Every journey is a new journey. Every love is a new love. But every day, we are still the same old one with same prejudices, limitations, and traditions and convictions.
Isn’t it ironical? Things change, all around us, but we retain our same old ethnic, often rotten, sheath. Inside out. Nothing changes.
Is this what you call stagnation? Perhaps! Who will answer? It takes courage to stand affront, facing the crowd of old traditions and disavow them of their convictions, beliefs and ask them to try something new. You do it, you are doomed. You don’t do it, you are dead yourself.
I remember William Wallis, moments before the great battle of Sterling, crying his heart out to the crowd, men who never fought but ploughed, who never took a risk but grew grains on the mercy of rains, who never locked eyes with their perpetrators but yielded and succumbed to their putrid fields, and homes, only to die out of a disease or guilt.
Guilt is a disease, he meant. Guilt for not taking on a fight when that was most necessary for one’s self-pride, even existence. Guilt for not fighting their way to freedom.
Then I remember Gandhi. And the guilt he might have harbored from urging his people, who trusted so much into him, to not to act. Inaction! Even the animals act. But Gandhi stripped us of action, and endorsed action as the worst moral sin.
Anyways. Different people, different views. What is important is to have a view, no matter what.
No matter where you go, you must go somewhere. Irony again? I know.