Digging for Meaning

http://player.vimeo.com/video/89305413 Ideas are tremendously potent. People turn mad in rage and kill. People smile beatifically and help others. People dig up, blow up, fill up, swamp the earth.  People chase imaginary ghosts & Questions & purposes. All their lives. People fetish on foods, movies, shoes, bodies and turn off the inner eye. People lose their sense of reality, their sense of justice, their balance of life. The breath. the breath is lost. The realisation of the breath becomes alien. A moment in silence turns into an eternity of restlessness. "Occupy me" screams the inner child fed on ideas 24x7. The hell that is introspection. the hell that is looking back into our acts in reality.  "Ideas. occupy me." The ants carry stuff for their colonies. What are we carrying, for whom? Our queen bee is Change with a capital C. Change, Change, Change. faster and faster. evolutions, revolutions. No matter at what cost. People chase c...

words. they fly out of an open mouth. mostly, without the brain noticing it. they are ever so light and free. spend all you want, there's always more where they came from. they might not always have a form, a meaning. but that does not mean, they are inconsequential. Like for falling leaves in fall (how imaginative.. to call a season by an act so obvious), there are some ardent gazers, keen and mesmerized with that act of falling... watching it accumulate. for most sane others, it does not warrant a look. the ardent gazers follow the falling, knowing fully well that the words have died the moment they were born out of utterance. the soul escapes with a sound, and the dead carcass floats bottom on to decaying heap. there are insects there. waiting. slimy, pestilent. they chew off one word, and then another bite from another and so on. all the time leaving their disgusting saliva all over. they are the rumourers. But they are the ones to create the only reality. the mulch. the mulch...