The Endless Cycles of Writing

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Words pour out my very thoughts, their existence is only external and unimaginable, waiting patiently, aching to be told in the fashion that they soon will begin to exist. There exist letters and words put together in such a way that it is poetic in design. When you listen or read a song, poem, essay, or whatever may be the heart-stirring piece that awakens the inherent essence in you, you assume that the words that were either written or said, in that particular or specific order, to be divinely inspired by design. How long do you assume those specific words and sentences (or paragraphs or thoughts or books) were waiting to be said and read? They were stored in the infinite endless potential of humanity. They have always and will forever exist. The words that I write here and now, or even the words I have written in the past (most specifically the greater words I have previously said and attested myself to saying in such a specific and philosophical way) that were divinely inspired for me to write. A sudden rush and urge had overcome me and taken over the very fabric of my conceptual reality. I did not write these words, rather they wrote me. I am just the vessel of the words that I write and speak, and consequently, I am also the vessel of the consequences and implications of those words used written, said, or implied. I am the vessel, yet I hold the think tank for the unfoldings to count and happen. Yes, it was me who said those words, and at times, it does fit my character to say (if not all the time/most of the time), yet after all of this, I am still just the vessel which was formed for me.

Language and words as entities existing in an infinite potential state, waiting to be realized through the act of writing. This process is not a one-time occurrence, but a repetitive cycle that unfolds each time words are arranged into meaningful expressions. It's a cycle that engages one as a vessel for ideas that exist beyond the self.

What are the implications of this and what does this mean for us going forward? What philosophical grounds have been broken (or rediscovered) from asking such questions in this particular style and order? Were the words that have written me special in any form or mode, or am I just another printer in the large cog machine? Am I purposeful? Am I special, unique?

I seem to fail in writing or stray away from my natural tendencies of such beautiful conceptions and forms when instead of letting the words write to me, I force the words to be written by me. I am not meant to force myself to do what was not meant or written for me. The art and philosophy of writing can be showcased by how society and science has unfortunately successfully managed to separate the meaning and purpose of Philosophy, art, math, poetry, and Science. They are not separate entities which should be interacted with differently or have one be paid more attention to than the other (unless the current circumstances necessarily call for it; Ex: School subject exam, specific issue unfolding in society that includes the attention of one of these branches of forms/modes of knowledge and Understanding), but rather they should be intertwined by the very inherent essence that has molded and formed them, The Ultimate Binding. They all share the same inherent essence and rush to understand the Divine (those who pursue a science yet do not perceive the true nature of their pursuits [ignorance, deep atheism, hatred, etc.]].

Transcendence of time: Words that are yet to be written already exist in an abstract, potential form. They are timeless - they have always existed and will continue to exist, waiting to be brought into concrete reality through writing, being, and realizing.

Continuity of impact: The words that one writes or speaks have lasting consequences and implications. This means that the cycle continues even after the initial act of writing, as the words influence the reader, sparking new thoughts, leads to more writing, and perhaps leads to a generation truly inspired.

We are meant to be molded back to our original form. The Inherent fitrah put inside every single thing from Allah, The Infinitely Wise, The Infinitely Loving, The Judge of Judges. So what can we do to expedite the process of “original formation” by preparing our arrival To The Everlasting and Beautifully Infinite Garden? To prepare; mentally, physically, ethically, and spiritually; we must first begin at our original and newfound sins.

This is me typing looking at my keyboard, but behold, I have the powers and assistance of my visual aids. My eyes which are a gift provided and aided by nature, nurtured in the most beautiful and most perfect of ways. Precise and pristine in design.