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The Power Of Purpose


The manifestations of motive

A man is captive within himself. He dwells in a freedom which is confirmed to bounds, he breathes in an ambience ensnared to limits, he nurtures a shriveled valiance with the quaint promises of trepidation, and he is infinite to his content and eternal only to his perception. He lives up to the demure equilibrium in his life and devours the inherited symmetric patterns of faith. His endeavors to abide the rudiments of life, to tread the arduous avenues with fervor, to encroach the realms and intervene the horizons, to be incorrigible, infallible, immaculate and to be the protagonist are just mere participants of his supreme urge to promote his unknown purpose. To him, purpose is the blatant proposition of an existence without ethics, the ideal definition of a life without morals and a pragmatic conclusion to all dubious queries that scrutinize a man's caliber. Purpose moulds in a man the unabashed frame that ceases to succumb to fondle the woes of an impertinent macrocosm. It determines in a man the narcissism to occupy the vanity and hence cultivate reluctant perfection. Alas, purpose never makes a man weak, only too powerful to handle himself.

When we bargain diligence without the peripheries of a foundation to blemish the piety, we intrude the thresholds of benignity, of forbearance - of divinity. Emphatic selflessness draws and augments the daunted palpability and causes to initiate the preamble of soul and the human torso. With the participle "I" confined, man ventures to scour the being for the "they" and hence, alters and adapts to the resonant verity that never before had stammered subsistence to him. He then empathizes the requisite virtue of sympathy, affection and zeal; words that had been condemned and abdicated as indemnities of the mythical forlorn, and thus embellishes the pavement to his salvation. Eventually he also realizes that the gifts devoid of ambition when submitted to ardent performance are bearers not of bovine failure but instead perpetually pregnant for reasons too sublime to be dissipated in words. After all, to be divine is not to scavenge divinity, but to simply and actually not realize it at all. And this true knowledge of solitary purpose defines our complete and absolute motive and lone self.

How we commit to not make mistakes and mistake our own commitments. How there's mere shallow depth between a you and an I and how we terribly fear its little extent. How everything we learn is purposeless knowledge and yet the only purpose worthy of knowing. How we are the ultimate fools and yet the grandest of men. How there is so much depth above us and yet we're afloat. How cruel we are to understand and yet not to act, and act even without understanding. How our pursuits are infinite and how infinity is so little, so pathetically small. How our actions must be great, if not sincere. How virtue is a sentence of the ideal mind. How we're all proud of everything we have and how we have nearly nothing. How we prefer to cry than to know shame. How belief is a great assumption and an easy attribute. How we are seldom lost and often undiscovered. How many strive to succeed and how the rest, just strive. How we could fly, only if we didn't have wings. How brown is the sky and how blue, the sand. How things could have meaning and most of all, contentment. How there should actually be reason to happiness and not to responsibility. How we can only defeat ourselves and triumph only over us. How we know all about ourselves and how we know only that. How hollow is conquest without the right enemy. How we have everything and more, but never enough. How alone we are in the company of ourselves. How time is significant only when we count. How we all are beautifully humble and so clever, so damn clever. How every man is god and maybe god is a man too. How identity is our greatest incentive and how it's too pathetic a cause. How happiness now is done and completed. How we try hard to pretend to love and how we hate, at ease. How everyman is egocentric and how I am one of them.

How fear accumulates and valor drains away. How our courage is immortal and how immortality is a myth. How we're the greatest of species and yet the lowest of them. How we deter invention and encourage discovery. How belief is the only religion and how we're all atheists. How we may never have time and yet time is all we may have. How people are insensitive, treacherous and severely brutal, and how we are people. How we know what's right and wrong but never fail to misplace them. How we're all honest and still lying. How we're always satisfied and barely insufficient. How pride yields ample honor but only momentary satisfaction. How material is not supposed to matter and how except it, nothing else does. How the water is blue and still colorless. How we're individuals, intellectuals and still men. How the only thing real is by chance. How our reserves are limited and how we are always thirsty. How things we don't wish to know are perfectly clear and how joy is just a realization. How our illusions are more perfect than everything else that isn't an illusion. How we're all worthy of knowing the truth and yet too ashamed to know it. How we're defined by a term and how we're divided by much more, much much more. How our needs are many and how we need only contentment. How every man is immortal before he dies. How we know all except true intelligence. How in a simple world, nobody wishes to be simple. How the dearest thing in life is life itself and the ugliest is the sole prospect of losing it. How we allow religion to rule, divide and conquer, and still we're men of strong esteem. How we listen only to god and how god has never spoken. How we always yearn to be heard but never have much to say. How there are things that we don't understand and those that we do; the only difference being how they affect and tend to recreate us. How emotions are irrelevant and largely mistaken. How there is no dynamism in this world and won't be either, until we're morally useless. How deeds done without self consideration are just fables of a fond past. How love is blind and usually unnecessary. How as long as we believe, we cannot hope to be rational. How sanity is a trend, rationality a concept and wisdom, a heritage. How character is an image of our free will and choice, and how a man of free will has either too many choices or no character at all. How greatness is seldom a plea and often an inheritance. How we can either be men or simply be reasonable. How discipline is just an object of sentimental value. How the good way is always the hardest and how the best way is just plain simple. How academic lives are simply pointless and how pointless lives are academically successful. How justice is often misled, mostly incomplete but always unjust. How life is a four page chapter and freedom is the text of the fifth. How piety is a celebrated topic but a forgotten emotion. How conscience is merely a mental study of material queries. How interest is rarely relevant and basically inane. How we're qualified people and unqualified men. How discipline is only a somber gentleman's art and how indiscipline is a criterion of sobriety.

How ingenuity is the genius of one man and the adventure of many. How shame in a proud man is a reluctant sentiment and guilt, a mysterious one. How right is ethically correct and how wrong is unethically great. How negligence is mainly an onerous function but an ideal utility. How truth is too cruel to be told and too potent to be held in words, and how we prefer lies. How we can familiarize triumph and hardly recognize failure. How tact matters in a tactless world. How ability makes a man huge and how it confines him. How independent judgments are mistaken for self reliance. How honesty is the easiest virtue and the simplest skill. How we yearn perfection and nothing less, just amply more. How we all tend to commit mistakes and how this is supposedly an ideal world. How confidence is bred over certainty and how we're persistently dubious. How resolutions are bare empty decisions made to satisfy a corresponding present and a consequent future. How revenge is truly the sweetest satisfaction and the greatest acknowledgement of strength. How knowledge only corrects our estimate of what is happening. How grief is a populated word. How sorrow binds and elation exhales. How need instigates cause and breeds intention. How greed is just an efficient emotion. How we are honored by our limitations and also handicapped by them. How determination was a fantastic idea but a tremulous concept. How beauty is a generous soul but a poor observer. How misery alone is mediocrity's subtle compensation. How change is just a privileged excuse. How religion is every man's theory of absolute refuge. How we're all prejudiced men in an unprejudiced world. How there is no such thing as appropriate joy. How consequences are not to be considered instead just to take affect. How a feeble man is innocent of being a suspect and the only one suspected of innocence. How friendship must be kept to an extent and motive, at large. How anguish always claims without distinct reason and perfect causes. How erudition condemns a man to sincerity and sincerity exploits his own visions. How the only authority exercised is the order and manner of inhibition. How exactitude is the only science needed and necessary to be known and essential to be revised. How ambition obligates us to consider our pursuits as our responsibilities. How every man is the architect of himself, layering the supreme infrastructure with prime coats of old habit. How nothing is infinite or eternal, instead exactly a stretch of thought away. How belief is three yards of endless thread knitting nothing, just reckless hope. How death is too slight a penalty and too sublime an option. How truth is always a hypothetical statement and a debatable issue.

These are? the purposes. This is the immoral blasphemy that riddles our mortality and queries our subsistence. These are not vindictive or irrational statements put by an absent mind but words that require, achieve and deceive, altogether, our separate renditions of the one prospect - purpose. These are the prophecies of an eternity, rendering substance to our disciplined faiths that compile our fore-longing for a unique reason.

Purpose is the greatest, yet the most malicious proposition of existence introduced to man. We are mortals, mortals to whom the commandments of life are to tread only on those roads that commence and conclude in us. Our adamant urge to never be one of the many, our defiance of all truths of veracity and our ideals to annihilate the existent verity made us what we are today - men. We encroach the realms of life and intervene the capricious horizons with prospects that are concerned only for the likes of the me and the I. In us lies the yearning that teaches the ever-dubious laws of life - To live for self, to cheat for self, to slaughter for self and self-alone. Fidelity to ourselves, deference for our existence and a narcissist approach to life is the only erudition, we actually do attain. We lead ourselves by the hand in a world of darkness following a path paved not for any man to trudge upon and claiming all that which wasn't destined to us because in a world where men seek the visions of greatness they stand blinded to the paths taken to immortality. Leading a pointless life, with it to dwell and condition mankind's bearing, human, even though tempted to but never affords to make sacrifices for the sake of purpose. Being, but, handicapped to the only option and the only alternative, he leads a motionless, corroded life. He humors everything immaterial and irrelevant while these, he only pursues. He believes in strict reasoning and how things must or precisely should be and he's corrupted by his own meaningless effort and lack of symmetry. But purpose gives us composure and the bridges the simple thoughts of varied minds. It stands tall as not a proposition but a pet of worldly choice, abiding and awaiting with its unbridled wrath and magnanimous tendencies.

'Purpose', in itself, is a collective term. It is unrelenting, though not powerful and it is too powerful, to be just perfect. It speaks only of legends and legacies and not of prospects to which it actually belongs. It values nothing more than its present where exactitude is burnt in the inferno of man's caliber. It was never too young and it shall never grow old, but it will always be inherited and passed forth. It basks in the abundant realization of mortality and in the dearth of mortals left to realize. It shall always be ending but never enough to be entirely obsolete. It is the most resilient feature of humanity with no tangible ends and no obvious beginnings. It is guilty of the good that it never did and the simple truth that it shall always refrain to accept.

Man is a conventional fool - relative only to the way a thing is done and not to the way it should be governed. He leads himself by the hand in a world of darkness following a path paved not for any man to trudge upon and claiming all that, which wasn't destined to him because in a world where men seek the visions of greatness, they stand blinded to the paths taken to imminent immortality. He advocates the piety of tradition, being superstitious of amends. He believes that he has little extent and yet, indefatigable expanse. Most of all, he is an addict, addicted to the definite rigidity that is around him and precisely inside him. His contentment of the way things are, makes his resolute conservativeness impeccable, for where men lead their lives like an itinerary they become less susceptible to change. Throughout his life he is restricted to one sole being - himself and still he could never be more selfless. Though he is not a moralistic soul, he lived in stern accordance with his morals. In colonial faith, he spares no ratio but in beliefs, criticized and condoned, he rested all of him and his unethical self. He supposed that his greatest freedom was exactly what captivated him and made him less authentic. The only thing that makes him real is his insensitivity to material values that were supposed to matter most. He is convicted to himself and to secure the only possible responsibility of hope. He has no principles and ideals, only an objective and what he wants to achieve too had no greatness in it, instead utterly the strict capacity for one man's will and the world, the rest remains, forever maybe, nonsense.

As an individual, he fights the collective trend and the distributed reason. He is in a battle with no comrades against an inexorable army of obstinate chauvinists struggling for the arid terrain of acceptance. He battles for he yearns to conquer and he struggles for he holds that it is never enough to conquer, he desires to seduce. There had been times when he could have dissolved and the current of time would sweep down upon him in imperative urges, the temptation dampen and devour his grandest of ambitions, but he simply declines to be mortal, to be sane, to be human?

This unreal quest of one just man to belong, to quote the last chapter of every man's evolution and life's greatest opportunity of holding itself is the fountainhead of the final conflict against living and the incredible concept of being alive - this is the power of purpose.

About The Author

Hello. This is one of my idiosyncratic chapters about reality and consequential life. Enjoy.

mosaics12@rediffmail.com


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