Why don't you have a purpose?

So today, I got my first Quora A2A :D.

While it was for an unexpected question, I sure did want to answer it.
Here's the answer on the original question: http://qr.ae/vrIoa

Here's a transcript.
Q: God made me, gave me my family, gave me life that I may enjoy all things, but why didn't he give me a purpose?
A: Let's imagine this from the viewpoint of God.

He creates the world. He creates the flora and fauna. They are sentient, but it's not really exciting. He knows that this bird is going to eat that worm, that bird is going to be eaten by this animal, that animal is going to die, and then the worms are going to eat him again. He does this for ages and ages. But he's bored. He stirs up his creative juices, and creates dinosaurs. This is gonna be interesting, he thinks. And for a while, he is entertained. Those humungous beasts, with razor sharp claws and scythes for teeth, all of them fighting for survival. The special effects are amazing. But like all games with graphics and no game-play, it is only interesting for a while. He's bored again. Though the dance of the dinosaurs is so much cooler, they're essentially doing the same thing as before. They just eat, sleep, and reproduce.

In a fit of brilliance, he injects some of his consciousness and intelligence and creates man. He makes them puny as compared to the dinosaurs, but he makes them social animals. He gives the handful men that exist a purpose, and then watches them. And likes it at first. The new ones are interesting. They walk on only two legs, and their use of the hands is so much fun! They make tools. They make weapons. They discover fire, and how to make it on their own. God is surprised at the speed of their machinations. They invent a way to properly express ideas amongst each other without ambiguity! They have invented a language! God wonders whether these new players aren't too strong. They know their purpose, and are advancing in the game too fast! To balance it out, he yanks out their purpose-programming, leaving a void where it used to stay.

Man feels this sudden void inside of him when he awakens the next day. Man is stumped at feeling so incomplete, where once he knew what needed to be done, and could advance down a definite path, he now has to think for himself about his future. He does not have that stern, unbending voice inside him guiding him to God's purpose. Instead, Man is confused. God loves this. It's a twist in the tale. It's something new. He now waits with bated breath to see what Man will do.

Man, meanwhile, turns inwards. The intelligent ones understand what is missing. They study their thoughts. They study life. They know that they don't have a divine purpose anymore. They tell the rest of the Men that you are now free to do what you want to do. Your chains have been cut off, and you can be the creators of magic. But Men didn't understand. They are used to knowing what exactly to do, and are left in disarray. Some of them, see an opportunity. They rise up to the mantle of the leaders, and give the rest a purpose. They create nations. They wage wars. They promote philosophy and science. They create goals, and sell them to the rest of the Men. And Men become slaves again. For the rest of the story, read history.

God meanwhile, has invented popcorn. He sits and watches from his pedestal about the variety which he has brought about by this one change. He congratulates himself. And he relaxes after this long hard day to reap the harvest of his efforts. His popcorn has just the right amount of salt, and his humans are just hungry enough that he doesn't need to make changes. And he lives happily ever after.

P.S. Because you don't have an ingrained purpose, you have the power to choose! You can become an artist, a scientist, a gamer, a humanitarian. All avenues lie open at your feet. Can you imagine how dull life would be if you knew what you had to do in life? You'd just be grinding away all day, everyday at the same thing. You can do whatever you want. Whatever pleases you. You are god's final creation, and have the freedom to become something which you will like and respect.
 
But please, make it interesting. Don't let God get bored.

I've been busy!

Terribly, terribly busy. With the horribly tangled up PRs, to the constant pounding in the back of my head to write my SOP; it's just been one blurry hustle of procrastination and scrambling attempts at writing a passable SOP. Anyways, I seem to have gotten somewhere with it. Along with exercising, eating healthier, and being more positive, it seems like I CAN be positive. Humph. Who knew. Anyways, I hope even if(when?) the positive outlook recedes, I can still keep up the other healthier habits. It is true what they say, you know, a healthy body leads to a healthy mind!

Anyways, cheer up. Weird coming from my mouth, but get going. Don't just do something, sit there!

On the topic of my writing, I just don't seem to get in to the mood nowadays. Pragmatism has pulled me out of the comforting womb of romanticism which I used to float around in earlier. But anyways, with the recent changes, I hope to get lost and find the womb again. Mothers have that effect. They brighten up your life ;).

There's this project I've been working on. More of a social experiment, really. Let's see if it works out. It is really going to be a test of my developed social abilities.

Hiatus

I seem to have taken a hiatus from writing poems. I know it looks like that from the two stories in succession, but it'll come. It's just a break, and I'm really enjoying the different style in which the stories have been written. I might seem awfully full of myself when I tell you that 'the stories have been written', but trust me, that's how it is. I don't have absolute control when, and how, they are penned, or in some cases, typed. They're two different, beautiful mediums through which I hope to express something.

A short story is an idea in your head. It's there in pure form, swallowing you in completely till you pay attention to it. And then you try to grasp it; to understand it completely, but come back burnt from the experience, because such purity is not for us mortals. The moment you touch it, you know that you are not capable of handling it. You can't even look at it now without shielding yourself. That's when you take the help of the wonderful invention called words. You wrap your idea all around, like a newborn babe, with infallible words to shield yourself from the sheer intensity. You wrap them softly around the idea, leaving just enough to get a small, loving glance at it. And then you brand your thoughts down, solidifying the infantile form burning bright, forming the words on paper which you know will last.

Poems are a different matter altogether. A poem is like an impromptu dance. Just like at the beginning of the dance, you hear the crescendo of the music, swelling to the point where you just start dancing, so it is with poems. It ruminates in you for a long time, and you feel it coming on, greater and greater, to the point where you must listen to it. It leads you on, to it's own rhyme and rhythm, till you are lost inside it's world. Your pen flies across the landscape of the paper, like a ballerina flitting across the stage; a black swan at it's peak. You are guided by the music, setting the tone of it all, though the steps are your own. And when it is time for the dance to get over, you feel the climax coming, and you build into this frenzy, up to the moment of revelation, when it is all complete. The epiphany, where it all falls into place. And then it's over. And you can go back now.

Thoughts penned

A little context: I had just started feeling like I could write again for myself, and the first thing I felt like writing was what I was thinking about right then.

"Bind me not before you know what I can create, but if after having set me free, the wonders I bring forth are not worth my freedom."

"I love drawing fires, because a fire has no form. It has been as definite as a drop of water, and as scattered as embers in the wind. No matter how you draw a fire, you aren't wrong, because when you draw a fire, you are mirroring yourself back in it; and who you are cannot be wrong!"

Musings on a bus

Warning: I wrote this while on a bus on a trip with friends to Coorg, amongst a busy cacophony, so it might not upto the mark, but eh, here goes.

Sitting in a bus riding along, my thoughts travel alongside. Racing ahead, they seem to always come back to where I am. Even after piercing through the veil of time, they move forward back to where I am.

My friends and I revel in the simple joy of companionship. No one speaks, because there is no need to. The songs in the background permeate us, taking deeper into ourselves, barely touching the moment. And in the end, it comes down to this.

The moment.

Where else will you find joy? Happiness is an abstract concept that I have not identified with, but joy we have all experienced. Be it after a long, tiring day when you get some good tidings, or when you meet someone after a long time. Winning a competition, or achieving something, all those experiences give you joy. And that is something found only in the moment. I seem at a loss to describe it, but suffice to say that I am, at the moment, joyous.

Speaking about things in the moment, there another feeling that fits the description. It is something so rare today, that you find it only in the fleeting breaks in between our mangles lives. It is peace. The contentment of just being. Another feeling I see around me right now. The world has been reduced to the confines of our bus, and the scenery rapidly falling behind. And it all seems peaceful, like it was meant to be. Ah, which reminds me, let me get out of this reverie, and into my moment ;).