Illusion; an instance of a wrong or misinterpreted perception of a sensory experience.

Nirvana, Moksha or salvation, whatever it is that you call it, is the basis of most theist practises, and is the ultimate goal of a believer, one who believes that he can truly gain riddance from all pain, sorrow, hurt, agony, desolation, and all other unwanted earthly chains that tie you to suffering. But is it really mangling of desires that can grant you bliss? Or is it questioning these very desires?

We do not question ourselves and the ebb and tide of society as we are afraid to destroy the balance of the delicately stacked weights of seeming order in our world, not the Earth, but the tiny world that we have created around ourselves, our own little cloud of emotions and assumptions. But we forget that this universe itself was a result of chaos and imbalance. And more importantly, we forget that this little bubble of ours is but an illusion, a stage that we ourselves have set up to wear masks on.

Listen closely, and you will hear it. You will hear the anarchic, hurtful, yet peaceful sound of cracking glass. Listen, as your illusion crashes down to but shards of looking glass, your myriad reflections visible on them. Yet look closely, look at the eyes, ablaze as they seem with realization, a dawning sun in the pitch black night sky.

What is pain then? Pain is but a concept created by the illusion that now lies sprawled in a wreckage at your feet. And pain may even be what you need, yet you were told otherwise. What is happiness then? Is it but a state of high mind and lowly soul? Is it sin? Is it bliss? Is there sin? Is there bliss?

What is renunciation then? Giving up things precious, experiencing the ripping feeling at the bottom of your guts, or slipping into oblivion, of all meaning, of all universe, of self itself? What is pleasure then? A low bar set to oppose mighty pain by mere mortals?

And what is mortality? Is there such a thing as mortality? Is death anymore the only unknown? And is this death the darkness of a seemingly endless pit or the shimmer of hope at the very end of that very pit? It may previously have been the only unknown, but now, after the mirage has faded, it appears to be the only constant in the equations, while all the knowns suddenly become variables, their values now long gone. Or were those values never there? Whatever said and done, Death sure doesn’t seem frightening anymore.

But then, what is fear? Is it good? Is it bad? Is there good? Is there bad? Is this all a dream? What if you emerge awake into another reality altogether? But then which is the dream? Which is reality? Is there even a reality? Or is it just you, trapped inside thoughts, inside yourself? But then what are you? What is this chain of thoughts? You have long lost your control over it, it keeps running in circles, buzzing, irritating, insatiable. There are only questions. Questions and emptiness, as though you are floating, numb, but there are no answers, none at all. But you need them. Or is it them that needs you? Both your existences depend on your interaction. But again, is there existence at all?

And then there is that searing, blinding pain in your head. Darkness envelopes you, embraces you. But then, it could have been light