YOU ARE YOUR GREATEST MYSTERY

  Today I woke up with one of the strangest thoughts I've ever had; I was contemplating on some of the muddled issues of life, and in the course of doing this, it appeared to me that there is no matter whatsoever as muddled as the being called "Me". Well, I hope not to make a placid philosophical essay, but to put in a poetic form, those things I have realized about personal Identity. I can also call it "the mystery of personal identity."
    We have from ancient ages emphasized on the need to know ourselves; self realization has thus remained an underlying topic in the field of philosophy and spirituality. Socrates, an ancient philosopher is known to have said, "Man know thyself," Following this line of thinking, I believe that (i) We can know our true selves (ii) Our supreme mission in life cannot be conceived without self realization. But beyond this, I add "You can know yourself, but you cannot know the entity called you" Does it make sense? Consider this:
     You cannot see you, but you can see yourself. You cannot locate the being called "you", because it is "you" that tries to locate. The only thing you can locate is what belongs to you, not you. What do I mean? Firstly, answer this question, "Who are you?," You may immediately answer,(for example) "I am John", but John is your name--not you. You may say, "I am my body,"but this is wrong--your body belongs to you, hence, cannot also be you.  You are not your spirit, not a soul, nor  mind; all these belong to "you", i.e, "Your spirit, your soul, your mind," So, who are you? How can you locate "you"?
       I will move at this stage, to answer this mysterious question. I begin by saying that you are your greatest mystery. You cannot see you, because it is you that desires to see; you cannot think of you, because it is the same you that tries to think; you cannot talk about you, because it is you that talks. Wait! You cannot know you, because "you" are the one trying to know. Having gone through this, do not even try to understand you, because it is the same "you" that tries to understand. 
     What we can best study, realize and understand is "the self" (a property of the real you). At this point, I want to add that this is the mystery I contemplated upon. It is not a fixed axiom--I have made no concrete conclusions. Your reactions and contributions are of great importance.

LETTERS TO THE CREATOR

                                                  

                                                                                                 Here on earth,

                                                                                                 The Solar sphere,

                                                                                                 The galaxy: Milky Way.       

Immortal maker,

                A fresh dawn has begun; a new voice has emerged. My pen has taken a fresh shift on a blank sheet. As the previous letter, so shall this one ascend.  On the previous, I reported several disgusting events in the realm of men, but here, I hope to place my praise. I will worship you with audible sounds and visible letters. The echo of my voice shall transcend into the ends of endless space. The length of letters and the loudness of voices, I know, cannot describe your entirety. All the praises of men, in tongues and in heavy volumes—put together—can describe your goodness, but a little. All these adorations sent to your throne by men of all ages and races, are far from being enough.

*          Though mortal I am, and on earth I reside; even with this tattered flesh, I will lift my imperfect soul to your perfect throne. I have already made your name the theme of my life.

*          Your muttered whisper surpasses the bang of supernovas; your sudden thought is deeper than our deepest mental reflections. Your eyes closed, sees the farthest stars in the cosmos. The terrible thunder, the amazing blink of lightening, the dreadful earthquakes, the violent storms, the birth and death of giant stars… are like child’s play in your hands. The twinkling stars and the revolving spheres that populate the universe, are but wonders of your hands—a vivid depiction of divine wisdom.

*       In ageless books I have read your flawless wonders. What you did, you still do; what you are doing, will forever be done. May my psalm be stamped on the invisible walls of the visible world. May its beauty never be dodged by unsteady eyes, or wrecked by busy minds. These words will sink deep into the uttermost chambers of hearts.

*       My knee is bent, my head heads to the ground; my breath is held, my goggling eyes have coiled to their sockets, and my mind has stopped its work of thought. My blood withholds its gush, and my restless cells have stood still to glorify you.  All that makes up my entirety are set to adore you, the creator of all mortals…maker of all immortals.

*         From your loins, time was born; by your breath, eternity emerged, and by your strength, matter emerged. All that ‘was’, all that ‘is’, and all that ‘will ever be’, are yours and yours alone. Your world baffles my mind. The splendor of the high heavens, the beauty of the flourishing flowers, the grandeur of mighty mountains, and the distinct instincts of insects: they lead my mind to your incomprehensible greatness.

*        The world below is not less wonderful. The diplomatic affairs of the races, the noble craft of man,   the amazing sciences and arts, the ample sand in the deserts, the large mats of rivers, the vim of winds, and the sweet stillness of the springs—they stir within men such reverence that words cannot describe. These are like books, for I am reading them; they are like songs, for the melody is grand.

*      The mystery of your might is too deep an ocean to fathom. From my day of birth to this present day, your nature I have reflected upon; my mind as stored up blossoming images; my imagination has grown wild and my reason has flown high. In all these, the truth is clear: my mortal mind can fathom your immortal life, but a fragment.

*     Your strength and name are clearly printed in nature, in the heavy comets, the globular spheres and glorious nebulae. These rare realities reel me into adoration and adulation. In the world are wonders, but in my life are greater wonders. My day makes each new pace by your strength; yes! You send the fuel by which my wonderful wheels are made to wallow.

*    My spirit is spirited, and my life, made alive. My tongue is filled with words. My hand shall not deny my heart its desire. Give me more blank tablets to write upon, for as long as life remains, words shall be inscribed on them. My loyalty will always be displayed.

                                                                                                         Your humble creation,