In the Search of Infinity...

Empty mind is a wanderer. The most notorious kid and the most brilliant minds can't think of what an empty mind can. Sometimes it just lets one weave a nice web of dreams and sometimes it just shatters everything... even what seems real!!!

Mind takes wherever nothing can, to the skies, to the oceans, even to the heart and dreams of yours. It all seems so real when one is traveling. It all seems to be nice, but one realizes the reality when ones back.

Empty mind has no limits, no inhibitions. It goes away with someone and comes back with something. It lives a life of its own... free like a bird!!!
It has nothing to fear of, nothing to worry about... what it knows is whats gonna come... just when and how?

It has no limit... imagination begins from where it ends in real life... and thats where the search of Infinity begins!!!

A life of dreams, and a dream from thousands... its all here... Search from the infinity and make it yours!!!

Cheers!!!

Endless journey of Dreams !!!

Afloat in grey mist, a canoe glides through still water. There is no end to the mist and the boatman is in no hurry to reach anywhere. What does one do when one is on a journey of one's dreams, except dream. Dreams do not particularly fare well all the time, amidst the silent shadows of reality. But dream on we must.

In me, I've found the most compulsive dreamer I've ever met. I dream by choice and by habit. It's my escape and my inspiration. It's the amalgamation of all my what could have been's and what can be's. It also the sole keeper of all my fears, my hopes, fantasies and frustrations. In it I see myself, as myself, alone and devoid of the artifice of the world around me. I see myself, because of what I am, not because of what the world has decided I should be.

Do I dream in words, sounds, images? I do not know. Do I only dream when I am asleep? Most certainly not. Do I dream only happy things? No. Sometimes, I dream the worst that can be, by choice. Just to make myself cry. When I am precariously balanced at the threshold of pain, then the ability to make myself cry is a big advantage.

People are not always mindful of other people. People are almost never mindful of me. Especially when I do not want them to be. I can fade away into the background without a whimper as if I am just another random pitch in the white noise of space. In such times, ignored by what is concrete, I dream about the abstract. I gaze at the space in front of me and reflect myself in the shards of my imagination.