Silence is...

mistaken to be a weakness and never seen as endurance. But is endurance only for the gullible and weak? I often wonder,

sought as a resort from the jarring madness that words are.Exorbitant vacations in the most exotic of locations can not match up to the respite from the need of conversation or mindless talk to keep up with the social pressure of networking.But is solitude only for the introspecting? I often wonder.

the laboratory of a mad genius and the perfect stillness that is before the most revolutionary of experiments are stirred in thought and then expressed.But is isolation only for the madmen? I often wonder.

the offence of a lone wanderer when the world calls to join in its material revelry and then blazes at them the sounds synthesized by echo in the hollow spaces that resound in pluralism of the crowd.But is the wilderness only for the fakir? I often wonder.

the indifference of a cynic when misplaced activism is eating into its own purpose by meddling with the jammed up cogs of the structure and in turn destroying what is left of them or empowering them by oiling their churning to be crushed under the implications.But is reason only for a philosopher to ponder?I often wonder.

the medium I chose to express what I can not put in words, it is heavy, it is meaningful , it is a pause, a much needed one. My words can be undermined my silence never taken for granted. But is silence only for the shaken, the broken, the suppressed and the cowards.You will know of what I often wonder.

Accounting for the losses to Friction.

Let's discuss the exhaustion I have come across in all these years. I feel like a steam engine coming to a halt .The chuk-chuk train that let's out a hiss of exhaustion as it approaches some station that is en-route it's destination.

My destination was defined as something beyond infinity, a dot on the horizon that I have been chasing, My eyes towards the sky, people think I am counting the million specks of dust that float in the trace of the sunlight. They say I am aimless, they would, they do not see my destination. What I have envisaged through the hopelessness of the clouds, the gold of the sand and the chaos of the waves. How would they ever spot that one dot that I define as my destination.

All through my life I have been warned of the non existence of a utopia, the illusion of a mirage, the fact that infinity is uncountable (not that I am counting my way to it). All through my life I have been busy making a realization of what I was told is impossible.  I tell them I hold the dot in the palm of my hands that make an enclosed circle around that dot. I have been happy rounding of the distances and covering them and making that circle at each milestone of my life.I have been happy experiencing infinity.

Now I am exhausted, because my experiences I have begun to feel are mine alone. I do not have anyone to share the heights, depths, understanding, love or passion of them with.
Now standing at a certain station that is en-route I feel exhausted. Though every station en-route has refueled me and I have felt the charge building in steam and the lost being found. Lets see how long before I resume my journey to the shore and then beyond, tracing the dot in the horizon.

Consideration

Spontaneity urges me to pen this thought down. Hence it is my own, Stemming from the authenticity that is much branched, twisted and debated. I write today with the absolute indifference that I hold towards the 'other'. Neither my despise, nor my delight reconfirm my thoughts today. Should I even label these thoughts as thoughts? NO. They are merely the ingrained instincts that have overflowed to fill in the void.

In emptiness have I realized what fulfills me . My essence or my existence? It defies it all today. The theories the philosophies all kept at the brink of understanding. this is just as I am.I write and I write, Not merely words that spot a blank page but engraved inscriptions of my being. Is there anything at all that I have put to consideration? the norms , the belief, the questions, the doubts.Now I pause.

Why? this pause breaks it all. I  am tempted to label it as authenticity still. The Frommean way exists. It says consideration would also lead to the same conclusions.I doubt. The seed of Consideration plants the weeds that rot the oak of all my belief.