Intellectual stimuli with simple rendition.
25 June, 2014
What is life and what is death, what does it mean dying gradually, dying in bits and pieces and how does it feel like being a corpse though your breathes have not surrendered, stoical though you have not succumbed to the emotions, alienated though you have aligned yourself to the expedient way to live a somewhat vacuously-fraught life (which you think is vacuous , might be true, might be false , no deliberations ,as mind is not intelligent enough to demarcate between the two feelings, one of death and the one to live) . How would it look like when you decide to die , perhaps you realize that you are living for no reason, or you can see through the reticulated mesh of life , it’s pain, it’s pleasure, it’s robustness, it fragility, nevertheless you are conceived of the fact that it is fraudulent enough to escape from it altering the very nature of your birth which entitled you to live for some reason , hollow may be, abstruse may be but definitely not advocates self-immolation for some make belief world of your own understanding and few chronic misconceptions about life which have fulminated in terms of your decision of self-annihilation, self-destruction and in a less venomous diction a naked, cruel, irrational suicide
The idea of suicide is not cognizable under rational ground but is rationality the only way to think to live or to thrive is it only the elixir sufficing human intellectuals need and betraying its basic instinct for the least cause. But when you come out from the curvature of time and space you would discover the truth about being something other than sane and intelligent. The world of inane, insane, self-sufficient (on the contrary as they need not to be told what they have to do) people who are mad by their choice not by compulsion, because they find the world of madness more sanctified, more transparent, more cogent than that of the world built upon some virtual reality, ornate outside, and hollow inside, the world fraught with charlatans, imposters, and self-righteous braggadocios who genuflect before the reason, the greys, the knowledgeable. Have you discovered the madness about yourself? The madness that come down from your core and bedraggle you from inside pout with the panacea of insanity and you find yourself flying high in the sky touching the zenith of space and encompassing all the happiness un to your wings, hindered by none, bolstered by your vision of paradise and guided by you conscience, floating on the ice bergs, wandering in the sprawled green fields , and all these hues are natural and soothing to your eyes , you feel as you have taken new birth shedding your old itching skin. When you commit suicide out of madness and you wake up knowing that ironically you embraced the madness itself, through this gesture, you remain awestruck and an alien delight is savored by your senses, the delight that can be experienced by you only, and the delight that is known to you only.
Deceived by your own modus-operandi you enter in to the realm of madness and discover that being there is much better than the world of people of substance as they call it. The protagonist commits suicide in the quest of her vision of paradise and by virtue of depravity she is saved and find place in an asylum where she explores the in finite possibilities of life smeared in madness and encapsulated in insanity. There she meets people from gamut of professions being happy as if they were untouched by gloom since their birth. Another person suffering from schizophrenia, who has gone mad just because of the fact he has not able to pursue his dream, he had to run away from his very nature which eventually haunted him and he goes insane. One fine morning when he wakes up he find himself debilitated, not being able to behave as normal people do. He is a great painter , he forgets everything when he paints , he paints his vision of paradise, his dream filled with passion and at that moment he enters in to the fourth dimension belying the hands of the clock. He finds resort in a mental asylum where he is intrigued by protagonist Veronica , a green eyed, brown hair, 24 years old, crippled by her prime, exhausted by her trauma, who committed suicide and was saved, who didn’t have wish to live but forced to ramble in this eternal quest of pleasure, perhaps this was her destiny.
Another lady who used to be a great advocate choose to be in asylum because she finds the world of mad people much better than that of the normal and sane. A man is victim of his own choices, truly. The young schizophrenic guy Edward, oblivious of the love of Veronica apparently, is fond of music and finds himself in trance when he hears piano played by veronica though deep inside he loves her, can not accept on the face of it, can not express that because mad don’t have any opinion. Love is in its sublime form, devoid of any carnal pleasure, not seeking any reciprocation, independent of any attachment and dependent on just devotion respect and self-love. Love is an untamed animal. If you try to control it destroys you, if you try to imprison it enslaves and if you try to understand it it leaves you confused and lost. That is the very nature of love if you don’t think it‘s is nothing and if you do, it is a fulmination of the ad –infinitum possibilities. This time again Paulo Cohelo enchant the reader with his awesome writing style with impeccable blend of philosophy and sense of humor.
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