Tarun's Conceptual Art: Freeing The Mind. Reconceiving The World.

We live in the mind.

We live in a mind that thinks the world exists.

We peer out of an i.

All we see is framed by this i.

Everything is covered by this stench of this i. Living in Maya drunk on Maya, we are condemned to lying in a puddle of puke. There is no escape from death's assembly line.

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So what do we do? We know the eye lies. We know the i distorts. But we know only this eye, only this i. We are landlocked in this i, gridlocked into this world. Or are we?

Rumours emerge that some have escaped the world, that some are not bound by the i. Whispers emerge of something beyond this i. The i tries to kill those whispers. And the i so desperately wants to believe in those whispers.

You read... and it gets confusing.

Some say this is all there is an assembly line leading to death. Some say this is a graveyard. For reality and life is elsewhere. So spurn this. Some say this is not a graveyard, it's worse it is a whirlpool, a maze, a chakravyuh from which no one can escape only the very determined. We say it is KG Class. Revel and Grow with it.

Some say pluck out the Eye, remove the ego. We say trust the eye, trust the ego, trust the self to whom the ego is a finger.

So do you leave the graveyard or pick the KG class?

As you read, look back at what you learnt from family you realise... All ways of thought, all books have nails. They are trying to pin the world down, pin flight down. Staple joy down.

Here's the problem. The way we see things shapes the way life approaches us. Look at it one way and life approaches you like predator, look at it differently and things look at you like lover.

You realise that all books can do is remind us that there is unalloyed joy beyond. That there is joy here underneath the rubble. We are here. We are not here.

You kneel at a holy place. A cathedral. But as you kneel in its grandeur you realise it too is made with gravestones. It is made with that which is temporary like asbestos. But in its embrace something real exists. In the window framed by bone is eternity.

You glimpse something. Brilliant, magical, divine. And yet that glimpse is but a glimpse. You realise you need to climb up to reach it.

At first you underestimate the ladder.

But then you realise you have to climb above fear.

You have to fill yourself with passion but not drown in it.

You have to rage with courage but not burn with rage.

You have to love but not sink into a quicks sand of a family soap.

You have to look at your many lives but not lose the integrity of this.

You have to see a star but revel in the fruit at your feet.

You have to hold your child's body tenderly... but know she is death's daughter and the light's citizen.

You reach deeper. Beyond the eye. Beyond gravity, time, space. Beyond this life. Beyond all lives. Beyond the i. Beyond the mind. And then you encounter it.

What do you encounter?

How dare describe what you encounter?

You reach deeper. Beyond the eye. Beyond gravity, time, space. Beyond this life. Beyond all lives. Beyond the i. Beyond the mind. And then you encounter it.

What do you encounter?

How dare describe what you encounter?

It falls down like drops of light.