For What It Means
The greatest mysteries are within the things that surround us, sounds poetry but fact it is. I tell you this for things I see now, I hardly saw them the same way before or at least didn’t try . As a child, it would just come natural, the illuminating light, gusts of wind and sky full of stars as if the definition started right there. There was less of an urge to delve in to these mystical reals and question why would it be so. Such a subtle marvel, nature sure knows how to hide it– a veil of artistry laid over intricate delicacies of phenomenon and yet so seamless.
It’s not until you’re holding on to a string and finally realize it would lead you to the next one and so on. Here comes a moment you are to make a choice– a) accept it as a new basis or b) break the fundamentals of an existing one. An inquisitive brain would soon give away all the patience and a rebellious flame would conjure me up tempting me to unravel the threads and junctions, discover these uncharted territories . The very surrounding now seems quite alien, fascinating you with the dexterity of its creation.
It’s been an endless pursuit ever since. You come across things you never imagined of. There are questions, a million of them, in head, talk about the purpose of all this wilderness, probably some I will find answers to, while others will vanish as I will someday. An effort to dig deeper into anything for a clear insight–level and sub-levels until you decipher it. It’s what a science is, a matter to energy and waves. But, still there remain things: how would you quantify a human thought?