We are obsessed with reliving lives, over and over.
Not necessarily our own, but any life.
We re-live life scenarios in movies, in books, in gossip, even in our dreams.
We find it incredibly interesting to watch a series of events unfold in a character’s life be it one’s own, a girlfriend’s or one digitized. The suspense of what happens next grips us and keeps us clinging to our seats.
Yes, this stretch of time from when we are born to when we die enthralls and enchants us. We lament the woes in our own while relishing those in others, fictional or otherwise. We get entrapped in plots and schemes, hatch dreams and follow subversive themes.
And our minds get so braided with the events until there is no distinction between one and the other. Our thoughts get entrapped within the lives we follow, the life events to be precise.
If only, even for a minute, we could look away from the book, take out eyes away from the movie, wake up from our dream… If only…we could take our thoughts away from the so called events playing out in time. Events, that lack relevance before or after.
Before and after – the stillness jarred by the infinite loop within the finite in-between.
