George Bernard Shaw, Monalisa, 2012
George Bernard Shaw, Monalisa, 2012
Two percent
of the people think,
Three percent
of the people Think they think,
And ninety-five percent
of the people would
rather die than
Think.
- George Bernard Shaw
“You see things; and you say, ‘Why?’ But I dream things that never were; and I say, “Why not?” – George Bernard Shaw (Back to Methuselah, 1921)
What is a premise to a thought if not a golden idea that is real but beyond grasp of the body?
Beyond the grasp of the body because thoughts are in-hiding in other thoughts beyond the physical domain
Body reconstitutes shapes and sizes but that too is relative
So, truth is not known in one plane of consciousness but from many planes of consciousness
We grapple with the surface normality of things – we live and die in that
But ultimate reality is not that – it’s that which is not known by our limited evidential knowledge
Everything we say or believe exists in some forms of reality
Dreams are faith integrals of our congruent non-locality in hyperspace
That too is reflective of man and superman
Man thinks of a another man who is HIM but not him
Who is HIM and not him?
Who am I?
I am George Bernard Shaw born in Dublin
I am not born in Dublin but in a cave on Mt Sinai
I am not born in a cave but in Altair or Cygnus
I am not from this earth but from Pleiades
Not from these stars or from satyrs
But from the sound of the eternal life-force
As if the strings are vibrating from that naught till there is no end or no beginning
Only thoughts act as a chalice to carry other thoughts and ferry them across
I am the boatman of several destinies from a red supergiant to a brown dwarf
In the rhythm I pilot the crafts so they supercede the speed of light
All light is absorbed by the darkness alone
So I can see there are no arms around I sing
No weapons or arson to drag us down
Only light cone emerging from the historical pentagon of the unfathomable stars
In the geometry of civilized divine perfection
In that order we make gods and gods make supergods and so on…
Man is an ant creeping like a spider in the jelly wire of light
Matchboxes can light a piece of paper not the sun
Let the true source be your origin from where you came down through many light years
It’s an old ancient time without the garden and the humming bees
I trod before that when truth was young in bed waking up to see the painted head of the old man
That was not me in Him but Him in his own self speaking to you
Smoking the laughter that rises to meet the end of the word
Silence rapture like clouds in the honest egg of a dream
And thoughts carried birds into the wilderness of the sky
The bearded rainbow gave them a sheltering nest
Look, you can see them too.
- Joy Roy Choudhury
