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The candle does sin when it is shy to give away its light: # 4


Zero



What does Shaheer wish to say? What she cannot?
Today I wish to amuse myself with entreaties so that the grasp of this pitiable plight be loosened.
I am getting deeply absorbed in this descending life. This inclination is in prudent gloom, where every aspect mingles with non-partiality and non-partiality mingles with partiality. Every aspect of life spreads in all directions as though I see infinite dimensions all around me.
I am so deeply interested in understanding life that this thirst itself becomes my life. I see around me this vast expansion which, despite existing, is non-extant. These words, I am writing so rapidly—what bodiless shape do they possess, I cannot convey. Why am I writing? What am I writing? Why is this writing taking place? What is behind all this?
When life is stagnant, moments are stagnant, and then who is in the state of motion? Do these words have any momentum or not? I feel existence in these words. This feeling is neither painful nor comfortable; it does not seem to betray any wonder or surprise. This feeling has a strange attraction and is a mysterious perception which contains an infinite variety of happenings.
I know that whatever is transpiring was bound to happen. For its happening was to become the cause of my obliteration. The travel of these words, though, give the consciousness of inert motionlessness; yet it is true to say, it is not motionlessness or inertia but these words contain my tears of experience, the secrets of my awareness which will become a thirsty pilgrim, a beautiful source of peace, comfort, and mainstay.
Today words in Holy Scriptures are my support or refuge. Above all, my courageous firmness and ambitious aspiration are at work—it makes Krishna, Buddha, and Jesus milestones. Behind the journey of these words stands a longing desire—everyone may realize that:
Everyone can become a scientist and God. For in the spreadoutness of this vast life whatever is happening has a possibility of occurrence in every single individual. The journey of these words is only up to the extent that they are shapes of the vast Creation and can become helpful. This writing, despite being valuable, has no value. For every thirst has its own accord which finds out the source where it can quench itself.
What additional words can I write?
This ‘what’ conceals the unintelligible story of life. When the understanding of life tends to give an individual its own understanding, Religion takes its birth and with it, creativity is born as well. When life begins to fill with the juice of experience it acquires speed; this speed can be constructive as well as artistic.
When these words appear on paper, my existence proceeds towards the next experience. These words conceal themselves into the profound awareness of life wishing to convey the glimpse of the Life Supreme.
With these words, I part company with experiences for the understanding of life in such that it begins with mystery and ends in mystery.
Then what can one do for others?
‘Yes’ and ‘No’ are the two aspects of awareness which start their voyage in myriad shapes. The Universe is an enigma and we are the pieces of this enigma. Every piece contains the totality of this enigma, every piece loses itself in isolation, and the figure is incomplete without each piece.
This expansive game is being played, but only seen in silence! This big game is played in deep silence, but I describe it in words. Thus, these words and this silence are the shapes of the same state of consciousness because every word is silent and silence is the feeling of every word.
In every ‘Yes’ and ‘No,’ in every human, and in every direction and pause—in all works, the same state of consciousness constrains and restricts me. In the same way, if I cast a careful glance at the human world, I find that every individual has his/her own unique beauty, its own unique value. Their conduct in life reveals their sanskaras and their daily life expresses their longing desires. In this special game, no one is ahead of anyone and no one is lagging behind. For sensibility tinges everyone in their own hue. It is a game of shapes and colours spreading in feelings and perceptions, pregnant with experience. It brings relief to bodies and statures lying in front or behind. At every turn of life I have considered myself lagging behind all others.
Even today I find others surpassing me in many virtues, in some feelings, and in some understanding. For several feelings and perceptions which I have today I found long ago in many others.
Did I keep standing behind others?
It is a very good riddle, which I can solve only today. Is there no one above, below, to the right, or left of me? It is not a race; here everyone has his or her own special identities that are complete in this sense. This truth is incomplete; for it is only a part of the universe. Everyone has to settle ultimately in the centre of the universe; only then will the centre of this puzzle become complete. However, this play of rotundity is very delicate and attractive. I feel that these cycles of life, which rotate our existence in gyration, turn from one into many deep within us. These variations form circles of limits and constraints to keep up their identities. Both wrangles and disputes, envy and jealousy succeed in keeping people apart; later, this distance, giving birth to numerous direction, brings relief into countless directions and makes this expansion more and more spacious.
Is it a fact that this expansion goes on spreading?
Perhaps or perhaps not. Both possibilities are here, where everything merges with everything else. They are all in mutual cooperation, deepening our experience so much that I find no way to annihilate myself. It is hard to swallow such a big truth; as this truth despite doing nothing, not only proves an individual wrong, but also proves they are living in delusion.
Then this existence seems to be zero and, despite having everything, is filled with the sense of oblivion. Today, my own self looks like this awareness of nothingness, which also hides existence within it. I stand in the valley of a very deep and vast riddle with my breaths stifled and a pause in my eyes watching the strange and the fantastic; the unusual movement of my hand while writing and providing a proof of my profound life becomes a gesture pointing out the exposition of this experience.
Looking at the vast and pervasive structure of this game today, my existence calls for the Master of this game, “Well, throw your own pawn which flatters this existence with the sense of I’ness. I am not daring enough to become a participant in this game.”
When, despite existing, I am non-extant, then what play can I participate in?
My state is just as some stone or pebble on the playing-board which remains lying in some corner. Despite being a part of the game, I only watch the game. Nevertheless, I have no interest in this game or in my own individual self. For, today, I am lost in my own experience.
What is there to do?
This small question comprehends the full circle of the universe. What it ought to be will be determined by my penance and ascetical practice that converts silence into fortitude presenting this journey in the shape of zero. This, despite being nothing, is the greatest unit of this creation, and, despite having everything, fills adulthood with feelings and sentiments.
Today, my problem, my existence, my mode of thought, and my every step is a penance for me. For to understand this game and life’s refusal to become a partner in the game, is a most tender and critical moment. Perhaps it is the occurrence of death in life.
Live, why live? Live for what?
Die, why die? Die for what?
Then:
Today, what does this living and dying?

Today, these two are only two aspects of the same consciousness and also have submitted themselves into Zero.
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