Thus Spoke Bologratus

Time flies when it’s good, flows slowly when it’s tough. Such is the state of time for the mortal beings. Those who are born of time, live of time, and die of it, are mercilessly taken prisoner of time. Not many above or below the scorching sun escape the all encampassing non-entity that is time. The best of the best men of the past had to go at the call of it, and so will be the matter of affairs for years to come by. Time waits for none, said a wise man once.

Yesterweek, I played a fine innings in a game of cricket, it was after quite a long period that I played any game at all. In the not-so-distant past, I would have looked at my own toes after hitting the third consecutive six in hopes of not offending my friendly opponents, but in that innings, I wanted to be clear in my signals and authentic in my actions. So I looked people in the eyes, and smiled, to which some smiled back while some pretentiosly looked away—which I assumed was borne of their need of not offending me in the exchange.

People think they understand others and that others understand them, but it is far from the truth. What one says is defined by what one thinks the words used by him means. What one understands is dependant on how one would interpret the words he hear and the expressions he see. The conversion of thoughts to words and again to thoughts in a different mind is bound to be non-lossless. Some data is guranteed to be lost in the conversion. But you do understand some people, and you have had experiences while dealing in realtionships in which you felt that others understand you. That is only owing to a healthy mix of abstractive thinking, and ignorance, by which we feel like champions in conveying ideas.

Some entertain great thoughts, only to dismiss them and embrace lesser ones of another—passed in a book, bundled with an envelope of hype. Those without wisdom seek distractions. Listening to someone singing their heart out, trying to make those vibes their own—they feel empty when that madness is over, only for it to rise again and repeat the fruitless cycle of distraction from one’s own heart, taking forward the way of not being true to the land and to themselves.