A Fantasy Or Reality?

The whole atmosphere is celestial, exotic and eccentric. By a wink of thought weather and view both changed in a millionth of a second. This was not heaven. It was the office and abode of the Zelius, in a planet 167 thousands of light-years away from the earth. This structure, if it can be called a building had all the information about planet earth and many more, where the Inhabitants of this un-named planet had planted creatures of billions of sorts, from five million to fifty thousand years back, developing, evolving, maximizing and minimizing, enhancing and degrading their brain cells. In reality, the brain of all creatures was from the cell of the matrix of the Inhabitants of this un-named planet, in different mutations.

Since the last fifty thousand years, they were studying and researching about all these creatures of which human was one of a few utterly developed in content and creed.

After the state of art development, human being started concocting, using and inventing. In search of their being, first of all, they felt fear and reward, the foremost features of the genetic code inserted. The Zelius infused this genome in them some ninety-five thousand years ago. They were unable to sublimate of these two basic genetic aptitudes. Due to fear in their selves emerged the pursuit of god, the Zelius. To theorize the reward heaven was perceived, a place full of all the amenities without working. Workless hours, if the word hour can synchronize with the time vogue at that place were supposed to be spent in frolicking. Only by seeing the daylight, the image of contrast came to the newly enriched brain-machine, thus hell was thought to be in store for agony.

The urge to seek and know, a paradigm of ensuing toward the ultimate, the self, led the human being to spend the lion’s share of fellow beings’ toil in space to reach beyond. The Zelius neither smiled nor winced because he was too far away, but very near, unknown, unseen and unmitigated.

Among many fantasies of mine, the resurgence of one fantasy was always tremendous. It went like that, that from a place, teeming with people, I may take off, just by myself, in an unthinkable speed. All spectators should keep on wondering gazing towards skies, speechless, thought ridden and perplexed.

Of course I many a time tried to analyze this wish of being whiffed away. May be it was an urge for exhibitionism as everybody does have its part but it is more defined in magicians, actors and politicians. Or it may have been a desire to flabbergast the people around aghast. It may have been an ambition to scurry in the abyss of space or to be attracted towards the God almighty but I was unable to draw any deduction of reality from all these variations of possibilities. With the thought of this fantasy coming true I was fearful yet enthralled more.

My fantasies were boundless, from being a Casanova to being a billionaire and from getting younger in a night or to be Jesus next day healing the sick and resurrecting the dead.

Sometimes I used to be fed up with these baseless open eyed dreams, though I never was a day dreamer. My head used to burst. This usually happened when I being sleepy used to go to bed but once my head rested on the pillow, this whirlwind used to erupt and my sleep would go away. Thus I developed a habit of putting my palm under the temple of one side keeping the other hand free to apply double pressure on the temple of other side but this procedure never soothed me. From reciting the prayers to counting the lost sheep of Jesus, everything was of no use. This whirlwind stopped by itself as it started.

Standing at this unusual place of dream or reality, whatever one may deem it I was thinking that centuries back a mystic poet on earth said, “I was, I am and I will be!”, yet using the flute as a metaphor, lamented his separation from the origin which meant perhaps he was an integral part of a whole. Now he exists as a separate entity, though whole in himself and he yearns to integrate with origin but losing his identity. Few more centuries afterwards in a different socio-cultural environment another mystic poet rejoiced stating,” I shall not die, buried will be someone else” but also lost his happiness asking a fundamental question in another verse,” who am I? Me not a sacred in a sacred place and also not an apostate among non-believers, who am I?”

The existentialists felt doomed depicting a man “chained to be free” but knew that a person is forced to remain existent and keep on digesting the absurdity of life events, how abhorring they might be. The notion of mystics and existentialists about being or existent is the opposite. The paradox is that people who are impressed by existentialism start praising the mystic poets and there poetry at later stages of their lives, still not conforming to mystics’ religious mode.

The desire for the continuation of life after life in mystics is rather a dormant wish to remain known in any form whatsoever. Life after death, a mandatory part of most of the religious teachings is complete enjoyment free from bowing and prohibitions. In existentialists to keep on dragging the life despite its absurdity is concerned with the activity, motion, temporary enjoyment and to be known as an identity. Being has to be nothingness without fail. The nothingness of the mystics’ teachings is more than something rather being the only thing.

The fear of one’s being either becoming extinct or merging with the thing which is not the being for the merged push many thinking individuals either to argue or to eulogize. I am one of those fearing entities, who usually boast not to be afraid of being extinct, not existent or turning into nothingness. I can poeticize the matters especially philosophical and to a lesser extent romantic ones, but I never claimed to be a poet. Since wishing to be known as a poet is again a yearning to become known and gain eminence. Here I shall quote another mystic poet’s verse,” Everybody play to win, you play for losing O dervish!”

Playing in such a manner I was taught by my two mentors, who never knew that I took them as my mentors. One of them was a scholar of giant stature but down to earth existentialist person. A retired high school teacher, Fida Hussain Gadi was always seen loaded with books new and old. His way of answering the most difficult and disputable questions was didactic in nature. He used to question and question the person who used to ask a question until the answer was uttered by the person himself who put the question in the beginning. Then this great teacher used to say,” Gentleman you knew the answer by yourself, why then you were asking from me” thus keeping the questioner’s self-respect intact.

The other mentor was the renowned folk singer of Pakistan Pathanay Khan. He was the person who always played to lose. He was a Sufi through and through. He taught me to be a non-conformist, rather he confirmed me to remain which I was from the very start of my being conscious.

I did not close my eyes in this thinking process but by a wink, I was on this very earth and at the place where I usually am. Did I hallucinate? Nay! It was true that I was there in the office and abode of the creator. Oh no! Pardon!! May it be that I am a poet, a fantasizer?