Posted in Being Someone, Mysticism, Theology

Obsessions…

The driving force. Obsession. A man is no man if he has no obsession and if he is not obsessed. Just like a man is no man if he is not possessed by the soul that he carries in his vessel. Obsession is the heat of the soul. Anything other than that is but, death.

Obsession.

Obsession. Dead is all that which does not have a soul. And the soul is dead that which has no passion for obsession.

God. The Higher Power was obsessed. He wanted to be known. Hidden like a well-guarded, highly secretive treasure…he was obsessed to be known. So. He created man- that man may come looking for the secrets that come after the guard. No man can find God, if he is not obsessed like his Maker.

Our Lord was so obsessed with being found out, which alas only few took that road, that he created not just man, but a mankind and everything around it which may support it. He surrounded his creation with all the signs that he may understand and know.

Man does not know. He does not walk further than the cradle. Once he crawls out of it, he stands there looking around. Then, for the remainder of his life, he rocks it.

Obsessed. Obsession. Be possessed with obsession that you may learn that there is a spark. The spark that only alights for half a second in the air before it goes out. Beautiful, magnificent, glory. For half a second. Obsession lights the way to glory.

No man has ever lived who has not had an obsession. No obsession has ever failed to breathe life into a soul and make it whole.

 

Torn to Pieces

Man has a tendency to go around in circles. He wastes time in doing that. Seven yesars later he finds himself exactly where he first started out to be.
What went wrong? What brought him back to stage one once more? Why again is he faced with the same circumstances over and over again? During the process, he dies a million deaths, to be reborn again. And he once more learns how to breathe.
Man is torn to pieces. He although apparently is ‘one’ to the eye on the outside. But he has parts of him that are laible and answerable to duty. To his conscience. To his desires of the heart. To his wishes that never get to be put on a list. Other than that everyone wants a piece of him. His parents, siblings, children, spouse, friends, his boss, his subordinates. Yet he keeps himself together knowing that he is in pieces.
A desire unfulfilled chips a piece off of him. A child takes another. The spouse takes many. His bucket full of duties takes more inches off him. Till the time he doesn’t recognise the person staring at him in the mirror. Till the time he no longer knows who he is. Perhaps that is why the world has been quoted to be a place of trial and procreation.
Everyone has to face trials, but not everyone gets to procreate, at least not biologically. Man is in pieces. And he has no idea who he is. He could better define himself when he was five than now when he is thirty-five. Maybe that is all the trial is about. Keeping it together when the inside is in a million shreds. Man then learns that he is lost. He doesnt know what to do or where to turn to for solace or guidance.
So he does what he ‘can’ or what he ‘ought’ to do and lets time decipher on its own who he is. So he finally learns that it was never upto him to decide who he was in the first place. Time alone passes the verdict. And perhaps then he might understand the reason behind all the trials and suffering. When the verdict tells him that he is now who he was meant to be.