We are born into a world where material is primary and the absence of which, renders an opaque, ostentatious sheet of ignorance over our overworked minds. We are brought up to believe in investing – in estates, possessions, inheritance, but foremost, in people.
And somewhere, amidst those investments of implored deceit, we start groping onto a tingle down our pulse, when we start to feel.
We bond, we love, we hate. We burden ourselves with absolutes, extremities of each abstract feeling, never quite reeling at the intersection of two. Mostly never knowing how to establish any ownership on either without falling into prejudiced cradles of self-doubt.
We have an abyss, an incomplete identity, with nothing to boast about except for a vague, transient, almost gravity-defying mass of overreach. There is struggle to give a face, a wistfully acceptable face to this hollow charade, by attaching ourselves to whatever is around us. It could take the form of art, of science, aristocracy or diplomacy. So we prey on people’s emotions, never quite fathoming the self victimization.
How desperately unfulfilled is the quest.
Unheard of voices say that all sinful, albeit useless, emotions have a charm. The staggering example of ‘Love’ strikes. Being a die-easy-rather-hard kind of love fanatic, in the rarest of moments, I allow myself the occasional wriggle room to question my beliefs. So, yes, love. It is there, here, everywhere. Each one talks of it whilst in their deepest moment of predicament, positive, negative does not quite matter, for hate, and every other tributary feeling, is derived from the prerequisite of love. Love is lost in the slight moments that we miss out on, when there’s the following moment of expectation that takes precedence, or the past alignments which linger on in our minds. Love is charming, intoxicating, willful, excruciating, empowering, every form of Yin and Yang, and thus takes the most out of us.
If not for the redemption of love, we would be utter pragmatic, selfish, self-absorbed beings with nothing to offer to anyone, nor to take away.
But is that so bad ?
Love weakens us at a point when it’s charm seems diminished and for the lack of a better term, unsolicited. Yet, we resolve to see it reach a positive end. Whoever asserts that lack of love is equivalent to the lack of soul, did not have wisdom or maybe had too much of it. For, something as grotesque as love, could only touch the physical peripherals of a being.
What impacts every soul is peace. Isn’t that why we have meditation camps in all numbers, so we could aspire for that which is greater than one emotion and helps us overcome passion, thus welcoming stability.
But again, who am I to talk.
With such vicious significance, love triumphs as the refuge of common man, who lacks in courage and conviction, to attach to it in order to complete his distorted existence.
So, we see a life oscillating between the love for material, flesh, more and then material again. Love makes us incoherent, sublime with a sense of ignorance, thus extricating the regardless, practical, blatant in us, insolent to masses, and most importantly, inducing in us the primal meaning that is attached to the term ‘human’. In all its bare necessities, love becomes a socially acceptable nuisance, co-existing with objectivity amongst the most evolved yet unreformed species on earth.
Being a skeptical optimist, I can only hope for it to prevail under this veil a while longer.
So we all have ways to avoid confrontation, with bosses, with better halves, with parents and most often with our feelings. But sometimes we like to take a break, set ourselves up for emotional upheaval and well, lose it big time. No I’m not that psyched, my stimulus is in perfect shape, my reactions absolute and requisite, but nonetheless, my mannerisms are adept yet dishonest.
But today, something broke inside and fell apart, like a fragment of inadequacy detached itself from me.
Alright, I’ll shake off the drama.
But it’s empowering to know, that under any circumstance, there will always be that ‘one’, who will listen to you as much as you speak, without condescension, judgement or correction.
It is an honest piece of paper. It answers without your attention, for all the answers are within.
So, I bounced back to it, after listening to this version of Going to California by Led Zeppelin. Of course the version was by a very unknown and terribly powerful artiste (well, to avoid legal suits, let’s refrain from credentials). The version itself resonated with a captivating feel in the song, the feel that the artiste must have felt when composing it, and what I felt, as I listened to it. The song is about this man who looks for love, after failing at it, and looks for a perfect woman, never to find her, but giving himself hope all the while, that it isn’t such a long shot.
The version seems to be a prelude to the original score (apparently a nod to Joni Mitchell by Plant. What a rippling laughter that woman has !). Not flouted by lyrical nuisance (ahh.. yes), it forms a conjunction with the original song, as a happy introduction before the misery begins. What stunned me was when I played the original and Version X(let’s call it that for now) back to back. Version X had an originality of its own, transferring different interpretations to the listener altogether, and yet it fits with the original, even from the other way round. Oh Yes !!
Version X brilliantly sticks as an aftermath to the song, painting a picture of joy where post struggle, the man meets his Queen, who does sing and dance. And it could easily come in full circle again with the original signifying how happiness in love is not a destination but a journey.
Some days. When making sense does not have to be my skill for the day.