Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Conflicted Minds

There is a fundamental conflict in my thinking. Something I know is shared by a few of my friends (Actually, very few with whom I discuss such stuff). The conflict is between the two different sides of the thought process and their different needs.

On one side is the social self. The self that defines itself relative to others, as an outcome of social-conditioning. The self that thrives on being respected, appreciated, admired, accepted ... needed by others. The self that competes with others, wants to be better than others (Mating instincts? :) ). Y (The other party to this discussion) would rather call it the biological self. The society, he argues, is the sum total of a billion biological instincts. May be.

The other side is the abstract self. The self that yearns for the absolute and the pure. Something that is not decided by people but exists eternally. Like, may be, what this guy finds in some really abstract piece of math. Or some find in God. Or some find in a painting. It exists and is beautiful without any care for another person's judgement.

These needs are at odds with each other. An achievement for the abstract side does not satisfy the social side. The discontent remains. Conversely, the abstract self actually detests the social side. It detests the very desire to be recognized, it detests the pleasure from being appreciated. In the pure world, these things should have no effect.

But they both exist in me (:( ), like two misbehaved constantly-quarreling kids. Just as I realized this.. Y came up with this very cheesy line.. "It's a duality. Like the quantum duality. If it works for the world, it should work for us."

Hmm. That seems correct. The answer is an equilibrium. Recognize both exist. Let them co-exist. Stop the fight. Stealing a picture from a talk by a professor I really like....

Monday, November 08, 2010

Broken Glass

Strange are the ways,
of shattered glass,
better left broken at times,
than held, in hurting caress.

But we hold no grudge,
we yield to reason,
it was not the day,
just was not the season.

But it isn't our failing,
that we obey our heart,
that the meaning in our eyes,
forked wide apart.

But can scattered pieces,
and but a spoonful of glue,
bear the drops again,
and stop the spew?

The day may never come,
or maybe isn't yet here,
when we dare blow at dust,
settled deep on a crusted tear.

Strange are the ways,
of shattered glass,
better left broken?
than held, in hurting caress?