I savour solitude again. After a long paddle in the boistering demands of life's necessities. My mind is again at home sitting behind the table where most of my thoughts had been scribble'd in my flowing writing style on plain papers. I used to be rather alone and often seperated to keep touch with the sage that resides in me. But the past few days made me (have to) beg for loneliness. (Awkward,isn't it?) You would understand me better if writing was the one thing you ever thought you can do (at least) well. You feel you are loosing the mastery of the art when people and demands get to keep you away from doing it.
Though writing,for me,has never been about me. It has alway been a way of communicating the 'general mind'. Creating a possibility of connecting thoughts. Where the content forms a converging reasoning point and speak back-to every soul that read-his own thought. Communing with-according to Ralph Waldo Emerson-'the oversoul'.
The epistle in the human thought bemuse me. How there exist thousands of writers and yet each mind writes his own so uniquely. Injecting an original thought through the ball-point of his pen. Even when all is given to scribe of one subject,the benevolence of words keep every writing distinct.
Examine the reader too. No two can have exactly same interpretation to the verses of the poet's word-dapples. Each breathe his own absolute meaning upon the portrait of the poem.
The painter,when he first glimpse the figure he apparitioned,do not know what face the object would take. But as he allows his mind to make connection with the canvas he uses,the image continue to take the form it ought. Though he could not tell at initial,the exact image,the painter know what it should be.
The orator's speech,compeling and impressive as it is,still consists simplicity in its intricacies. He collects every grain of thoughts and ideas which probably took him hours,days,weeks,months or even years to unfold and gather. And labour to so refine it that even the simplest dolt might make an image out of it. He has failed his office if he could not close the distance that prevail in his listeners mind and his own,before the closing of his presentation. He must bring them home to him or take his message home into their hearts.
Our present world moves in a tremendous pace that a 'two seconds' pause is hardly reached. We are easily hemmed into moving with the tides. And i do not suggest otherwise. My philosophy is 'don't be too sluggish that poverty overtakes you,neither be too fast that goodness elude you'. The ruffled world system has sucked solitude out of our daily lifestyle. And i would not be surprised if people start to get beside themselves. And men that are reputed as smart begin to have issues screwed in their heads and act uncostumed.
Of the writer,reader,painter and the orator is a common similitude. And every epic endeavour results from solitude. In the womb of solitude,great hearts grow and provides the required essence to glide through life's path.
Let the man who crave a regulated soul find a place where he habitually sits quietly to retrospect and to imagine. During those hour when he does this,he shall have his axe sharpen and his mind unmist.
Do you not talk about great actresses and actors? They first sat at the viewer's seat. They first saw themselves in the role they now play. And so is every peak performer.
Take the observer's view of your own self. And join in the hood of geniuses.
