I had this story to tell, this story about us , all of us , all of us animate and inanimate , of all there ever was or there ever will be . I am high on a new found drug , relatively unknown to humans . I see visions in the night of me reaching out to a new reality .. the idea of me belonging to that position , in space and time fades , I feel eternal .. I feel more than a very complex organic machine .. I am blown at the thought that I can think about myself as an entity .. I am a whole and still a part of the whole .. Each thought that sits inside me is my own in one way and a combined effort of me and the surrounding invisible forces .. I tremble at the idea that how unimportant my existence is and yet not superfluous , and yet I am an unavoidable , essential product of the cosmic equations and then I think that everything that I see or don’t see .. every particle of air I breathe ,every perceivable or unimaginable particle that is there or has ever been , every beautiful indifferent night sky that I witness and every other beautifully glowing supernova or dead black holes , every fucking quark everywhere is a necessary product of the cosmic equations .. We all had to be here to make this story .. we are the only physical truths of this cosmic tale that is devoid of scale or sense and yet full of it everywhere ..
Do you also feel paralyzed when you look out from the window and see the world tearing into pieces? Ashes falling from the sky on the death of a star, on the death of a mind and on the dormancy that will follow for centuries. The ghosts of the past who fought for the azaad streets visit in silence and mourn over the sheer mockery of the same principles they stood for, all their lives. The saffron flames engulfing each and every shred of truth, burning on a hollow fuel of pride, and murdering every thing that appears different . The pathetic conceit in an identity becomes the worldwide wisdom and teaches its followers to fight for it, to lie for it and to kill for it. The clever orator is the new God of this land. He lies with conviction, lies with anger, lies with power. While the television blared out angry voices in a room devoid of thought, the clever orator was glorified and sold to angry flesh and bones searching for names to be more angry on, searching for an easy purpose to live by, looking for a simple philosophy to boast of. A new story is fabricated, a new history is constructed. The spoilt child rushes to his powerful father to crush those he can’t defeat. And thus justice becomes the whim of the powerful, the struggle becomes a drama for the spectators, the soldier becomes the pawn of the king, and alas the thinking mind becomes the blasphemous Satan.