Contradictions

There is no contradiction in an oak tree wanting to be an elephant. Because even if the oak tree is huge and has a trunk, he cannot be an elephant. Similarly, if a dog tries to be a horse by running fast and trying to whinny, he is still known as a dog. But, only a man can take any form by his actions. Even though, on the insides, he may be what he is.

If a thought enters my mind, I observe it necessitating me into taking an action. An action, which I observe myself taking, even though I had decided against taking it.

Even when the sun is farthest in the evening during the sunset, I see him disappearing really fast beneath the horizon in a matter of minutes. Maybe, he is not immune to gravity either.

Even clouds cast shadows as they move through the sky. Neither the clouds are permanent not the shadows they cast. I always wonder, if the clouds do come down and join the ocean, will they become as permanent as the ripples are.

When I started writing, someone told me I write because I am sad. On the contrary, writing is a happy process for me. Maybe, the sadness disappears in the ink. I always wonder whether the same ink makes others as happy as it made me?

It is ironic that a poem penned by anything but a turbulent heart cannot move a leaf, let alone a soul.

They say in astrology that an afflicted moon makes a man insane. But, it also shows that great men and women who we admire, have the most severe of afflictions. Even the history books tell the same.

In other birth, words must have been a mirrors. Every time, I had to stare at words on a page, they have always reflected something to muse about.

One of the biggest contradictions to me is how I have walked into traps knowing that they are traps but believing that they are not. It happens every time. It is funny.

Meditation is not sitting with your eyes closed. It is just an act of observing with your eyes open. When you sit with your eyes closed, you get illusions. When you observe yourself with your eyes open, you see the illusions.

It surprises me that a simple act of observing myself, a very personal process, manifests as words on a paper; this is not so personal.