They say, the world is our idea. That is to say that it is a construct of our sensations and perceptions, and memory as well. This is the subjective view of the objective world. The world exists objectively on its own and subjectively as well, nothing comes into fray. But in absence of our perceptions and sensations, does it manifest simply because of its presence and existence? Its being to becoming is rather conditional, conditional in the sense that certain happenings and events in its very existence happen to be the brainwork of our perceptions and sensations. Otherwise, it remains dead as dodo in its very existence. Without our perceptions and cognitive faculty the world exists in way that it does not exist. This is like being-in-itself.

Our mind, on the other hand, remains as usual with or without the pre-existence of the world, remains active and sensitive as ever in our spatio-temporal world, 'more ghostly than a ghost'. But is that really so? If there is no world or no world of physical objects, can our mind exist at all? How will it exist without the world being perceived by it, without anything for its food for reflection? And our mind too cannot survive without its reflective food. This heavenly 'manna' is quintessential for its existence. As if, the world is our mind's one and only 'fodder' and our mind its one and only 'cannon' to burn the Promethean fire of knowledge. This 'canonical' message is very important in establishing the embedded relationship between the world and mind or for that matter the mind.

Mind and matter never exists in virtual duality, rather they both complete an integral whole. They are always comprehensively in elastic relationship with each other. Here, the Cartesian duality does not hold water. In the idealist worldview, this material or the physical world has just been constructed and construed in the mind's view, as it were it has been at the cost of taking the human self to a seventh heaven where only mind can dictate terms without giving a due credit to the world of matter. On the other hand, in Marx's materialist worldview, there had an unqualified preponderance over matter where matter enslaves mind and mind just plays second fiddle to matter. From both of these counts, it can be inferred that mind is out of the world, never a part of it or never with it and both are mutually exhaustive and both the epistemology subscribe to the duality principle of De'Cartes in one way or another.

Let us take a quick look at what Erwin Schrodinger has to say regarding mind and matter duality : "Mind has erected the objective outside world of the natural philosopher out of its own stuff. Mind could not cope with its gigantic task otherwise than by the simplifying device of excluding itself - withdrawing from its conceptual creation. Hence the latter does not contain its creator." He also said that the localization of the personality, of the conscious mind, inside the body is only symbolic and just for an aid and extension of practical use. So, as per Schrodinger's contention, mind cannot be left behind the body of the natural world so much so that mind is an integral component of the body-world.

Yes, the world is our mind and the mind is our world. In the ideas of the world, our mind is nourished and nurtured, and in the mind's vision and perception the world or for that matter, the matter-world gets life and is born and reborn in this world. Otherwise, it remains dead camouflaged within itself, none and nothing to wake it or none and nothing to conceive its existence. And who is there or what is there to conceive our own existence? It is mind only what reminds us that we live in our ideas and the idea is our world. And whatever we do or think is a reflection of the world, the world that nourishes us both physically and epistemologically.

Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Opinion [t]

Like a thin line of marching clouds
Letters follow letters in a leafy image of procession
Images of silence drop dead in torrential rains
The images that break open my heart of lengthening silence
I wake up in a labyrinth of melting shadows
I hear the sounds of the depth of night
I see lesser moments of dancing time
Knocking at my closer circle of whispering senses
A white swan resounds the voice of angelic words
Words resembling words in withering images
The images that trickle in millions of colours
Blooming and blushing in rumbling silences
Fears and cheers paint a silver lining on a coastal voyage
As if to bleed my heart in ecstatic pains
And I writhe with the baby's first cry into the twilight delight
And a poem is born in words and images out of all seasons.

A poem is born out of suchness of all seasons
A poem is born when hunger stokes fire out of all reasons
A poem is born when my unwept pains speak so cryingly
When love says love to love one and all so endearingly
A poem is born when my silence whispers something to tear apart
As if million muffled voices will roar into a laughter for a start
A poem is born when cry of unborn pleasures resound
When shocks of anguished pains rebound all around
A poem is born out of the prophetic voices from the yonder
When sighs of the shackles all at once burst asunder.

And sighs of the shackles will die down
When letters of love and equality will resemble a word
And the words will paint the whole sky in million colours
A silver lining will blze the trail of unbound darkness
A poem will be born out of all the bones and skins of me
And I will write a symphony of love, O My Beloved.

Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t]

It is deep as the ocean
It is like the expanse of the whole sky
It is as high as the length of the gateway of heaven
It is life in flesh and blood encompassing celestial beauty
It is life all in one as easy as the meaning of a child
Prophesying all truths of days and nights' wisdom in sanctity
It is truth unwrapped in meanings as easy as the complex whole
As easy as the deep sighs of a mother's soulful cry
When the baby's first cry measures the glory of time in eternity
The eternal pleasure that beckons the limelight of life.
What is this life that means a part into the elements of nature?
What is this life that means deeds with a mission universal?
This life means all a lesser thing in God's design
This life is an eternal bond to the ecology of the complex whole
It is life that enhances life into life
As easy as when a life upholds the sunshine of the millions
It is life that is delved deep into the mystery of life
It is life as big as the rise and fall of times and tides
As easy as the lapses of every passing moment
As deep as the depth of all cosmic hopes and desires.
What is the meaning of all
If there is no way to salvage pride and glory of life?
If there is no ends to go after life?
It is life to go after life
As life is the full measure of life
As life is the justice of universal life
As life is as big as the cosmic bowl
As deep as the expansive sky
And when life has no more meaning to breath fire
Life becomes as easy a prey as the lengthening shadow of death.

Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t]

If you ever die
If you at all die from me
Looking at my longing eyes
In guise of a mystic veil
Dead drop at the twilight hours
White longish fangs
Of the piercing moments
Will unfurl its wings of fire
Setting sail in an invisible gondola
At long last to carry you home
To the isle of your birth

As you never leave me not
Even if you ever die at all from me
I will stand upon the deck of noontide
All alone in my aloneness
Staring vaguely at the rushing gondola
Surfing invisibly away from me
Tearing apart the veil of grazing mist
At the twilight hours casting spell on me
To diminish myself into you
In a shroud of love and longing
As if you never died away from me
In my longing eyes for you, only for you

And like The Prophet beloved
Prophesying on the blue mountain
From his never ending well
Of wisdom depthless and deathless
I will remember you as silently
As the sound of piercing darkness
And I will remember your heart
As saying for ever to me, only to me:

“A little while,
A moment of rest upon the wind,
And another woman will bear me.”

(The italic quotation is from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet)

Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t]

I think who I am
What I am here for in this wonderland
What is there between you and me
Wherefrom we have come to this circle of reason
I think what you are to me
And why I have been thrown into this orb of wilderness
I do not know what why I am in quest of a cosmic soul
What are you to play the rule of the game
You ask your knowledge what you cannot think
As I ask my conscience how to reach beyond the consequence
We do not know what is to be and what is not to be
We do not know ourselves as we think we are strangers
As if we are strangers to one and all wandering
We all wander suffering the pains of existence all alone
You never know when my wandering thoughts will cast spell over you
Our thoughts flow like torrential rains knowing no bounds
Still we do not know what to think aloud and wordless
Wordless thoughts we speak aloud when we do not know what to do
Still we think and there be, thoughts we die and there be
We think, therefore we exist and there be.

Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t]

As if
Not far from the night
As if the days are no longer the days
Life touches the length of the axial sky
Marginally deviating from the circumference of existence
Swerving in a closer circle of perambulating dreams
Blues of time revolve with a twang of bowing arrows
Occasionally touching the skin of the corpse of ancient sighs
The grasshopper leaves no shadows as usual
As usual the streetcar marches on chasing quivering sound of tolling bell
All desires metamorphosing into nothingness of melancholy
All orbital hopes briefly stopping at the holy grail
As if to breathe life from a point of no return
As if life has come a full circle at the end of a long quest
The colour of days and nights fading in solemn delight
The cry of the ever rising dawn reverberating in sultry silence
The man born into the season of hungry autumn begs no mercy
Saying nothing evenly to propagate the laws of circumstances
As if the happening moments are destined to happen so circumstantially.

As if this is life of all consequences
All twists and turns exiting in a closer circle
As if life begets days after nights but no season of all rains or sunshine.

Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t]