HOW TO LIVE FOREVER !

Origins

I’ve always been inclined toward writing. It’s been five years since I left it behind — not because I wanted recognition, but simply because it was something I enjoyed when overwhelmed; a hobby. Then life moved on, I got busy.

And here I am again, on a summer afternoon. It’s monsoon season, raining outside. I believe I could write a thing or two that might be considered Art for a while, even if only by me. Not something timeless, but delicate and temporary — the kind of thing you want to hold on to but can’t, because you must keep moving forward.

I don’t intend to make it an academically demanding read .Keeping it soft, easy to enter. I’m unfamiliar with this platform, so pardon my inconsistencies. A first-timer’s exemption, if I may ask. Also I would love if you just put on some soft soulful music while reading this because some of these lines are not to be read. They are meant to be experienced fully !

Art

I don’t define Art in strict words. To me, it doesn’t need them. Art is everything — every human experience across a lifetime. Truth or lie, pain or pleasure; if it means something to someone, it is Art. Meaning gives significance to everything which means Art is what you want it to be.

Existence itself is Art. Beautiful, painful, intense, sweet — but never nothing.

Death is part of it too. While you worry about getting off work, thousands of microorganisms live and die on your palm. During the time it took you to get home, an uncountable number of them would be dead. Death is a true experience , and therefore Art. You may ask, “Why call it beautiful?” Because it’s true. And to me, truth is Art.

Artists

When people define “artists,” I think they speak too narrowly. They define Artists as only the people who create things that they find meaningful. An individual might be artist to one of them but not to the other. But i believe that Everyone has that little “Artist” flame in them — the part that feels, knows what’s true, creates.

We don’t just witness Art, we breathe it, live it, embody it. The ones who create experience are, in a way, creators of the universe itself. Beauty lies in the eye, not in the object. Without the eye, there is no sense, and without sense, all this is nonsense.

I can’t speak for every artist, but I know this: I love to experience as much as I love to create. One way or another, I will change the world. Whether through creation or destruction — I will contribute to experience. And because I contribute, I am an artist. No one is dead enough is this life to not be an artist.

Life

This experience isn’t forced. Perhaps we chose it. Perhaps we surrendered willingly. Let's explore how !

Imagine being beyond time. No experience. No beginning or end. Just stillness — forever. Nothing will ever happen. There is no future — No past. You won't feel anything or see or experience anything. You won't even exist the way you do now. You would just be — always existing , never experiencing. Now — I don't know about you but to me, that would be unbearable. I would rather die and be reborn endlessly than remain in that void. I’d rather forget everything about this void and be born a mortal: bound by time, carrying life in me, experiencing joy, facing sorrow, feeling pain and ecstasy.

People are afraid of being hurt. They don't wish to experience it but they don't realize a truth ; Pain is the cost of choosing to experience pleasure, and those who learn this truth by heart, embrace both with open arms. That’s what makes life survivable, even beautiful.

Some see life as a painting with every moment as a brush stroke that contributes towards a big picture, a final piece. Some see it another way. They believe it’s like music, the rhythm changes , beats go up and down and it’s just moving forward. For me, it shifts between the two. At Very Rare times, I find it to be both at once. In those moments, peace arrives.

When life is hard, I tell myself it’s music — go with the rhythm, let it pass. When life is too easy, I remind myself it’s painting — every brushstroke matters. Nothing here is in vain.

Self

To see this is to release control. To surrender. To realize that Art, divinity, and the eternal self are the same.

Philosophers ask: What is reality? To me, everything is real through experience, and nothing is real through definition.

They wonder what is “self” ? What are it's properties ? Consciousness ? Emotions? Memory ? Senses ? One thing i know is that Its only property is continuity. What the self does is that it keeps existing. It exists, endlessly, as the universe experiencing itself. Forgetting and remembering. The self cannot be defined in beginnings and endings. Just like Rumi said There is no individual “self,” only one eternal self. You are me and I am You. Which means that these words are truth echoing within itself. How beautiful it is to even be on both ends of it.

Scientists say Nobody remembers their beggining. Isn't this idea of not knowing your beggining the most terrifying thing. For all there is , you could be in a simulation. Do you remember your beginning? Nor do I. Even the wisest don’t know where they came from. We came from Nothing and Everything — and we return to the same. Realizing this makes everything else feel small.

Note

Writing this, I don’t claim to know. Only to feel, to experience, to live. That fleeting experience itself, I believe, is Art.