'THE OLD MAN IS GONE, GONE FOREVER'
The present recedes into the past, often leaving no apparent trace behind. Often the trace left behind refreshes the line but the original is gone forever. Such is the law of life which but helps blossom the flower of the hour to let its fragrance fill the air while brewing in the nursery of the future the fruition of the morrow.
Each moment is fraught with the fullness that it has lent itself to, linked as it is to the line of the infinite past and the infinite future in an unending cycle of creation. Each moment is the inheritor of the past and is the conduit to the future, an ephemeral entity, yet, pregnant with the seeds of creation, an instant of infinitesimal duration but infinite significance. And all these minuscule momentary phenomena lend themselves to the macroscopic drama of existence where the laws are the same and lawlessness, too.
The waves ever rise but to fall and then to rise again ad infinitum. Men, caught in this divine drama play their parts unrehearsed and without possibility of retake as spontaneous flows the moment from point to point along uncharted terrain into the vast unknown, the boundary ever shifting, the horizon ever beckoning unto a mysterious end of future fulfilment. Generations come and generations go seamlessly as the undercurrent of motion carries all towards the destiny divine, each one rising from bubble to sink in it even as the bubble springs from fathomless depths to dive deep whence it came.
But in this universal drama the unit does play its part, each uniting with its comrade-in-arms to compose the symphony of the soul which this phenomenal play is. The unit lives for the collective even as the collective symbolises the vast form of the unit. Then the unit is lost to posterity save in kindred souls where breathes its pulse, where the rhythms once felt beat to the same tune in a reenactment with a difference, the past reliving through the present in future times, shifting ever so slightly, evolving as it shifts but ever retaining the familiar fragrance of yesteryears, of times gone by.
Thus the causal chain connects each of its disparate units in a necklace of undying existence where nothingness attains significance even as the significant pales into nothingness. The harmony of the part and the whole is attained here as a vast significance opens up for the unfolding totality of universal experience. The dead is buried and is reborn to bury the dead. Thus is the individual born and dies a thousand deaths as fresher flora fragrances the fields, fresher fauna enlivens the terrestrial terrain of animate existence.
'But the old man is gone, gone forever,' as Swami Vivekananda once said, and the new dawn relives the past experience to usher in a new day.
Written by Sugata Bose
The present recedes into the past, often leaving no apparent trace behind. Often the trace left behind refreshes the line but the original is gone forever. Such is the law of life which but helps blossom the flower of the hour to let its fragrance fill the air while brewing in the nursery of the future the fruition of the morrow.
Each moment is fraught with the fullness that it has lent itself to, linked as it is to the line of the infinite past and the infinite future in an unending cycle of creation. Each moment is the inheritor of the past and is the conduit to the future, an ephemeral entity, yet, pregnant with the seeds of creation, an instant of infinitesimal duration but infinite significance. And all these minuscule momentary phenomena lend themselves to the macroscopic drama of existence where the laws are the same and lawlessness, too.
The waves ever rise but to fall and then to rise again ad infinitum. Men, caught in this divine drama play their parts unrehearsed and without possibility of retake as spontaneous flows the moment from point to point along uncharted terrain into the vast unknown, the boundary ever shifting, the horizon ever beckoning unto a mysterious end of future fulfilment. Generations come and generations go seamlessly as the undercurrent of motion carries all towards the destiny divine, each one rising from bubble to sink in it even as the bubble springs from fathomless depths to dive deep whence it came.
But in this universal drama the unit does play its part, each uniting with its comrade-in-arms to compose the symphony of the soul which this phenomenal play is. The unit lives for the collective even as the collective symbolises the vast form of the unit. Then the unit is lost to posterity save in kindred souls where breathes its pulse, where the rhythms once felt beat to the same tune in a reenactment with a difference, the past reliving through the present in future times, shifting ever so slightly, evolving as it shifts but ever retaining the familiar fragrance of yesteryears, of times gone by.
Thus the causal chain connects each of its disparate units in a necklace of undying existence where nothingness attains significance even as the significant pales into nothingness. The harmony of the part and the whole is attained here as a vast significance opens up for the unfolding totality of universal experience. The dead is buried and is reborn to bury the dead. Thus is the individual born and dies a thousand deaths as fresher flora fragrances the fields, fresher fauna enlivens the terrestrial terrain of animate existence.
'But the old man is gone, gone forever,' as Swami Vivekananda once said, and the new dawn relives the past experience to usher in a new day.
Written by Sugata Bose
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