Ananyaism

Few days back I came across a blog post by a young lady, expressing her dilemma of being a woman and asking random readers if writing can justify the woman inside her. I found a comradeship between us as I have always been disillusioned by my entity and believe me, writing doesn't help; rather it confuses me more. I didn't start this blog because I wanted an audience or I wanted to be a part of this new world of networking, but I desired to reach out to few people who are connected to me unknowingly. I don't know them yet, and they do not have slightest idea about my existence.


Though I have always been a typical dreamy and out of vogue kind of creature who believed in love, loss, reunions, soul connections and telepathy, but after reading Coelho’s Brida I have turned into a complete bohemian. My whimsical self has absorbed the essence of Coelho’s theory of life, soul bonding, spiritual world and an omnipotent. Mere thought of 'I' behaving the real self petrifies to the core as the revelation might mar my life on earth, so after a great deal of introspection I choose to become none, I choose to become what my fellow dwellers on this dowdy and mundane world are.


I am indeed a chameleon living layers of life, trying to keep each layer alive so that my true worth doesn't get lost in the oblivion. I pick this blog to keep my insanity going, it makes me happy to reach out to those who are a fragment of me, who would react to my written expressions in a way as I do when I read them. Do not know who they are, where they are or how messed up life they lead, but I would strike a chord in their heart and make my presence felt every time they will pass by. Ananyaism is nothing but being you, not a man or a woman, black, white or brown. It is definitely not about proving yourselves, or joining a rat race of acquiring financial gains or any kind of worldly recognition. It is about the whimsical you, who is an unacceptable, untouchable, hated mortal in this wise world of money, sex and material. Ananyaism hates to judge you; it hates the one sitting pretty wearing a Kenneth Cole ensemble behind your systems, trying hard to be one of those rats.


I want to meet my other halves who do have their own Xanadus, who can allow me to visit their grotto and be my guest when feeling beaten by this world. I cry out loud, and extend my hand towards my soul-mates of different lives; I want to re unite with you all. I want to keep myself alive for you.