He sat down with a pen in his hand, and a ridiculous idea in his mind. His vision was furtive even to him. He was about to start on a path, the path was completely unknown. He didn’t knew anything about where it will lead him, he didn’t fear death, and hence was ready to travel down any path. But he knew that he can’t die by just traveling down an imaginary path, with the help of words flowing from his mind through his pen on to the paper.
So defunct was his mind, or may be so open, he decided to crack god. If god exists, then what must have gone through its mind while creating the world, he thought. His intransigence was dancing on his mind, making him to write down the creation plan.He created a world, of course with people and animals and nature, but the world was only on paper and on his mind, and elsewhere it was non existent. His plan now seemed more clear, he wanted to concatenate his world and god’s world, to find a reason to blame god.
For sure, he was a victim of egregiousness of the world, trying to get out of the circle of life without dying. His world was exactly the same as the real world, with just one difference, his world was ebullient, it had munificence, whatever he craved in the real world, he added all those attributes to his imaginary world. Finally he created a world, in which all were happy, and everything was ideal. A world of which, he was the god.
Suddenly a thought shouted stridently inside his mind. If he is the god of this world, and he exists, because there is a creator who made him, then his imaginary world is not his after all. It belongs to the creator of the real world. Then he wondered, may be the creator too has a creator, as he had. But how far this chain will go, he was terrified.
At some point the chain has to stop he realized, a ray of banality passed through his eyes. Ultimately all this has to come from nothing, no god, just void, emptiness. This thought was terrifying, made him an insomniac. Earlier death didn’t scare him, now life was making him fearful. The imaginary world which he created on paper was just a lie, his hope was dying.
He calmed himself, if it all came from nothing then we too are created from nothing, he thought. We all share the same ingredients of that nothingness, but the variety in our behavior was a little hard to comprehend. If we all are same, then why the maligning? Does our left hand ever malign the right one, but then what if the left hand doesn’t know that the right hand belongs to the same body.
Only thing which the world needs to know is that it belongs to the same body, the nothingness, once he comprehended this truth, his hope again started breathing, he found peace in the destruction, smile in the sadness, to blame god is insanity, to blame ourselves is the right thing to do.
In the flowing maledictions, he found blessings, in the evil around, he saw god, in the chaos of life he found nothingness, emptiness, his true and real creator.