God? no thanks...

God has always been a favorite subject of unending desultory debates. That's why I do not like to spend any time on that. But then discussions pop up out of nowhere and you just want to talk your brains out because you don't want to miss the chance of having company of the other person. But at the end of discussion, no result! Phew!

I don't know what, who or where the God is. May be I don't want to know. Or may be I don't believe in the concept that for everything, God is the responsible person or thing or whatever. I mean, if I have something good in me or something bad in me – I don't like to attribute that to God. I don't like the idea that my life and my destiny is not in my control. Anyhow… There are different views.

I just know what I like, what I don't like, what I am, what I am not, what my strengths are and what I am afraid of… that's enough for me. When it comes to end, I just want to be complete. Anyways, this never ends…

A more fundamental question that sticks like a leech is 'what should one do when one likes something/someone'. To go out and grab it is the easiest possible answer. But whatever or whoever it is - is only temporary, ephemeral. It's like water flowing over the hands. If you close the fist, you've got nothing. Best way is to keep hands open and let the water flow from above it. It can never be yours, you can just let yourself be...

Meanwhile, let me share this photolog, (I lack modesty! All photographed by me :)..) actually the moments when I felt near to something which is the depth of me. And a song, a recent favourite by Carla Bruni (Yup! The Sarkozy legend.. Oh Man! She is beautiful.. Check out the mouth-organ music that starts from 1:52..):



I don't know... but I think this (the song!) is God Level! Just read the lyrics...

Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
All that silk and satin gear;
Crouch upon a stone,
Wrapping that foul body up
In as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

Curse as you may I sing it through;
What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you,
The children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top
Under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

I thought it out this very day.
Noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretense away
Who leans upon a stick,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
Whether to maid or hag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup,
The moon in a silver bag.

Phew!