i read them.
Content Productivity System
1 year ago
Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
foggy days
the winter season is at its full spring. For the third time, i went out early, taking in the fog. For some odd reason, this time enchants me. Unlike the diabolic summers, which are more noisy and are usually abuzz with activity, winters are more silent.The contradiction between the two seasons is much more than a simple opposite. Isn't it a kind of bliss? This season? Not because it's the season of festivity around the globe, not because one can get cozy with his/her loved one, not because of the hot coffee, but because it is so silent.One can actually hear summers .
The flies, the sweaty crowd, the almost-personal vertical beam of sunshine falling on your head mockingly.But there's something else too, it's the fact that you can actually skip summers,what with all the air conditioners and cooler drinks? the anti-tan lotions? options abound!
But these winters,they have a silent killer effect. You don't know what is making you curl more in yourself, the fog or the actual winter? It creeps in slowly, through the crevices and the cracks and the open windows and doors of your being and forces you to be with yourself.I find it intriguing, because it resembles the forgotten question of existence and life. Questions which people know exist, but simply choose to ignore , not because they are not solvable,but because it's hard following the solution.For me, winters are a victorious symphony of mockery at everyone who think that something which can't be seen can't be felt. It resembles the knowledge which people don't know.It's there and yet it's not there.And most importantly, you can't ignore it,as you do with your life, mixing religion and spirit, mixing work and your gods and making life a mess of imbecile choices,moulding everything according to your wills and fancies. I don't know if i am making sense to my readers but i am making sense to myself and that's enough for now.
The flies, the sweaty crowd, the almost-personal vertical beam of sunshine falling on your head mockingly.But there's something else too, it's the fact that you can actually skip summers,what with all the air conditioners and cooler drinks? the anti-tan lotions? options abound!
But these winters,they have a silent killer effect. You don't know what is making you curl more in yourself, the fog or the actual winter? It creeps in slowly, through the crevices and the cracks and the open windows and doors of your being and forces you to be with yourself.I find it intriguing, because it resembles the forgotten question of existence and life. Questions which people know exist, but simply choose to ignore , not because they are not solvable,but because it's hard following the solution.For me, winters are a victorious symphony of mockery at everyone who think that something which can't be seen can't be felt. It resembles the knowledge which people don't know.It's there and yet it's not there.And most importantly, you can't ignore it,as you do with your life, mixing religion and spirit, mixing work and your gods and making life a mess of imbecile choices,moulding everything according to your wills and fancies. I don't know if i am making sense to my readers but i am making sense to myself and that's enough for now.
God.
person A: Do you beleive in God?
person B: No. But why?
person A: Because you see, God- whatever anyone chooses to call God- is one's highest conception of the highest possible. And whoever places his highest conception above his own possibility thinks very little of himself and his life.
It's a rare gift you know, to feel reverence for your own life, and to want the best, the greatest, the highest possible, here , now, for your very own. To imagine a heaven, and then not to dream of it , but to demand it.
.....................................Ayn Rand...............................We, The Living.......................................................
person B: No. But why?
person A: Because you see, God- whatever anyone chooses to call God- is one's highest conception of the highest possible. And whoever places his highest conception above his own possibility thinks very little of himself and his life.
It's a rare gift you know, to feel reverence for your own life, and to want the best, the greatest, the highest possible, here , now, for your very own. To imagine a heaven, and then not to dream of it , but to demand it.
.....................................Ayn Rand...............................We, The Living.......................................................
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