My knowledge is limited, my conceptions finite but my horizons ever open up unto a vast beyond that beckons me on to uncharted terrain of ideas and ideals, dreams and hopes whose fulfilment, even if partial, lends meaning to my being. I live to see these swans fly in the limpid skies of my imagination, in my aspirations and dreams, in my frustrations and fulfilment. Life moves through me like air easing into my being and exiting each moment with its harvest of breath that keeps me going.
There is but a purpose to all this and it is to discover the meaning of my existence, or, perhaps, the utter meaninglessness of it. Syllables join up to form words, and words phrases and so on till language expresses itself in civilisation, units uniting, melting, coalescing unto a vaster integration where distinctions remain but to signify a common root and a common destination even amidst fair diversity. Such a network of the one and the many is this world of man where I am an elemental being and am combining with others wittingly or unwittingly to serve the grander purpose of this terrestrial play. This much is in my experience that I but a microscopic part of this earthly drama of existence and, yet, from my reference frame, the most significant part of it, for where would all this plethora of events have been were it not for me, for my experience, for my testifying to it?
The question complicates as to who I am and therein lies the conundrum which has consumed the minds of philosophers and thinkers, poets and artists, scientists and savants of all times and of all climes to which varying answers have been offered with widely differing connotations and consequences. I shall leave the stage for the while and ruminate on this aspect later.
Written by Sugata Bose
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