Not that every action of the human is meaningful here; meaningful seemed to sound meaningless sometime. What we do in everyday life it may be meaningful or be not. I like to shower in the stormy first rain of hot summer; prefer stands alone in a balcony, when full moon eclipsed in dark by the new moon. Does it mean something that is meaningful? I yet even confused, because the answer can be multiplex here.
Meaningful mean something that is not meaningless, that is recognized or definite by reason; so it could consider as meaningful. This planet sounds more meaningful rather than any other planet in the universe, but it doesn’t mean another planet is meaningless. The meaning of this planet or that planet denotes the reasoning of yonder “this or that”, where “this” is more familiar than “that”. Familiarity to anything influenced meaningfulness. As like, Mother Nature sounds more reasonable and meaningful to me rather than the created stuff. It is the beginning where everything is whirling to persuade the meaning of created stuff. Mother Nature is the beginners to realize the everlasting meaning of life and death as well.
Mother is meaningful to me, because, I believe she itself the creator and destroyer of whirling cycle that we named and meant as life; that bring me here as a created creature; pushed me behind so that I have to understand the creation as a whole. I’m the moppet of Mother Nature, brought here by it, nurtured by it, and now adult to realize it as my origin. She is my organic origin where I come from. I was completely blank about the moment when she brought to me here; that mean I was meaningless then, …knows nothing about me or the bizarre appearance I’d experienced in her warm-whole.
Life is leaned here to the round-a-clock ticks, doing lot meaningful work by meaningless deftness.
Appeared in existence is motherly to me but knowing about this is something different, that is not autonomous, not coming from the unconscious autonomy of Mother Nature, that is not gifted and created here, not a priori or predetermined approval of life, and that maybe started here after the creation. Meaning is the post-approval experience of life, begins here after a moment of birth so the nature-created Being is able to invent the meaning of any action according to its living experience in Mother Nature.
I’m the flabby kitten, appeared here by autonomous mother, passed a long day here, and realized I’ve something that can be explicable by meaning and inexplicable by meaningless as well. Yes, I am the gift of my mother and everything be treated as a gift here, whether it is might be meaningful or might be not.
I love my real mother as I love my organic mother. She is organic, genetic, embryonic and mother of my other too. Yes, she is the mother of all mothers still coming to bring life here, hold the chariot of life here. I love follows my real mother and the Mother Nature as well, because, they are identical to me. When I seated beside my real mother, softly touched her wrinkled face to feel her grandeur presence in my life, I simply stunned to see Mother Nature in her face. Both faces are alluring despite the bleary wrinkle of aging and edging.
Meaningful mean something that is not meaningless, that is recognized or definite by reason, so it could consider as meaningful.
I feel the seasonal changes there. It insisted my walk along the endless route of creation and destruction. The season changed accord time there. My desire follows the beats of seasonal nature; meaningfulness is certainly unstable there, that is leaned towards the autonomous shifts of Mother Nature. I followed her to mean that I am meaningful for life.
My following of Mother Nature begins by winter. I like winter, be meaningful in life as winter be, but foggy season reminds me that I’m growing foggy. Winter reminds me about aging and edging. Greenline of life slowly leaned me to the gray-line where life embraced decadence.
Spring comes here with new life. Fallen leaves of trees instantly disappeared to the scene. Mango-buds or stripped butterflies and jovial women with vernal saris hypnotized me to live this life little more before escaped forever from the cuckoo’s nest.
Summer arrives here with its infamous hot, thunderstorm and sticky humidity. Ceiling fan and cool air-condition paced their Sufi whirling, looked fervent to drive out the hot from the humid surface. Sufi whirling forced me to stick with the ambition as a meaning of life.
Seasonal changes of Mother Nature helped me a lot to understand the meaning of meaningfulness and meaningless. It’s not like that every action in life should have to be meaningful. Is it least necessary to be ambitious in life? To stay meaningful in life? I’m not sure, but sapient-talk meant something like this that ambition is important rather than a question. Everybody knows extreme summer-hot is necessary for torrential rainfall. That’s the essential meaning for a rain to be fall in the ground from the grandeur sky.
I’m the moppet of Mother Nature, brought here by it, nurtured by it, and now adult to realize it as my origin… Autumn fall educates me about the meaning of life that, I’m a weaver. I come here to weave before disappeared to the scene forever.
Meaningful summer replaced by the meaningful rain. It teaches me to think about the reason that, why rain is depended on to the summer for its appearance. The existence of rain depended on collision between atoms as it wished to tumble in the ground. Rain is female to me. I like to mean the season by femininity. It’s the container of all existence, the nest of Beings and safe shelter for all moppets in universal creation. That is my reasoning for rain, my meaningful desire to imagine the rain as life-giver and life survivor.
What’s rain say about her? I think she doesn’t know why atomic discharge of particles is necessary to prove her appearance in creation. She is unconscious about her birth, but my kid is conscious about that. He knows rain being meaningful when atomic particles discharged by collision and started falling down as streams of a watery drop. Meaning is dual here by the quandary of meaningful and meaningless. Particle discharges don’t mean anything to the rain, she is happily unconscious about the autonomous discharge of atoms, but it is meaningful to the kid. Why it is meaningful? Because he thinks rain must have some reason to fall and atomic discharge be the meaning of rainfall’s existence in life.
I’m the blind lover of rain; liked to see me stands at busy Avenue on a rainy day; preferred to stands soggy, drenched and overflowed by the landslide rainfall. Wet Kadamba flower blossoms in rain. Abloom buds of Kadamba remind me the underage moment when I was strange to see me budding and blossoming in a wet dream. Milky scums dripped bit-by-bit in my dream, reminded me the meaning of cultivation. Rain soaked Kadamba reminds me the Rosebud who is yet underage and innocent but will be mature soon for cultivation. Rainy Kadamba teach me that life is for cultivation! Yeah, cultivate your personal woman; cultivate her for fertility, for plants wet seeds in her fertility, as heavy rain does to fertile the grand landscape of life over-and-again.
Seasons changed according to clock-tick. It’s not necessary that it should have a reason for the change. Tearful rains turned into drizzle autumn. White catkin-field calls me to lie down there. I liked to drown me in a catkin-field, preferred to drink the white sun rays as a perfect boozer. Autumn makes me the boozer who is boozed by the idiotic satire of life. Autumn leaned to late autumn and palm-kernel reached in maturity by being ripened. Mature palm-kernel provoked me to think myself as a buffoon. Yeah, I the buffoon who tried to act joyous here hide the marble truth that, life is dull here by boring repetition of life itself. Does it mean something? Does buffoon help you to comprehend the riddle of life? I’m not sure but akin to follow the autumn fall, where golden paddy-sheaf waits for the sickle, they wait to be sacrificed their dazzling beauty for a joyful harvest.
Life is a long-lasting wait for harvesting. Autumn fall educates me to the meaning that everything appears here for cultivation and harvesting. I needed to appoint me in cultivation so that I could celebrate the joyous moment of harvesting season. Autumn wind carries the hypnotic smell of paddy-sheaf. Hypnotic paddies now reach their end, golden paddy field eagerly waited for sickle to cut down the sheaf.
Not necessary that everything should have meant something that is meaningful.
Autumn fall educates me about the meaning of life that, I’m a weaver. I come here to weave before disappeared to the scene forever. I am meaningful when I work and when I keep busy in action and am is meaningless if I show my reluctance to work and abortive to complete the action.
Despite the autumn bell, I discover me behind the hay’s pile, passing some lazy moment forget the routine index of work and action, forget everything that means cultivation and harvesting. Golden paddy field emptied soon after harvesting. Dazzling paddy-sheaf will lose its golden face and replaced by white grain. Conversion is inevitable as inevitable the cyclic order and disorder of life-death dilemma. The paddy field and hay’s pile is my deathbed now; forget the routine index of work and action that I’ve a lot to do yet before forever silent.
Not necessary that everything should have meant something that is meaningful. Yeah, life is indexed and seasoned by the table of contents. Milk-drowned sunlight looked blushing at dawn sans any reason. My kid looked soft and tender before prepared him for the school bus to sing the national anthem in assembly. What be the meaning of milk-drowned dawn or assembled anthem? They are identical, seasoned by the meaningless routine resonance of blushing dawn. Mild early morning, steamy sun-noon, dusky evening sunlight and blackish full night, —all are indexed, identical to the tedious faces. Life leaned here to the round-a-clock ticks, doing lot meaningful work by meaningless deftness.
Not that every action of a human is meaningless, even meaningless not treat itself as meaningless. Mother Nature is meaningful to its autonomy, to its seasonal beats of endlessness. I’m the part of this endless game, where meaning rotates by clock-tick, where my face is unstable and certainly uncertain, where meaning let down by the resonance of meaningless repetition of life-and-death.
… Yeah, I the buffoon who tried to act joyous here hide the marble truth that, life is dull here by boring repetition of life itself… Yes, she is the mother of all mothers still coming to bring life here.
Meaning is the offspring of Mr. Repetition, born here repeatedly to repeat the repetition. Nature is a repeater of things, not as it is, little changed or reshuffled, but not so unlike to the previous repetition. Things are the resonance of previous ordered, look newish for the reshuffling game of being to the life again.
Today’s season is the reminder of the previous season, was active here a billion years before, perhaps in a different meaning. Today’s breadwinner is repetitive as well, passed his breadwinning battle here a million years before, maybe in the different meaning. Meaning is unstable except the meaning that everything here is the shadows of Mr. Repetition.
… It’s not like that every action in life should have to be meaningful. Is it least necessary to be ambitious in life?…