still blank. It was a black screen with green font. I had altered the settings on my document writer to have those colors, partly because it looked better, partly because a white screen hurts my eyes. The cursor, blinking, was a fit representation of my attention span. On,off,...on, off....

Why was I doing what I was doing? I could have many motives, but chief among them was to bring about clarity where there was non-cognition. I wished to see what was and not what was not. That seems simple on the surface, until you realize that that's not natural at all. The brain, it is not a fact verifying organ. It is a story making organ. It dreams it's dreams the way it wishes to. It makes you want to eat a rasagulla while on an important diet. It makes you fall in love with people who don't love you back. It dreams elaborate dreams at night, some cuddly, some scary. It give us our aspirations, our reasons to breath the next breath. The brain is the organ that makes you the center of your own attention, the rock star in every situation. The brain projects you as the special snowflake you think you are: so unique, so irreplaceable, so special. The brain also makes jokes and machines and software, as mine does. It does everything, but tell the truth.

I imagine that this question, what is important to you, to be the virus that causes the hardware to start bursting amuck. Neural connections breaking and frantically looking for new nodes in this novel scenario.

The brain is not designed to tell the truth. So in hindsight it is not really surprising that when I sit in front of the screen and ask that very brain to tell me what is really important, it stares back at me, like some dumb engineering student at the vivas. At other times, it could have written some of the most complex and ingenious code for my companies clients. But now the black screen stared at me, mocking. The answer to this seemingly simple question, was not manifesting so readily.

I needed to write something:

Am I even revealing something? What part of this did you not know? Do I know this, or am I throwing words at myself?

I read what I had written again. I was bull crap. Select all, delete.

It was as if someone was talking to me from the outside in. I read what I had written.

Behind every ambition lies a wound.

If I were to sum up my thoughts and minus the ambitions, in my reckoning, I'd hardly be left with anything. Now that's something. I opened a fresh new document.

Yeah, so what keeps me breathing are my wounds. Wow. So if something hurts, I want it more since ironically it gives you..... life? A purpose? Something to do? What exactly do my ambitions give me. Well off course, I might argue that sometimes I really do achieve stuff because of what I want. Take for instance my ability to touch type. I remember really wanting to excel my peers in my college days, so I spent week upon week of my time in order to enhance my typing speed. In the end, I was left with relatively good typing speed, at least much better than what I was before, and I reap it's benefits even today.

But is that true? For all I know, it might be true that I did feel the urge to prove myself, but it was also true that I really enjoyed the process of training my hand, the feeling of being progressively better. So what actually made me better in the end of the day? What made it all worth it?

By now, I knew that I had digressed quite a bit. Way off topic. New document.

What do you actually want? Do I want hurt? Or is it something else?

Think! think!.... No... I cannot think.... the thoughts come and go on their own. I can only pressurize my skull, if anything.

Isn't it the most obvious thing? The most important thing to me! And I don't know what it is. I don't know why I live. I think and I think, but no answer seems to pop up that explains it all. I lay there thinking for a while, the dark screen returning my stare. After a while, I go to sleep.

Random post| 3rd Feb, 2017.

how empty is reality..... this body of mine cant take it. i can't be even with it. So my mind fills it up.

there is nothing much else to say. I have lost all along. The light of reality is bright, and vacant. But i fill it with darkness. With objects.Old heavy objects. It is out of habit that i do so. It just is like autopilot. As soon as I lose guard, it picks up the thread from there and weaves it's tapestry thereon. There is grandoure, and lust. There are stories and emotions. it is all there and there is no real purpose to it. There is no real purpose to anything.

What I wish I Knew Already

All my life I kept thinking about the next big thing. I, as I knew who I was, and what I wanted to become. That hypothetical greatness, that is oft-aspired but seldom achieved. Or maybe never achieved. I wish I get to know what I know is true, must be true, by all contemplation and certainness that I could muster in all of my being, I know that all this to be true! But at the same time, I somehow don't know.

I wish I knew that all my dreams and aspirations are projections of the shortcomings that I perceived in the past and now. I wish I knew that there was no actual shortcoming to begin with.

I wish I knew my loneliness is the truest thing I feel. That feelings of companionship or commorodarie, are mere masks.

I wish I knew that all the conversations and dialogues I have with the people I love and hate in my head, remain in my head.

I wish I knew that my urge to express myself, is born out of the misconception that people listen to what I say. Surely, people only hear noises, and comprehend whatever they like out of it. I wish I knew my urge to speak, is to substantiate the part of me that is insubstantial, and useless.

I wish I knew directly and undoubtedly, of all grandeur to be delusional. I wish I knew of all splendor and sophistication thrown at me to be a haunting, a dread, and unpleasant fear. And it would have to be so, so that it could serve it's purpose.

I wish knew that I was innocent of all the things I think of myself to be. That the my very words are borrowed, my very expressions aped, my emotions assimilated from others, my personality, stolen. I wish I knew my very spirit to be of that to seek conformity and a false sense of completion.

I wish I knew that my knowledge was a cumbersome burden, that didn't ever let me rejoice in breathing. I wish I knew that my urge to know, was a thoughtless warfare, waged at the uncertainity of life. A warfare that has it's warrior utterly defeated.

I wish I knew the people I have in mind are ghosts that haunt it. And that my ponderings feed them.

I wish I knew that the cause of all my suffering, is that part of me that wishes things to be otherwise. I wish I knew if that part wouldn't exist, my problems wouldn't exist.

I know of all this to be true. But, somehow, I don't. I wish I knew.

I'm Probably the Most Intelligent Person I know.

I am probably the most intelligent person I know.

There. I said it. I think this thought has been lingering in my mind since quite a while. It is a very sad thought. A vague, lonely thought. I always knew I was slightly smarter than the average guy. But I never thought it would come to this. It only helps then, that I know very few people.

Here's what frustrates me. Whenever I go searching for intelligent people, I inevitably am faced with the band of  philosophers and scientists of our time. I get the self-help gurus here too. These are like one collection of people of a very closely knit in an interlinked thought-castle. These are people of a similar, mostly American, liberal, communal inclination.

Most of their talk is focused on blaspheming against religion, mostly Christianity.  We might delve into why this is so, but for the purpose of this post, it suffices to say that these people are overly repetitive, and sick in their own obsessive disgruntlement against what is not even a real problem I, or anyone, faces.

These are not intelligent people. These are just a different brand of fanatics, posing as intelligent people.

Then there are the self-help folks. They try to tell people how to improve their lives. They tell success stories and biographies, and give lots of advice. But, as we can all really see, their advice has failed to alter the life of even a single person. I am yet to meet anyone who can truthfully claim that their self-help effort has benefited in any real way. Hasn't anyone seen that their stuff isn't working? But they perpetuate their madness.

These are definitely not intelligent people, either.

The thing is, intelligent people, are truly silent most of the time. They are compelled to spend their time, attention and energy on looking at new things, learning new things, experiencing new things.

They don't give much importance to the endeavor of self aggrandizement. That is because they know that self aggrandizement, will fail to give them any true satisfaction, appreciation or attention.

That's the sad thing about intelligent people. You probably haven't befriended them. You have ignored them and let them be to their own, quiet, satisfied life. To their rather lonely life.

The loneliness of an intelligent man is two fold. The first of the actual physical loneliness. The second loneliness is at a deeper level. For me, even if I have someone talking to me for hours, I know they shall never appreciate the depth of what I mentioned. They, I am pretty sure, will not understand way I am actually saying, what I am saying.

Now, let me clarify the concept of human intelligence here. By intelligence, i don't mean achievement in any way. I don't mean succeeding in having made a huge fortune, or being good at social situations, or creativity or making the worlds most successful social network or something along those lines. I don't mean getting good marks in school or college or being academically sound. I don't mean being a fast number cruncher who can perform computer like calculations with astonishing quickness.

By intelligence, what I mean, is the ability to see reality: unmorphed, unenamored. Intelligence is to see what exists, to understand it's context of existence and to see the limits of it's existence. Simply put, Intelligence is the ability to see reality in it's purist form. That's all there is to it. It does not guarantee success, it does not give any competitive advantage to the one possessing it. It simply see's the truth, without any ulterior motive.

That is what I have come to understand what human intelligence is.

But I digress. I am, unfortunately, the most intelligent person I personally know. I wish people were more intelligent than me. I wish I had just one such friend(or girlfriend) who could show me what is real beyond what I already know, what I can already see. Being with most of the people around me is weird.

The thing that most strikes me about people is the certainty they hold with their opinions and knowledge. They are always sure of everything. The general sentence structure, while conversing is assertive. On the other hand, I am never too sure of my conjectures. I always have a lot of doubt. Perhaps, probably, maybe, most likely, and other such expressions are used by me copiously throughout the day, both while conversing and writing. But I don't see most people doing that. They simply make assertive statements. I find it a bit irksome at times.

I really have been searching for just one intelligent companion. Just one to start with. Maybe there is a secret corner in the world where all the honest, intelligent people of the world gather. But I need one intelligent person to begin with, for now.

Every once a while someone strikes me as intelligent I try to befriend him. But soon enough, the shallowness begins to set in, and my looking out, as before, continues.

All love is fake

Yup.

This idea has been with me since a long time, but only recently have I begun feeling it in a more weighty manner. Now, I am not very well versed into this looking at myself thingy. I am not very good at seeing the mechanics of my ego clearly. But this idea still stands true.

I see how people function and all I see is veiled self interest. I am much as I can see myself, I see the same thing. I have never done anything for anyone(Maybe sometimes, very rarely.) without the want for validation of my identity, or personal gain. 

So it stands that, I have really loved nobody. It also stands that nobody ever loved me.

Typing that feels so good. Nobody ever loved me. I always knew this somewhere. But I can say it as a literal fact now.

The only thing that has got me appreciation, love, attention. affection, respect, honor, difference and consideration are my properties. My body or the position that has fallen on my lap somehow. Nothing else. Nothing that was ever told about me was actually about me.

So the love is false on so many different levels. On one level, the one loved is not the actual person but the impression of the person who is loved. Not the actual ego but the idea of the ego that the other person perceives which in no way is related to the actual person.

All the better to see you!

On the other level, even that love is out of self interest.

So who loves whom? Nobody loves anyone. If you feel that you truly love someone, ask yourself, why don't you love someone else instead? 

Or better yet ask yourself, to what degree would the loved one have to change so that you would stop loving them?

Or even better, ask yourself, what makes your loved one special, so as to merit your attention?

When answered clearly, these questions never to fail to point out the falseness of these emotions. These are stories we make up to shield our actual loneliness. We believe in these stories dearly. And no belief is true.

Plainly said, it is a mental(and therefore hormonal) condition. It is a symptom of lies and mental illness of our culture and upbringing.

I don't want to give myself and anyone the impression that my words about this are in any way pessimistic. I just want to stop pretending what is not true, inauthentic and pretentious to be true and meaningful or even beautiful in some way. I want something that is real. If I just remove what is false and energy sapping from my being, I might just make way for something real to blossom.

Vacate my heart!

I must humbly ask everyone to kindly vacate my heart. I ask you today, for if you don't, things are going to get pretty ugly. I might have to force you out, or worse, I might have to burn the heart itself. This, I mention because I know that the entity that resides in my heart has no relation with the real you. What resides in there is just an impression, an ghost. The ghost is creating a haunting and making my life haunted. Therefore, I ask you, oh ghosts, to leave.

I no longer feel scared of you. You draw all your energy from me. From my body, from the attention I pay to things. Of all things, I pay attention to you, and that is what sustains you. That is the only thing that keeps you alive. In the end I will have to cut off that supply that allows you to exist.

So I am gently asking you to leave. I know you all by your names. I know what you stand for and if I don't, I sure the hell will find out.

I will begin by stopping to pay attention to you to see if you go away silently. If you don't, which I'm almost certain you wont, then I'll have to look at your significance more closely. I will look at your history and why you are important for me. I will address that need, or eliminate it. Then, I will, by looking at you clearly, look through you.

In the end, you, to me only exist because of me. To me, you are just a dream character. Just as insubstantial as my own being.

I don't fear the day you'll go away. My behavior has and always will be the same. In fact, your being in my heart, causes me being out of my original character. I do strange and awkward things then. If you're gone, I can go back to the normal me. The normal me is much better, than the one carrying the burden of you 24/7.

A carnage is coming. My heart is going to burn anyway. If you don't leave, you shall find yourself burnt with my heart. So leave, or don't, you're going anyway. It is just that it would be a lot more pleasant for me if I know you are gone prior to the burning.

Ohh, how will life be after you are gone. I won't miss you for sure. There is no missing you, for there was never a you. Tell me, when I had you in my heart, did you know it? Did you appreciate it? Even if you loved me, how did it ever happen to be of importance to you whether I loved you or not? If someone ever loved me, it wouldn't matter if I loved them back or not. So your existence is of no consequence in the real world. It is only a burden on me, and that's the be-all-end-all of it.

I am unspeakably happy, this day has come. The day I get to be courageous enough to make this declaration. I'm thankful of you're being here till today. I enjoyed the pain, the happiness, the faux-companionship, the crazy delusional thinking, and comfort that I had in your presence. But this moment demands some serious growing up. And no growth can take place without me getting rid of the tumor that you all have become.

Getting over it all

In the past few years, I have been trying to leave my beliefs behind me. I have been trying to leave my ego and fears and begin my life sans those.

I cannot judge how far I have come. I started circa the beginning of 2015. I do not know the exact time I started.

But the length of my journey might just be noted as theoretical and theological. I cannot say that much of it is real, in the sense that I still stand as a defined person. That egoic shell is still there.

I need to get personal. I cannot keep studying these books about the journey towards truth. It will lead me nowhere. What I really feel the urge to do is to have honest conversations with myself every day of my life until I have nothing else to tell myself.

I feel tired. My sickness has wreathed my muscles and made my body into a light weakling. I cough out of an empty chest. My physical condition leads me to feel more desperately of my situation. So I need to be a little honest with myself.

I apologize for my incoherence while writing this. But the self is incoherent and jittery and vague. This whole subject is like this. I can see no resolution. Off-course, there is none.

But what have I been doing till now since 2015? I really feel lost. Have I really looked into the reality of my being or have I just being dancing around the bush of concept. I guess, for the most part, I have been doing the latter. I there even a single concern that I had back then that I don't have now? How am I different a person today then I was then? Well, to be honest, I don't care about outer appearances that much today that I did back in those days. But beyond, I am still a scared person.

OH MY GOD. My journey has, I guess, begun NOW. Why am I not excited?