Beyond by Santosh Jha (most read books of all time TXT) 📕

look very complex and colossal but; in actuality, its processes seem simple and uncomplicated. He begins to think; there are simple and only handfuls of elements, which his life-living has to account for. There is ‘Me’, my consciousness, whether neutral or indulgent in extremities of ‘in favor’ or ‘against’ causality, the life-living presents. Then; there is a definitive progression of single-dimensional Time. Finally, there are purposes, which are truly multidimensional. The purposes are everywhere, as is the core multidimensional Information.

He begins to think; if there is a definitive pattern of elements of causalities and there are stages of elements aligning with different causalities to engender dimensions to realities; emancipation can be a definitive probability at every stage and with all causalities. Naturally; every stage and all causalities present themselves this probability of going beyond. Probably; beyond is nothing but a dimension itself. If there are infinite probabilities of dimensions of realities; beyond may itself be nothing else but a probability of dimension of reality…!

He is not sure. Even simplicity is only a dimension and every dimension innately and intrinsically aligns with probabilities of causalities to engender endless dimensions. Every process is exposed to inevitable probabilities of entropy. Every dimension is also a process of information and therefore, subjected to entropic propensities. That is probably why; simplicity never remains simple. It is also a dimension of information and therefore given to entropy; transforming it into evolving complexities. Nakedness is simplicity but even nakedness meets with entropies in processes and translates into complexities of perceptions.

If beyond is only about dimension; it is still not clear how one journeys into this dimension. Then; as causalities always present themselves at every stage in Time linearity; there shall always be an emergent and evolving ‘Dimension of Beyond’. Does this mean; emancipation and beyondness shall be a never-ending cyclicality; till life dissolves into absoluteness of nothingness? He begins to ask; is it that emancipation and beyond journeying are also very much Information and as consciousness constantly and evolvingly processes all Information; this emancipation and beyond information are available for incessant processing. Does this mean; emancipation and beyond are also ceramics of Toys and potteries? Does this mean; consciousness must evolve and master the craft and genius of artistry to make marvelous ceramics out of the clay of emancipation and beyond? Does this mean; emancipation and beyond are also essentially ‘purposes’?

If this is what the simplicity of life-living scripts for optimality; then it is there for easy acceptance that everythingness is all about this ‘artistry’ of consciousness. He begins to think; the question is not about consciousness, me, mine, purpose and attainments. It is all about how the ‘Art’ lends its probabilistic elements to all causalities. The artfulness engenders myriads of shades of realities by adding dimensions to infinite causalities. If everything is pure Information; all utilities and all optimalities are in artfulness of consciousness. Information is neutral and truly the witness. Consciousness probably cannot be true witness as it is the media of processing of the neutrality and witness-ness of Information.

He begins to think; he may have to journey into the ‘Artfulness of Consciousness’ as it shall shape up the meaning as well as the finality of optimality of everythingness. He begins to accept; information is innately simple and absolutely naked. Information cannot remain detached to processing as ‘I’ or Me as media shall always process them. Processing automatically leads to entropic probabilities; transforming simplicity into complexities. This reality itself situations suffocation and subsequent desirability for emancipation. Emancipation beckons for journey beyond to restore the simplicity and also engender new dimensions of primeval simplicity and nakedness. This cyclicality is constant – a truly cosmic constant. This constant expansive journey of beyond is the design…

Do they call it Soul? Is this artfulness of consciousness, the soul, most people accept, as reality? He begins to think; all spirituality and all traditional philosophies refer to Soul as something beyond everythingness, yet sole interface with all realities. They probably refer to Soul as the ‘Sole Artist’, who lends dimensionalities of meanings and purposes to all Information and leads consciousness to keep upgrading its artfulness. Finally, when body-mind meets its absolute nothingness; it returns to cosmic information and assimilates into it.

He begins to think; things may not be as complicated, as people have since ages made it look like in philosophies and spiritualism. May be; the mathematics; the physics of life-living is simple and very much objectively procedural. The bio-chemistry of the media of consciousness makes it complex; as it constantly processes information. He begins to think; may be; the core and singular rule of life-living is one-dimensional but its probabilities lend it to multi-dimensionability. Consciousness and its artistry add dimensions. That is probably why it is all about the artistry of journeying the dimension. If life is one dimensional reality; living needs the artistry of consciousness to decipher and journey into as many dimensions as possible. He begins to think; may be, everything boils down to Artfulness and Dimensions. Both must be unraveled in their holism…

***

She has been in his life and around only for a year. It was a chance meeting and it turned out; she had little knowledge of music but her charm was mesmerizing. He initially doubted; she was always into some prank or other as she never ran short of giggling and barging happily into people. He however could not ignore that she was always into rhythm. Musicality was writ large on her very presence and it seemed; she consciously nurtured it. She had definitely matured in age. She never struck a discordant note in her body or voice expressions. The essence of musicality however was the undercurrent in her. He would instinctively avoid her if she was only music. He was drawn to her because she painted realities in amazing conflation of colors. As she came close to him; he also discovered her to be a marvelous canvas.

He had enquired and she admitted she had no training in music or dance but he realized; in was probably innate in her that she expressed herself in a way an adept dancer would. She was music unto herself as she had the instinctive craft of modulated and chiseled voice. What she did was mundane for him but the way she did it, he found it a true symphony.

They are in happy relationship as she does not rely on his bounties and he seldom seeks her for his blissfulness. They are different but innately complement each other. She knows; he is genuine; he accepts; she is a craft that automatically draws respectability…

Late in the evening, she arrives and as she hugs him gently; he suddenly has a feeling, he probably can see how dimensions stand in front and present themselves to tangibility of perceptibility. She brings in something, he feels is raw information and the togetherness engenders some dimension, which he can see in evolving imagery. He smiles as he feels, how instantly consciousness shifts to completely contradictory dimensions, when a sudden information comes in and muffles the consciousness. She probably had this innate or cultivated artistry to confront him with novelty of appearance, every time she met him. She personified dimensionality… he was blessed…

She has read in the morning newspaper so many things written about him as they all interpreted differently him banging his violin last night. She however has no concern about all these. She is happy; he called her and wanted her to spend the night with him. She always wished to spend time with him but he was always so busy. She is in fact happy; he has banged his violin and probably would be available for her in coming days.

They talk; he tells her what is going inside him. She is not sure what she would be expected to do, as he says, he wants her to help him in his thought processes. After a while, as she listens to him intently, she has the feeling, he has become more childlike. She has always found him true and very respectful to her but it was very manlike. She has never witnessed the innocence and simplicity, which she feels now, as he opens up about his predicaments and current state of precariousness. She feels continuity about him but then, he sits close to her, looking into her eyes with a disposition of completely new dimension. He is singing a novel melody and she can feel the fragrance of infant tenderness in it.

For a man; a woman has everything, which may sum up as his whole world. The man can seek nothing more as his woman has the potentials of probabilities of everything, which he may seek. So is the reality with a woman, vis-à-vis her man. The music has the grammar evolved and installed this way. They don’t only complement each other; they fill each other; fulfill each other. The man and woman present to each other as ‘Prism’, which lends a single dimensional light, the seven dimensions of shades. The rainbow is all within a person – a man or a woman. It needs expression in all its multidimensionality. A woman and her innate consciousness present the ‘media’ for a man to attain his optimality of dimensions. A true man does the same. It is the design. Unfortunately; this mutuality very rarely happens. There are very few men; handfuls of women; only a colossal crowd…

‘I have always felt; they say it wrong when they insist, mirrors cannot lie. There are very few true mirrors anyways. They only show you, what you want to see. Mirrors cannot show you truth, if you stand a lie in front of it. Mirrors are humanity’s best disguised friend of self-validation’, he begins.

She comes closer to him. She can feel what he intends to say. She knows she has never ever tried to mirror him. He has never before sought her in a role, which he intends now. She senses it out. She is only inches away from him. No mirror can show anything this close. Mirrors must be placed a distance away for the eyes to see the image. She is no mirror. She is the ambience, muffling him all around; embracing him.

‘I know, you probably know it better than me, being a woman that like mirrors, most people seek other people primarily for self-validation. We don’t actually need mirrors and people. I am a musician and I have played violin for decades. When I play violin, it is the same feeling when I hold you in my embrace. My violin always plays true to my insinuations. You are so precious to me because of so many reasons but you too are so true to me like my violin. I simply cannot play a wrong note and expect my violin and you to reverberate the right musicality. I banged my violin not because it was being untrue to me. Inversely, it showed me my stupidities. I banged it because I was being untrue to my violin and her strings had become tired of my hypocrisies. I simply cannot do the same with you. I cannot be untrue to you. I cannot heap my hypocrisies and stupidities on you. I can accept failure; I can accept my own demise but cannot accept my hypocrisies. If I cease to be honest and innocent; music shall leave me. You are my music; I meet you only with honesty.’

‘I never have the reason to validate your honesty within me. You don’t even have to think about it. You just talk without even bothering my presence. I am not even other for you. You just be what you are; in your presentness. This honesty is always pure. I also never present myself to you. I just be what I am. You too have been the same. Our presence to each other has never sought a form. You played your music and I imbibed. I danced to my rhythm and you absorbed. Nothing has changed. Be what you feel you