The Continuity in Change
Waters rose from the ocean, and furious winds carried them to land. Whether it was a cyclone, a hurricane, a typhoon or whatever, it had left a trail of devastation, destruction and death by the ocean-side. The edifices of human achievement — buildings, bridges, roads, electricity towers etc. — all crumbled like houses of cards, blown into smithereens and washed away like sandcastles. Crumpled masses of steel girders, skewed flyovers with uprooted poles, and tangled electricity lines were lying strewn around. It was not unexpected. The meteorologists had calculated its force, gauged its ferocity, warned against its fury, and even gave it a formal name. Having left the ocean side habitations in tatters, clouds carrying the waters reached the faraway plains where cool showers heralded their arrival. There they provided much needed and awaited relief from the heat. Their appearance was like a blessed anointment for the new sprouts. In these plains, far away from the ocean and the cyclonic devastation, grass-blades were smiling; leaves dancing and raindrops gleefully making merry on the petals. It was a complete transformation of the merciless, deathly power into life-giving succour. Creation and destruction became apparent as two facets of the same coin. Amazed, perplexed, dumbfounded — the words most aptly explained the state of mind when mulling over the scenario and its related thoughts.
What a mystery is it, or is it really a mystery at all?
It is the same salty ocean water that is raining like nectar here a few thousand kilometres away. The howling and furious winds near the ocean have become gentle breeze carrying melodious tunes in her bosom here in the plains. Saltwater to sweet water, frightening squall sounds to pacifying pitter-patter symphony of rain, snowflakes to glaciers to waterfalls to rivers; the flow goes on sustained by the process known as change, transformation, metamorphosis — whatever one may call it. All through the universe, continuity and a transition are a synchronised and co-existing manifestation of the same process experienced as life.
If not a mystery or not even a miracle, then how do we explain it? Is it designed, ordained to happen like that? Whose design, whose is this and for what? Whether theist or atheist, scientist or spiritualist, learned or laity, none can question the validity of this observation or challenge the justifiability of this question arising in an agile mind.
Does the question warrant an answer? Searching for that not so elusive but cryptic answer has already taken me to a new opening-up flower in the garden. Its petals are so delicate that I don’t feel like touching them, even with my vision. With each drop of rain, they bow to the sky and spring back to receive more. Why should I even make an attempt at finding an answer?
Isn’t the answer getting revealed itself as we transit from one word to the other and then at the end of it all, when the question has rested itself peeping into our inner eyes! Continuity getting nurtured in the womb of this transition is the repository of the answer. Observing the transition from word to silence and silence to word, one can comprehend the substrate supporting this phenomenon. Words create the world, and silence nurtures it.
How about witnessing them do their acts and just enjoying it?
