PEACE

I don't care what they think about me, my thoughts, my words, my feelings and my actions. 'm the best judge of myself.

I'm not, neither are my thoughts, my words, my feelings &/or my actions for them but myself. I don't want to prove anything to anybody but myself.

At the end of the day, everyone moves on but my inner self will always be with me. I can deceive anyone but myself. If I could be at peace with my innerself, I would be at peace with the world. My peace doesn't depend on anyone (well, nobody's does) but myself.

I'm the source & I'm the destination.

The beginning & the end.

It (THE PEACE) arises deep within me in the form of the most melodious sound. From the innermost sanctum it gushes out tearing apart (positively) the flesh, the bone, the sinew and the skin from between my brows, outside my body. It wraps me around & cocoons me from the chaos outside. And through every pore of my outer skin, it dives within me, marching towards the innermost sanctum & finally merges into the source.

And this loop/flow continues unending, unstopping, incessant.

I remember the first time it came (the sound/melody), slowly at first and then in such a rush that speed itself seemed static. At first I thought it was coming from outside but then I realised that it came from within. It bound me into itself though it had no form. It started pulling me inside. I knew what it was but was afraid. It felt like dying (I never knew how it would feel to die but at that moment i knew). It was wonderful. But I was afraid. Of what? Of myself; my thoughts, words, feelings & actions. It felt like being stark naked in front of the whole world bringing my imperfection into everyone's scrutiny. That instant I knew I was afraid of myself more than anything.

I fought hard to pull myself/my soul back. But from where? It was inside me only. Sensing my fear, it left me be. I regret that. I regret pulling out. What shame is it for a child to be naked in front of his own Father?

Pride

I take pride in myself when things are going right, I think this is me/I doing this though knowing the fact deep in my heart that a puppet can't even move its own finger without the will of its master.

When the most difficult of the things (as they seem) are done, it swells even more.

But then comes a time when the simplest of the things (as they seem) elude me. And my pride stumbles into a corner a-trembling, bends its knees, fold its hands and weeps like it has never wept, finally destroying itself into the submission of one master.

The thing is done.

And my pride swells again.

I look at it, its unabashed flaunting and I smile and pity it for its hollowness. Tabhi har bar ye bajti hai (that's why it gets screwed everytime). All this is done to show me & make me understand this baseless nature, the vanity of pride.