A sattvik's reset button

"It's okay". I kept telling myself. I didn't know who I was trying to convince. Whatever this is, was really far from okay. And the worst part was, it was not like me. I don't get possessive, I don't get frustrated, I don't get this far off from shanti. The very fact that I'm using the word far so much meant that I was bothered by the distance between us. Now I'm analysing myself. I have to snap out.
The bucket was almost full of water. I glanced at the bathroom door one last time, making sure it was locked. I got down on my knee. My shirtless body had goosebumps everywhere. It was cold. My hands grip the rim of the bucket tightly.. Water was oscillating, and touching my fingers, like small waves. Waves. The Ocean. Beach. My girl. My mind wandered off to where and with whom it longed to be. I couldn't let that happen.
Deep breath. The cold water hit my face, making its way into my nose, ears, stinging my eyes a little.
I scream. Vent. Let it all out as a million bubbles underwater, that kissed my cheeks as they moved to the top, bursting, releasing my anger, frustration, and grief.
Drying up, I couldn't focus on anything but how cold it was. I sit down, cross legged. I shut my eyes. I was breathing fast. I slowed it down. I started hearing my heart. It started to slow down too. I was back. Back to my ground state, back to shanti, back to my sattvik self.

Life is a beach

The moment just before the wave hits the land. A very brief spell of absolute silence...waiting, asking, to be corrupted by the warm sound of water splashing on the sand, rolling over each grain, foaming, frothing, orgasming... and satisfying her thirst.
The water sweeps over my feet like a cold blanket. I tell her it feels like holding hands with a lover. She smiles, with her eyes reflecting each one of the million colours of the sunset sky. She takes my hand in hers, kisses it, and breathes me in.

The sea feels like the future, unknown and full of surprises, bringing everything from priceless pearls to rotten corpses. The land is the past, holding everything we created, the illusion of security and order we lose ourselves in, forgetting that all of it is at the mercy of the sea.
And the beach is the present. Constantly changing, always clean, always happy. For those who walk on it, the waves keep cleaning the path ahead of them, decorating the sand with solid shadows of seashells, and stones that tell stories a million years old. Staying in the present will give one perpetual happiness.
And the sky stands above everything, majestic and magical. To an aesthete, it is reflecting everything on earth. To a saint, the earth is its reflection, I feel like it's all the same. It's all beautiful.

Exhumation

I’m walking. I don’t know where I’m headed, but for reasons logic can’t decipher, I know I’m on the right path. Over reliance on logic is something that slowed down my journey for the most of its initial half. It had trapped me in a vortex of contradictions. Round and round, but never to the centre, blinding me from new dimensions from where I now see the bigger picture. I’ve broken down my walls one by one, untangled myself from this web of fiction that drives a modern man’s life.
I had to unlearn. Burn the love coated insecurities I inherited from my overprotective parents. Decondition myself from the damage done by a demyelinating educational system, a dying environment, and a conceptualized reality.
 Pathology, derived from the latin word for suffering, not just describes the pathological ego, which is the root of all suffering, but also the soil it is rooted in, the society. The process of my journey started with me unearthing the person I really am from the grave they made for me in this soil. Society is the pathology. A pathology which sociopaths are immune to.
My entire life’s suffering, like everyone else’s came when things didn’t happen the way I imagined it will, in the past or the future. I was stuck in the inertia of the  society which  traps us between memories of the past and an imagination of the future. All my problems went away when I woke up to the now.
 We are all birds who were taught to walk. Our sufferings end when we unlearn everything we were taught, let go of everything our minds created that weigh us down, and become aware of what we are capable of. Then we’ll know about the wings we've had all this while. Then, we’ll fly.

Waking up

You are the universe experiencing itself. Everything outside you is a projection of what is within you. And art, is putting a mirror in front of you. Recreating physically what's already a reflection. It's an outlet. A vent. A spiritual orgasm that comes when we create visuals instead of consuming them.
Everything around you is a result of humans cooperating on a scale no other species can even fathom. But the skill you possess is not any superior to that of a caveman. 7 billion people believing in fictional entities like money, religion and limited liability corporations makes our modern lifestyle possible.
But art is independent of social boundaries. It can be a tool for radical self- expression, a stage for bohemian ideas, and an escape from the mundane.
The consumerist society enslaves the mind, forces it to perform so below its capabilities. We don't even realise what we're capable of and this is unfair.
It is time to detox from our screens, to stop pretending to be someone you're not and embrace the beauty of the world, outside your comfort zones , free from the illusion of order and security. We need to unlock our minds, set them free and we'll attain satiety to this hunger we try so desperately to overcome.
The only way out, is in.

Analgesia

Happy memories are our analgesic. We are so addicted to creating good memories that we forget to live them. We put capturing memories above experiencing them.  Memories are our escape mechanism for the mediocrity we tolerate everyday.  Someone free from the gravity of what's considered normal  doesn't need validation, doesn't feel anxious. They can stay in the present. Live the moment without thinking of the memory. One becomes free from attachment, devoid of desire, and closer to nirvana.

Underwater

The fall. The sudden sense of freedom, from gravity itself. You transcended my black and white shield and freed all my colours. I didn’t have to play games because the real me is what you wanted, and you dragged me closer with an eerie cosmic vibrance. You were a mess, a broken mirror where I saw a past version of myself. Your eyes were blackholes that could swallow stars whole, what hope did I have but to fall?

The splash. First contact with the warm comforting water. Your fingers intertwined with mine and I felt home. Your lips touched mine and suddenly life made sense. I knew then that you were worth a broken heart. The water was all that my soul was thirsty for. I found feelings I thought had died in me.

I went deeper. Falling into the beautiful chaos that you are. You are a masterpiece made with broken crayons. I saw the beauty in the dark cold corners of your mind. When I hold your face in my hands, does my eyes tell you how precious you are?

I wonder. I wonder if your thoughts wander to me like mine does to you. I wonder if your heart does what mine does when we’re near, I wonder if you feel what I feel when I look at your smile. I wonder if you could be mine, if you want us to last like I do. I drown in the ocean of my own thoughts. My mind kept meandering  to my angel with a broken wing. I was breathing underwater.

Love

It is not a few micrograms of chemicals engineered to provoke human genomic expansion. Nor is it all the things you fake and pretend for the moments of satiety and pleasure that has a bubble's lifespan. It is not the tool for public validation nor the refuge to your loneliness. And yet it is all of these things, and so much more.
It is the reason to wake up every morning. It is what puts a smile on your face as you drift off to sleep. It is the jolt of happiness every message tone brings. It is what gives purpose to an otherwise meaningless existence. It is the force that breaks the walls we built to keep away the truth. Wings to all the fishes swimming against the flow. Redemption to the ectops of modern society. It fuels your love for yourself, makes you immune to depression and inspires you to be the better person she beleives you to be. It is bliss, it is  nirvana, It is love.

Pain of existence

Ignorance is bliss. But the sad part is, the opposite is also true. Once one learns about the universe and is aware of the existence of a higher self which perceives time differently, one finds himself detached from everything human. One becomes lonely. 

Human mind becomes self destructive when it becomes aware of reality. That's why people with depression score higher in tests of realism, and intelligence is positively correlated with mental illness and suicide.

I  like to believe that everyone goes through some amount of existential crisis at one point in life. Imagine someone who exists on a line, in a hypothetical one dimensional universe. He is unaware of the concept of breadth or height. That is how we perceive time. That is why we believe that the past, present and the future occur in that order, like points on a line.

The concept of multi dimensional time is first seen in vedic literature. It's very difficult for someone to grasp their head around this idea but once we do, it'll change everything.

 On one hand this eliminates the fear of the future, and the anxiety of the past. And people even attain enlightenment and embark on a pursuit of eternal cosmic happiness. But there is also a middle ground. I find myself unable to be happy with materialism but neither do I see why I should spend my time seeking spiritual happiness instead. 

Human relationships seem meaningless, love sounds like a joke and life itself looks like a constant process of dying. Nothing we do matter and all of us will be forgotten after a few generations. Nihilism is the only philosophy that makes sense to someone who has become aware of the nature of the universe. Our only option is to embrace the pandemonium. Forget that the universe is just a cold uncaring void and keep ourselves busy with the nonsense until we eventually die.