Holding a pencil in my hand, I used to feel inspired.I used to feel like a garden full of blossoming ideas and pictures.I used to feel like turning all those upside down fantasies into a work of art…
But I don’t know what happened then. I still don’t understand. Holding a pencil only just feels like holding a pencil. Those wild gardens of thoughts and ideas are no more there. Where are they? Are they gone forever? No, I sincerely hope not.
I think they’re lost and I need to find them. Or no, maybe it’s me who is lost. I haven’t been to that valley of thoughts and ideas for s long, that I forgot the way. I thought I’d remember, but I forgot. So I tried to find my way, but here I am. Lost.That’s where I am. And how do I get out of here? I don’t know.
Maybe, if I try to remember how my valley had looked, I’ll find my way back. I’ll probably recognize it from afar. If only I could remember how its beauty used to mesmerize and how even I used to feel amazed by my own pieces of work and my own glimpses of thoughts. If only I could remember how alluring the fragnance of my garden was. If only I could count all the different colours that had filled my beautiful valley of thoughts. If only I could remember how just one thought would paint a picture so unbelievable that even I would not believe that it’s my work.
Maybe if I could just remember the feeling of being held captive in my own world of beauty and magnificence. If only I could remember the feeling of feeling so small in a world of thought as uncountable as the stars and as large as the universe.
Because that’s what thoughts are. They make us who we are. They are something that we feel mesmerized by. Their captivating affect is effective only on us and no one else. Another person would just catch a glimpse and say it’s beautiful. Then if just a glimpe is so beautiful, then what is that which I see as my thoughts? It is the beauty of that glimpse multiplied by the number of stars in a typical galaxy of this universe.
And yet so, another may just catch a glimpse of my thoughts, but the effect that my thoughts can have on them is overwhelming. Just one idea. Just one opinion. Just one word, out of so many that flow through my mind, and the effect is magnificent.
If there is a weapon that all of us hold, it is our thoughts. It is a weapon that is so obvious and yet so very well hidden. Right in front of us, and yet so foolishly ignored.
And to each of us and to all of us that hold this weapon, I pay respect. Because it is the strongest weapon. It makes us strong and our character strong. It makes us unique. We stand out from all others because our thoughts are different and just as mesmerizing.
And there is still so much more to gain. Still so many seeds to be planted in each of our own gardens. So many more flowers to bloom and so many more fruits to bear. There is still so much more to learn, so much more to count, so many more constellations to find, so many more corrections to make.
It will never stop. It stays infinite. It increases by every passing day. Until the day we die. And it’s funny how it all ends there. The day we die… It dies with us. All the blossoming stops. All the beauty disappears. And all that remains…. is a big black nothing.
But basically the purpose of our thoughts is to build us. To make us who we are. And then we are remembered by those glimpses that they caught of our thoughts. That’s all thoughts do. And even though they die with us, they still remain imprinted in their heads along with our names. They help them remember who exactly we were.
And in some way, maybe our thoughts are still alive. A lot of them die with us, but some of them remain in the minds of other people. Someone who heard it from us and stuck to it ’cause it held meaning to them. Then it’s not really alive the way we thought of it, but it is alive. The elementary constituents are still there. And they probably become more beautiful when they are stored in somebody else’s world of thoughts. They get even more unique and live on forever.
A part of us remains alive forever. Till the very end. A part of me remains alive in all the people I know and all the people that they will know and all the people that they will know. and so on. There wont be an end. I won’t end. I’ll live….