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There are two approaches to treat my writings-first one, expecting consistency in thoughts and themes is bound to fail in its efforts through and through–the second, much like life itself can be treated as a testament of varying moods and themes. For example, last year, around this time-I hated Satan whereas I am in love with him this time around. My views on things change very often and they often reflect movement of stars as I find myself very susceptible and permeable to energies around me. Defining ‘me’ could be difficult and disengaging but it’s enough to say that there is no consistent personality as amalgamation of many energies in an equilibrium to environment operates as identities in various persons. There are people who know that they do nothing and there are people who think they do everything and among those two extremes there are most who think they do some things and some other things just happen. I don’t know much about the game of life but I seem to side with existential thinkers who advocate that meaning is created in life by us–that there is no absolute meaning.
Waiting to find Truth and then communicating it with others is futile because Truth can’t be expressed in words and can’t be found in words. The purpose behind writing is not to be absolutely sure about things you write about even if you write nonfiction.
At all levels I find a power struggle ongoing. This will-to-power, this manipulation of energies subtle and gross is very quintessence of design in life. The outer reflection in form of various struggles and wars merely follows the supra consciousness which is at war with itself. The power struggles are very life of life and without struggles no peace can be found. Flow of life is consciousness transcending time by increasing its vibrancy. Time is the ultimate challenge, ultimate illusion, ultimate truth, devourer and mover of things. All creativity, competition and success are created by the healthy forces of time as are all conflicts, stresses, illnesses and pangs which haunt.
As peeling layers of onion leaves nothing but void so does peeling layers of psyche–there is a masquerade and no real faces are to be found behind all those masks. All sounds come from one source–all chitchat, mishmash, laughter, cries and agonies flow from the same source creating a dazzling glamorous show for someone which lasts for sometime and then fades.