Words.

Impermanence is the nature of all things. This is not a platitude or something that merely sounds deep. This is a fundamental truth of life. 

It is love that gives us a temporary relief against the great tragedy of this illusion - In loving something, or someone sincerely and deeply, one can really play this game as it is meant to be played, while bearing the pain of all the illusions that came forth before it. Really, we are all performers, and each movement of our language is a flow in the collective psyche. 

It is dominated by conditioning, illusion, death and unawareness. But in the pure movement of love (that is also the fire of tapas), something is ignited. And that really, is truth - that is the revolution inside consciousness which Krishnamurti spent his entire life trying to muster. It is perhaps also a resolution to the movements found in marx - A society unalienated from its labour, its people - a creative and responsible society where each individual walks the middle path - where each individual has compassion - Cannot be brought about by a mere violent revolt, for that would be driven by the same "unaware" movement of consciousness. A "fire in the mind" is required. 

In reality, love is the only thing that exists - sincerity is the backdrop of our existence. The things we are sincere towards may not be those that life demands from us - either because life demands more responsibility or because it requires more exploration - to become aware of the possibilities of structuring it in a way that you can taste freedom. The addict is sincere in his love towards his drug of choice. The negligent parent loves his job or perhaps is afraid of what is implied in restructuring his life in a way that more time may be given to his kids. 

I am an overthinker. I live in a linguistic labyrinth so deep that few could have come down here without suffocating and grasping for straws. From a young age, I was in love with these words we read. The letters that communicate images, stories, worldviews from one human to another - they enchanted me in each glyph, each twist, each symbol. But that is also a problem. I abuse this faculty - and over the past few years I have abused it to no end. If this was an opioid, I would have physical withdrawals from being sober. 

Uptill this point, I have been unable to find a way for me to structure my life around this love. And the love of these symbols, imagining movements of our mind and moving along with what others have done - it is not merely english. I see it in math - the pure beauty of abstract math, of each equation. The childish joy of solving an ugly algebra problem. I have in the recent past begun to see it in code. That is real magic. To be able to build anything, reach anyone. As humans we are all apprentices, to our own desperation for excellence. And really, it's no desperation at all, it's in my opinion the only way one lives genuinely - To be so deeply in love with something that you are okay with the pain of your finitude. 

And yet, this does not involve forgetting. We must remain aware through it all. Through the love, through the pain. 

An intense lover is not one who loses himself in the other - no, the self-reflexive enjoyment and play must reach to such high levels that it makes the peaks of the mountains themselves shudder. And yet one remains aware through it all. I like holding on to words, frameworks a lot. Over the past few years, I have devoured books in spirituality, philosophy, politics, psychology - trying to find something - some semblance of coherence to hold on to. And yet, when it's time to go home, none of that really matters. It's all nothing. Like Krishnamurti said, death does not bargain with anyone. And so I realise, that even though I have loved, and will continue loving books, and refining this movement of thought that delves into their deepest facets - I can no longer remain trapped here. I cannot hold on, to these words I so admire. 

Continuing to hold on, when one sees the absence of truth - that is codependance. I love words, I love someone who can engage me with words and worlds and interesting frameworks to understand this strange existence. It is a dance, to be pulling out these ideas from the collective psyche and hoping for the other to understand - yet at the end of the day it is just that. Like Rilke says, one must move from the naive love of a young man which destroys his own solitude to a more mature form. 

Sincerity, responsibility and intelligence - these can carry one to the end of the road. Anything else is too heavy a burden.

Excellence is about becoming open. After a certain (very low) threshold it is never about skill acquisition but rather about skill availability. Availability is surrender. Availability is lying on a bed on a sunday afternoon as a child reading through a fiction novel. Availability is the enchantment of reaching an answer. Availability is scratching your head for 2 hours trying different approaches that never work. 

And this is all love. To become a master is to have been so deeply in love with these things - so available to these most refined thoughts - that you win a competition before it even starts. Can you really compete with someone who has been doing something for their whole life if you try some cheap optimization to learn a "skill" in 6 months?

Becoming a master is perhaps the only exciting thing. The only truth that will remain fragrant for you no matter what layer each turning page of your life unfurls in it. 

Namaste.