As I was looking for the meaning of a word one day, I ran into a flurry of synonyms and antonyms competing with each other in an avalanche that buried the word in a vain attempt to define and describe. All the glorious words I met tried to embellish it, polish it and even mirror it but none could define it as well as, well, the word in itself.
As I was looking for the meaning of an action one day, I came up with words that described it – the why, the what, the where and the how. I found words that surrounded and encapsulated it, words that marked its trajectory and charted its course, words that colored it and amplified it but none could define it as well as, well, the action itself.
I was looking for the meaning of an emotion one day. I thought I’d look for it in my thoughts as words had failed me before. I thought through it, I thought over it. I thought rationally and then I thought instinctively. I theorized over it and slept over it. I philosophized it and even enshrined it. But then none of the thoughts could define it as well as, well, the emotion washing itself over me.
I was looking for the meaning of a thought one day. I sifted through the crevices of my memories and etchings of my experiences. I tried to define it and delineate it. I tried to stretch it and extrapolate it. I even tried to derive the statistical standard deviation of its tracts along the quadrants of time. But none of them came close to well, the lone thought thinking itself within me.
I was looking for the meaning of life one day. I looked for it in words, I looked for it in my emotions and I looked for it in my thoughts. I looked for it in stones and in tarot cards. I looked for it in scriptures and religions, in science and in silence. I even looked for it in the wisdom of hermits and in parables of pebbles. But none of them came close to well, living the life itself.
I mean it.