Relax. Let the dust inside my head settle down. Or the dizzying heights of extra-cosmic time travel will make me puke.
But wandering is the natural state of a mind – drunk or sober. And I flowed towards flashes of Shyam Benegal\’s Bharat Ek Khoj…hymns of Rig Veda…there was no existence, nor non-existence, no air, no water, no space, neither life nor death. Where was it? What covered it? There was nothing but formless void.
Creatio ex nihilo.
The simplest explanation that man could conjure up was God — that God created everything. Even my drunk mind asks a simple question to take the air out of creationism — Who created God? Kaput.
Alien spores, interplanetary relocation, evolution…nothing really answers the fundamental question — Where from?
Maya… It\’s a thought-cloud floating around, engulfing the entire creation. It\’s a snapshot of nobody\’s dream. A billion light years in a nanosecond. Its existence is no proof of its existence. It\’s no one\’s vision, yet it\’s visible. It grows from nowhere. It reaches to no end. Perhaps it began where it ends. Perhaps life is a freak of nature. Perhaps nature is a freak of time. Perhaps time is a freak accident. Perhaps there is no perhaps. And I\’m none the wiser.
Maybe it\’s our conception of time that is the root cause of all our enquiry-driven angst. But kya karen? My creaking joints have a metaphysics of their own.
Sleep glorious sleep…