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Self Memoirs Of Illusions

Pathfinder

Writer
SPNer
Sep 5, 2016
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I was sitting in the midst of a dense forest beside a cold stream on a moonless night..

I walked into a dream or did I walk out of a dream?

" Are you willing to break free?. Have you conquered the fear of finally embracing freedom?. Are you ready to finally start undeceiving yourself?
What do you yearn for? - a slap by the truth or a kiss by the lie?. Which appeals more - an uncomfortable truth or the soothing lie?.
What do you trust will cushion your fall each time the emptiness envolps you - the hard truth or the soft lies?. "

I was on the ledge - at the edge, I was tired and I sat down, tired, broken, lost, hopeless, empty and feeling invisible.
My logbook entry for the night-watch would have read thus:
Out to the sea I cry my heart
Into the wind I weep my sorrows
Below this soil I lay my thoughts
Under the waves I drown my grief.

Lol, but I scribbled - Rough seas, very heavy winds, no sight of land, very heavy swell and overcast skies - like any other, like every other night. The logbook entry remains the same. But I degrade, I disintegrate, I decay, I decompose with each night-watch, each day.

"Sailing towards salvation or servitude?. Is the ship of your life on autopilot? - are your thoughts, actions your own?. Or are they planned for and by the herd, fear of isolation, fear of standing out in a bunch of slaves, fear of breaking the norms, fear of being branded a rebel, fear of being a mutineer?. Are they or are they not the reactions of a conditioned puppet?

How did the rot set in? - a small fraction of the cells that I am - failed to communicate with the source of my energy, the consious signal of - the generator. This fraction got competitive and not cooperative. The rebel fraction began the revolution of denial, of isolation and slowly began to invade other cells in me untill they became a formidable force.
Power leads to vanity, vanity leads to fear. Fear led to deceit and finally immortality. This immortality was the breeding ground in which the rot set in, thrived upon to become a monster. Just a few tainted cells turned me into a monster.

I lost the ability to communicate with human beings. So all I did was live and learn from monsters just like myself. I lost the ability to communicate with nature.

But I was in Gurudwara when I woke??

Was the dream real? Was this life real?. Was I real - suddenly nothing mattered anymore. I was in the lap of the truth I did not even realise I longed for.

I was lying down and opened my eyes - the cold, flowing stream caressed me in the dense forest as I lay back with a smile in my heart and began to count the stars.

I was home - for the first time in my life. I felt complete. By some miracle my cancer was cured, the rotten cells had healed.
 
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Pathfinder

Writer
SPNer
Sep 5, 2016
72
63
46
Stand in the rain but do not get wet, - stay dry.

How can anyone do that?. Those Ten across the river - do you see them ?. They are the ones who know the answer to your how. But how do I reach them?. How again she smiled - You see - they left the answers in hyms, once you let the music flood your heart - the answers reveal themselves.

No sooner did I start to walk away from the river - the rain drenched me.. I turn back towatds the bank but I am drenched still..

You cannot reach the other bank of river this way - pointless to try and walk around in a circle - she told me. I am not ready, I am not dry, I am exhausted.

At times like these I wish for wings - to fly... But I supress these thoughts.. just that I have been a lot at the war of supression lately.
Growing wings is cowardice they say but truth is, that advice is of no help - to a lost soul.

So I close my eyes, the arcane rain pours through me...and I no longer care if I am dry or drenched.

If I do not find the answers I seek I shall be here when the storm abates - if I do, I shall find the strength to swim across the rivers of woe.

Untill then...this .. pours through me, on me.. the arcane rain.
 
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Original

Writer
SPNer
Jan 10, 2011
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London UK
Pathfinder Ji

You write with an artistic merit. It is both poetic and prose. Isn't that in itself a catalyst to distil the essential elements of an organic relationship between the physical and the spiritual you ? I think so, for look how the splendour of your creation in its outer form [physical] is but an expression of your inner beauty [spiritual]. Baba Nanak too was of a similar disposition when he wrote "ਦੁਖੁ ਦਾਰੂ ਸੁਖੁ ਰੋਗੁ ਭਇਆ ਜਾ ਸੁਖੁ ਤਾਮਿ ਨ ਹੋਈ" 469, SGGSJ [suffering a blessing in disguise, complacency a disease].

Your writing is a blessing in disguise for it softens the mind just as fire softens iron in a furnace to allow meaning and vocabulary to elevate the soul to spiritual heights. Isn't that a form of meditation for the contemplative you ? That dear sir is the "moment" of an organic unity we all aspire to but seldom, few find. Consider yourself blessed for the language of choice you use is an endowment to fuse together the separated with the whole.

A pleasure to have you on board -

Good day !
 
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The salok is by Sheik Farid ji. Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa. It appears on Ang 794 of Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji.

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