On one hand, we see the strong rise- survival of the fittest and on the other, we find the weaklings rise too once in a while. Reading this line, do not jump to a conclusion as in today’s world, most weaklings shine from the light of the strong- the Moon shines from the light of the Sun.
That leaves me with one question- what about one’s inner light? What about it? Does it mean Darwin was right or does it mean there are exceptions? I would say there are exceptions and in some such exceptions, though they are just a few- somewhere one in 100 years or more, maybe one shines in their own light.
That might make you wonder what happens when too many of such people shine from their own light.
Does it mean a second Sun finally comes to light?
I still repeat such instances are like a quintessence of dust in this big bad world where the buffalo belongs to the man holding the stick.
Now our story is not about strong men and women as they shine through their lives. Our story is about a weak failing man who has never had one in life. Some people give up too early and those who do should go through his list of failures if they lack inspiration.
Well, here is a failing man who manages to live one day from the other.
Afterward, there will also be a woman who will live through her failures one after the other. Definitely, she suffered less than the man of our interest here for sure.
So this is man is not ordinary but unnecessarily ordinary.
Born to nooners, who fathom to be someone and live life through a dream, our protagonist found it extremely difficult to keep pace with what went around him in reality and the stuff that covered his thoughts and imaginations.
Even though he was never proud of his parents, he knew he could not ignore their contribution.
The path to peace and happiness is a path of feigned imaginations and dreams. All you have to do is spend sometime inside your head imagining whatever suits your fancy and you can be happy even when in rags.
So basically our young boy (whose name is right now not important) understood that happiness and peace were as sham as war and sadness. Nothing was real and so you could actually make anything of anything.
“A true alchemist.” A monk had once highlighted while he was trying to make his point in a busy street of Shanghai en route India. A lot he realized happens in this country which no one is really aware of, and when he found out the reason, he found it to be something as simple as population. it was population and its steep rise that ensured no one was noticing well what the other was doing and to remain hidden to carry out his work, he knew there could be no better place than these.
He knew he was not an alchemist but he knew that all that he grew up with was not true either. So, the next thought that surrounded him was “what is truth then?”
Is truth a constant? What about Ram, Vishnu, Shiva, Jesus, Prophet and the Fire. Why were they teaching order and constancy as truths rather than change to be the only truth.
He often wondered if a shepherdless herd of sheep would be too influenced by the rotation and revolution of the Earth that they would also start rotating and revolving in their own axis- is it the reason why people miss to see the constant- the obvious and it is thus, they believe there is no constant.
Is it true, that a man who never leaves the train always describes the outside world as fuzzy and blur?
Or is it a variable?
For Earthlings like his mother and father taught him that truth was a variable, ever-changing, nothing was constant here and that change was the only constant.
That puzzled him, rather scared him, since, if truth was ever changing, it would mean it was like sand, and no one can really build castles on sand.