The process of 'standing'

I seem to have been thinking in tons and loads after a really long time.. thankful to Osho. Irrespective of whether I agree or disagree with his ideas, He has made me think. Seems to me like a drastic comeback to introspection after all the crap... I will have to revise what I say now. I can't help agreeing with what he says. When I read him first three years back, I thought his examples were juvenile for the only reason that they were simple and understandable.. The striking appropriateness now makes me feel ashamed of my previous stand. I have been obsessed with reason or still better obsessed with being obsessed with reason. I still am. But having read Osho, I am reconsidering it(Can't believe that I am reading a mystic). Obsession with being obsessed with reason is the most comfortable thing that ever happened. I cannot give up rationality just like that.. That doesn't mean I've been absolutely rational all the while, because rationality doesn't have limits that human knowledge can see. I am still in the process of evaluating my stand with respect to his ideas.. I am very confused. There is a long way to go. So it seems now. If I were to find something utterly irrational I may drop it abruptly. I have to admit the entire process is going to be tedious. Life's good again.

The theory of .........

I was watching the clouds, the lightning and the preparation for the show of rain. now, now... that's histrionic and quite unlike me, but well let it be that way. I was with four other people doing nothing but listening to music and watching the 'preparation'(I don't know why it's better to be alone among people rather than being alone, alone). We were idling in front of our college. Needless to say memories kept flashing, memories of four years that the college owed me. I was forestalling them. Memories aren't worth anything if they can't help you in the present, not to mention the 'affect' changes they bring. The future is raw, the present.....(I don't know what exactly the present is. The present becomes the past before I can spell it). So, the future is raw..raw. If there is something belonging to the future that I am sure of, it's insecurity and if there is something about the present I am sure of, it's uncertainity, though I can convince people around me of the opposite. I am not a determinist, but I do believe that the environment has the potential to manipulate me, especially so because I accept this fact. The 'potential to manipulate ' lends uncertainity to the present. To annul or capacitate this potential lies in my hands. Indeed I am oblivious to my expectations of my future( I wonder if there are any). I cannot decide upon my specialisation. I will let '.........' decide that. (I ll fill in the blank when Iknow what to call it). But irrespective of what my future is going to be one, thing I can do is prepare for the future. At least I am certain of the field of pursuit now.
I told them 'the show starts in another five minutes. We will have to leave' and I had to laugh at myself because I was less uncertain of the rain than my future. I ran hostelwards not to avoid the rain but to 'prepare for the the future'.

Alleged mastery

Played shuttle badminton after a long time. They say exercise releases endorphins. May be that's the reason I feel elated. It's not easy to ignore the love for the game irrespective of whether I win or lose. The love for a skill comes not because it's sophisticated, rational or any other reason I would probably offer for the sake of reason. One likes a skill because he thinks he is an adept at it. I don't like anything I don't master. Its the ugly truth about me and perhaps some others like me. Maybe I will like something that I am in the process of understanding, regardless of the pace and duration of the process, in the belief that 'that something' will be satisfactorily understood some day. Talking about pace, duration...
One is curious only as long as he is in the process of absorbing something. Be it a book or music. Once he is done with the process, then hovers the triumph of having learnt it. He is its master which doesn't mean that he has learnt it completely or that he has learnt it the way that the manufacturer (purposely avoided 'creator' to prevent inadvertent conception that the word refers to God. 'Manufacturer' refers to somebody like you and me in the real world, not in fantasies)thought it ought to be known. It only means that he has grasped it to his satisfaction. And following the triumph of knowing is a persistent nagging restlessness. If the triumph were to last longer he wouldn't learn anything new.
Strangely(?) and equally sadly it applies to relationships too. There is this arduous enhthusiasm until one knows somebody. Then he delves in the comfort of having known somebody in a way that it comforts both. And lo! There it ends. This is the rational pattern in which things are supposed to be. But we know this is't so. And why? because relationships are the embodimentsof irrationality.

Q and A

Ritwik lived with a lot of questions in his mind. Those questions tormented him and needless to say, torments me too.I could relate effortlessly to the person he was, when in school, the discipline he was supposed to comply with at home. He is one character I wished to be in my ambiance. Not many authors do that. The only other protagonist I wanted to be in my times is Prince Mushkin of 'the Idiot'. I probably didn't want to know other characters of Dostoevsky's because they belonged to an entirely different era. Though I loved the in depth analysis of his... nope I shall dedicate another entire post to him not just three or four lines in passing mention.
When Ritwik died he left me his questions. I couldn't sleep with them. When I was done reading the book, I felt empty, hollow and dumb trying to comprehend things. My mind was frantically trying to sort out things. Before I could get some sleep there were these obtrusive thoughts questioning the need for comprehension, the need for answers. I had just terminated the battle of choice between starting to read another novel and going to bed chewing over the questions I just mentioned.
And as usual, abstraction triumphed over reading, I dropped Ritwik's questions and was pondering over mine. Though there were sparks of illumination jumping into my consideration, lightening up my huge, vacuous room of questions, they were just flickers. I made a mental note to transfigure these sparks into lucid convictions and dozed off with the elation of having experienced mental fatigue, something I yearn for everyday.
Why was I desperate to answer Ritwik's questions?(though I call it desperate, it passed off. I didn't answer them then and shall not answer them henceforth). I wanted to remember the fatigue which was exhilaration to my senses and to my mind. I shall rather remember this exhilaration than the answers to Ritwik's questions. I shall let these questions fade away from my memory. That way I guess Neel Mukherjee is similar to Dostoevsky. I am not comparing their styles. I am only referring to my plight at the end of the their books.
Returning to my original question, why was I searching for answers? Its seems simple. More answers= more connection between neurons= positive augmentation of cognition. Intelligence is the ability to form a labyrinth of events in your brain, but an untangled one. So why is it we try to answer questions sometimes and not often do we try to give up and let it fade adopting stupid reasons such as mine?
Is it a "basic drive to improve cognition" or one to "reduce the memory and put the solved questions and answers and save them in a zipped folder such that the hippocampus is not burdened with too much data"? Is the sense of discomfort that accompanies the acknowledgment of incomplete analysis of something, some kind of negative feedback mechanism in the limbic system, that makes us untangle it soon and reduce the burden on the hippocampus?
I have this urge to end this abruptly and run to some place in joy, but I shall not do it. So eventually what is it? Given my vanity I would say its largely the former( the basic drive to augment cognition). The likelihood of the mind controlling something by known mechanisms(explained by basic human behaviour) is simply more plausible than vague theories on feedback and control. Life's Good.

The look

Seems to me like its been aeons since I wrote something valid and exploratory.

In case, only in case you don't happen to know what 'the look' is, 'the look' is the vision the world(the others) has of you. Now that is incomplete!. Its the vision YOU think the world has of you. I have for long fooled myself that I am not bothered by the look. I was a fool indeed.
Allow me to deviate. People call it COURAGE when the somebody admits his stupidity. I think its despair - desperate honesty. Its just the assumption that his honesty would make him more acceptable that makes a person admit his follies. Man does nothing for the sake of courage or goodness. Its always for a concealed gain. I am thinking about my other confessions in this page. "I was a kid when I was a kid...". Truly an act of disowning 'my foolish self'.I was foolish and that was me and I was a kid erring on the side of logic. So that is about courageous confessions.
So I was this foolish woman who thought she was immune to the look. It was later(two years earlier) that I realised that I was not immune to the look, but thought that the world considered me immune to the look. That gave me a cover under which I subtly changed in response to the look. My immunity was the world's reproach of my immunity itself, which I enjoyed. But two years back I didn't realise it in paragraphs like this. All I knew was 'I am not immune to the look, I wish I were'.
But to be immune would regrettably halt all efficacious changes. You wouldn't make any progress. I wish I were able to elaborate, but I know no more.
Do I sound miserable? Everything sensible I write, is written in times of
misery and hatred that are periods of optimum and unbiased functioning of mind

My placid psyche

I stared at Natasha,
Empathized with Ivanovitch,
Trembled with scarlet,
I was still alone,
Books wouldn't help me deceive myself.

I rejoiced with Tom,
Flirted with Dick,
And argued with harry,
I was still alone in the chat rooms.

Sitting on a bench tonight,
With the crickets around me rubbing their legs,
The owls staring into nothing,
the ground beneath me as dumb as it has been,
I am unruffled.
No,these didn't alleviate my loneliness,
I have begun to love being alone.