Random Thoughts

By Ibrahim

There's a point in time when everything becomes meaningless. As if you are in a different dimension of time and space that nothing else really matters. It is a point somehow in our existence that we transcend all bounds of being humans and we see ourselves simply as fashioned clay – a clump of dust nothing more and nothing less. It's a profound experience of emptiness and lack of purpose that this world and everything on it is but a dream, a dream of our own making which value the artificial rather than the eternal.

Weird as it may seems but those are the times I love the most. It gives me that moment to dissect myself and to understand my innermost feelings as individual. Afford me the ability to look at life from beginning to end as if my life has already been lived and what is happening now is but a repetition of that life. Somehow a question of “What’s really important in this life?” lingers on begging to be answered.

Every time I experience these detachments from the life the answer to the question changed. Finally, I come to the conclusion that only important in this life is what we do with our fellow human being. Wadsworth says it better in his poem.

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.
Henry Fellow Wadsworth

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;--

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.