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I Killed the Golden Goose : A COLLECTION OF THOUGHTS, THOUGHTLESSNESS, SILENCES, POEMS & SOME ‘SHOT’ STORIES
Rasal
Top 10 Best Quotes
“To do what I wish to. To not do what I do not wish to. The freedom to be where I want to be – to go wherever the thoughts go. And, the freedom to not be where I do not want to be: Happiness! Every human deserves that freedom. The freedom to be free even while alive – Nirvana, Moksha, Paradise and such are for the dead. The freedom to not kill yourself for your soul to rest in peace. You realise there is no magical figure to earn, until which you put off living your dreams. Just as there is no right age to be true to one’s self, or to living one’s life. You realise that the magic is in the living, not in any particular figure. And that the best age is your current age; and the best time – now.”
“… I am at best an ‘arranger’ of sorts. Someone who gets lucky at times in arranging those meaningless letters in a sensible pattern; letters that have in them the power of endless possibilities. End of it, despite my best efforts, some of my writings may still remain as disjointed and incoherent as they are on a QWERTY keyboard. And that to me is the rationale for the name of this blog: Worthless Whispers. To sum up, I am like the curious kid who runs his tender fingers on the melodiously mysterious piano, unwittingly hitting the right notes, alternating between music and noise, as if his fingers are guided by the will of the invisible.”
“ou feel like the man who woke up with an uncommon, if not melodious, voice in the land of the deaf. There is no one to hear you. Even if they wanted, they could not. You start wondering if this really is a meaningless blessing, or a meaningful curse. For, even while we can pretend to write for ourselves in large part, we also wish to be read by the world. And that world hates to read. A certain Kafka had to die before he was read. An uncertain Nietzsche had to pay to be published. An honest Bukowski remained hated for the good part of his life. A frustrated Kaczynski had to blow up people and buildings in the US for his thoughts to get published. Our own Amish was rejected more times than there ever will be sequels to his books. Why should someone like you and I even attempt writing then? I do not know, even now. Sometimes it helps not to know all the answers. We can skip some questions. Kill a few, and move on.”
“[Kerala; Communism, ballots over bullets… Promises, experiments, egalitarianism… Last remaining memory of a shared dream… Beautiful, regretful… Beautiful dreams disappearing on waking up to realities… Realities, regrets that remain… Dialectics eschewed, materialism that remains… These villages are notorious for infanticide, foeticide, STDs, malaria, TB and the more rampant malnourishment, poverty and casteism. All of it killed its people. Along with snake bites, sorcery and quackery. These are the little miracles that my kind take for granted, for we believe we are born with certain entitlements. We fail to see the miracles. Maybe it is for this reason there aren’t many rationalists and atheists hailing from the houses of the poor.”
“We are all that. A summation of the could haves. A result of the choices not made, as much as of the choices made.”
“Wandered I have at the Kumbh, seeking salvation from the bondages of a painful past Dipped in its holy waters with a million sinners, cleansing me of the sin of having failed in love Burnt in the eternal pyres of Manikarnika, and of my mind, memories of a grim yesterday, and hopes of a colourful tomorrow Offered my self to the Lord of death, hoping to be reborn at the charnel grounds Scaled I have the mighty Himalayas, seeking solace in its serene peaks; Peaks with herbs so potent that they burned many a man’s grief into smokes of joy, With heights so cold that it froze rivers over, and with it, a man’s burning tears, too. In your love I learnt that the salvation, the hope, and the serenity they all offered, was right there where I was Or maybe, this realisation is the blessing these places offer a man – for hither, yonder and beyond.”
“Travels that remind you that if life is indeed a journey, it is also best enjoyed if one travels light. Not lugging around unnecessary baggage; of emotions and possessions. Travels that teach you that when in pain, the only place to run to for a solution is within you. And not to magical mountains or ‘mystical savannahs’; if you know what I mean. For, none exist.”
“The sound of silence was beginning to get louder, and familiar. And I was deeply in love with it. Not only does it not involve religious practices, it makes you shed all religious affiliations for ten days. What you are left with is your bare breath. That becomes the only thing you focus on – your personal rosary. There are no pictures of gurus, or even of the Buddha himself. There are no personalised gods or its dubious derivates – dogmas, or godmen – to prostrate before. No hugs, kisses, threads, amulets, satins or holy ash. No holy ‘trap’ of devices designed for an instant osmosis of blessings. No grand trickery that makes life here a hell in promise of a heaven there. It shows us the same arduous path that some of the enlightened men have walked. Men who can only show the path and are not the destination; where they communed with their truth, or, for lack of a better word, their God, in silence. The choice is left to us, to walk, stroll, stray, or squat on that path. [Many men; Ab to Za, all those alphabets and all the other men in between… Same grand truth, revealed in parts… Same path, seemingly different… Same destination…. No single path.] But Vipassana does not offer us the easier path of pleading, coaxing, extorting or seducing such men for easy blessings. It nudges you to start walking. To be your own blessing. To create your own miracles.”
“The sound of silence was beginning to get louder, and familiar. And I was deeply in love with it. I stopped being mute, and became dumb again. There are no pictures of gurus, or even of the Buddha himself. There are no personalised gods or its dubious derivates – dogmas, or godmen – to prostrate before. No hugs, kisses, threads, amulets, satins or holy ash. No grand trickery that makes life here a hell in promise of a heaven there. It shows us the same arduous path that some of the enlightened men have walked. Men who can only show the path and are not the destination; where they communed with their truth, or, for lack of a better word, their God, in silence. The choice is left to us, to walk, stroll, stray, or squat on that path. [Many men; Ab to Za, all those letters of alphabets and all the other men in between… Same grand truth, revealed in parts… Same path, seemingly different… Same destination…. No single path.] But Vipassana does not offer us the easier path of pleading, coaxing, extorting or seducing such men for easy blessings. It nudges you to start walking. To be your own blessing. To create your own miracles.”
“Tears, glistening like crystals under the dazzle of bright lights, appeared on her almost lifeless eyes – eyes that have not yet dried up, despite the copious amount that had flowed through them over the years. When life gives you certain experiences, it creates in you a volcano of unending grief. All that you wish is for this volcano to erupt once, so violently and uncontrollably that it would eventually turn into an island of tranquillity amidst the unhappy seas of your heart. But in a world that loves to shackle even your tears, these dormant volcanoes erupt only in spurts, forcing from their depths an uncontrollable flow of molten lava, or at times milder geyser springs, in the rare silences of your private space.”
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Book Keywords:
love, communism, wanderings, atheism, writing, travel, break-free, tears, impositions, literary, silence, authors-on-writing, deep-thoughts, casteism, life-quotes, transformation, writer-life, life, humor, vipassana, poetry, solitude, pain, freedom, grief, author-quotes, self-discovery, meditation