The Fit of Oblivion
Until now my whole attention was besieged with the dream of today. How tranquil and comfortable was my dream, when I crossed with a flying jump the mountainous rivulet.
When we are actually having a dream, we cannot realise that it is unreal and untrue.
Relaxation occurring in the body, which is a world in itself—in its own shape and hue—and by giving a boundless expansion to itself even within the limited space, spreads out external sights in the infinite vastness, like the world itself even though the background of this expansion is quite limited, despite its spreadout-ness in unlimited space, but still, is it real?
Despite being real, isn’t it unreal?
Despite being false, isn’t it untrue?
I feel as though:
The deep, cooperation of the trees are inviting me to enjoy the warmth of some deep spell, under the supervision of the Sun; but my shy existence dare not raise its eyes to cast a glance at the trees. Therefore, Beautiful is the moment when the tree becomes my lover and wishes to provide the warmth of its lap to me!
Blossomed in the grip of very fine susceptibilities, the intensity of my unusual experience makes my existence lifeless and inert which:
Has experience but cannot express.
Has its grasp but not the catch.
Has the zest but not the cheers.
My existence, standing in very subtle moments, begins to watch the visible world as though it was another dream. Today is an accumulation of moments gone by; where have the past moments gone? Where are the shades of the past moments? The moments of today will also disappear like the dreams in the times to come. Are all the present day occurrences merely dreams?
Caught in this deep but calm feeling, my existence suggests the need of fortitude and contentment, even in my convulsive breaths, because:
Thoughts and feelings are enjoying the Beautiful appearance of their living state; while a part of Life, in fact, is unreal, seen by opening the account book of the moments passed in the state of non-experience as well as the depth of its unreality. It begins to make them a means for the understanding of the quintessence of Life.
What is the worth of Life without feelings and perceptions?
What is this Life which is passed without experience?
On the world stage, at one place, Life is fading, at another, is expanding. If Life is spreading out like spring, then humanity, being caught in the fog of circumstance, cannot enjoy it. If Life is in the moments of its fading, then human’s call carries little sense. In this dark night of greed and attachment, no one sees the cool Light of the moon and the stars of feelings and perceptions. The consciousness of the cosy fold of the vastness and grandeur of the heavenly Life, by inviting through the call of Quietude, longs to provide the progressive warmth of its identity; but lying in the fold of Ego, my contracted being goes on snoring in the soothing comfort of its dark night.
When the emotive moments, lost in trifles, take their flight in the windstorm of greed and attachment—I cannot anticipate. Then, as the stamp of the moments gone by take the being in its grasp, those feelings and perceptions will not be traced out despite effort. Concealed in the layers of Life, the meanings of every moment construct a new world for every being. These very constructive moments, by becoming a wakeful dream, swallow up the speed of Time. This dream then becomes confined to the thoughts and reflections, dragging our breaths.
In the narrow limited circle of Ego every individual regards itself as perfect, takes its individuality to be Beautiful, and rightfully watches it with joy and pride.
It is true that, just as there is in the account of everybody’s impressions a variety of thoughts and a flux of varied feelings—in the same way, they all taste the sweet dish of their environment through the layers of their individual angle of vision.
But have you never seen the trees who have their gaze focussed upon you?
Have you never perceived Beauty in the bluishness of the Sky?
Have you never seen the watchful stare of this Sun?
Why?
The trees are only trees for all, why?
The Sun is the common source of Light for all, why?
Air, the Sky, mountains, the Moon, and the Stars—all are one and the same for all. Despite their limit and individual splendor, their identity is common to all and in the same shape.
Why is it so?
Then isn’t the limited world we see only a dream?
Should I say, in fact, this materialism itself is a dream—the dreams which we have with open eyes? For today, there is no layer around me of a dream which looks so real as to cause an acute, restless longing in me, excite an acute craving, and compel me to devote all my moments to it.
I feel on all sides around me an expansion which looks like an unreal dream; the experience of which stands like a formula of a Beautiful ascetic path for the development of a unique and rare Life and the aroma of Silence, settled in the being, is stringing this existence into a melodious tune and prompting it towards the true quintessence.
Today, in this experience, even my own individuality appears before me like a dream. In this new manifestation the aspiration of a new Life bows its head before the new Life.
Life new but body the same
Feelings and perceptions new but world the same
This newness brought to a stand still the speed of the old mode of thought and the wanton glow of feelings and emotions. In this new pause all sights became a delusion and began to tread up existence and suck my breaths.
In consequence, the seeing capacity of my understanding became sharper so that I could now visualize the healthy feelings and perceptions of the distant world. I then glanced all around, up and down; my experience screamed,
“Shaheer, keeping alive is a mere delusion!”
Existence is there, but merely exists. Amidst the stormy speed of my thoughts, the destructive spate of emotions and in the fragrant reverberation of the delusion of ego, I, and mine, I should move on taking the lamentation of Death and the joy of birth for my personal elements.
Why?
Whereas…