The Stream of Being

 The Stream of Being

 This essay is a contemplative journey into the timeless questions of existence, ancestry, and the nature of consciousness. It explores how one’s life is not a solitary flame but a continuation of countless flickers that came before. Drawing from personal introspection, cultural observations, and natural cycles, it reflects on the fragile yet eternal nature of life. The boundaries between self and universe blur, revealing a deeper unity of being. Through this search, the writer does not seek definitive answers, but an understanding that births peace in the presence of mystery. Where appropriate, a light infusion of scientific insight helps align personal reflection with modern understanding.

I find myself entering a quiet but urgent phase of learning, tracing the deep-rooted questions that have stirred in my mind since I first began to think. Over time, through books and reflection, I have come to articulate some of them with clarity, yet many remain beyond comprehension. They linger—neither surfacing completely nor fading away. Still, an unshakable anguish passes through this body-mind, seeking answers to questions I cannot yet form. I don’t even know how to ask about my own existence.

Perhaps birth has a purpose. Perhaps I am simply a speck of dust in the infinite flow of inheritance, present here only because an unbroken thread, stretched across the vastness of time, has brought me forth. My forefathers, against all odds—wars, diseases, hunger, accidents, infertility, or sheer chance—survived. I exist because they did not perish. This lineage, uninterrupted, brought me to this place and moment in the incessant unfolding of time. I am grateful and fortunate to witness this era of being.

Evolutionary biology tells us that I am not simply born of two parents but of an unbroken succession of adaptive survivors. My very DNA, particularly the mitochondrial line, carries markers passed from mother to child across millennia. I am a living archive of resilience, a vessel of silent, coded history.

Yet what am I but an assembly of scattered parts? I am formed from the elements of this Earth, drawn together in a particular arrangement, just as others before me were. In me, a continual exchange takes place—of thoughts, cells, breath, impulses, and ancestry. Inputs from countless sources are shaping me, and I, too, release my own into the world. I am everything, and everything is me. The connection is not metaphorical—it is molecular, spiritual, and indivisible. Systems biology reminds us that no organism is isolated; life is exchange. Thermodynamically, I am an open system—shedding and absorbing atoms, heat, and thought. Matter cycles through me like wind through trees.

This body is my home, the cave where consciousness resides. I must preserve it well so that the soul within finds safety. I must nourish both the body and the mind, knowing they are one and the same. My very existence rests on this harmony. Neuroscience, too, teaches that consciousness is not confined to the brain—it is embodied. Thought emerges from networks of nerve, skin, muscle, and breath. What I feel, how I move, even how I remember—all these give shape to the mind.

Across time, humans have tried to preserve what they feared to lose—Egyptians embalming bodies with balms and jewels, and Himalayan Tibetan Buddhists preparing mummified monks with care and reverence. These are not foolish rituals; they are expressions of longing. I do not share these beliefs, but I understand their impulse to hold on to presence even after life has passed. We grieve our kin and leaders, preserve their memories in stories and shrines, though we know our own moments are numbered.

Sometimes I wonder: what about those who left no trace? Those who died without descendants, lost to wars, plagues, or anonymity—do they vanish entirely? Or do they echo in other forms—unnoticed, yet never truly gone? A mindful person begins to see that nothing is isolated. Even this ink that flows onto paper carries within it the essence of something once living. The paper, the air, the hand that writes—they are not separate. Aliveness surrounds us, but not always in conscious form.

My father has been gone these twelve years, but he still lives in me—through my voice, temperament, body, gestures, and genetic fabric. My mother, too, is present in the curl of my hair, the tilt of a smile, the impulses I do not understand. I am their continuation, just as someone after me may carry pieces of me forward. Epigenetics suggests that even lived experiences, traumas, and fears may be imprinted biologically, subtly passed onward. We are not just descendants; we are transmitters.

Nature, too, has its law. It cannot carry all life at once. So it creates trials—only the fit survive. This is not cruelty but balance. The deer must run from the lion, and the lion must run for its food. If either fails, both perish. Ecology shows us this law of energy and balance, where each creature contributes to the stability of the whole. There is no charity, only participation. Still, we must carry the spirit of kindness and do what we can—for that, too, is part of our inheritance.

Whether I remain here or not, my existence has already expanded far beyond this moment. I was. I am. I will be—until the last flicker of everything. The question of perpetuity answers itself not with logic, but with presence. Let there be no ceremonious anxiety over birth, living, or death.

And if I dissolve back into dust, let me do so with grace, knowing that I was, that I am, and that I always will be in one form or another.

“You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.”
— Rumi

Pawan Kumar,

2nd July, 2025, Wednesday, 11:39 P.M., Berhampur (Odisha)

From my Diary 22nd November 2024, Friday, 10:16 AM, Berhampur (Odisha)

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To Grow Is to Roam and Return

To Grow Is to Roam and Return

This reflective poem explores the relationship between solitude & exploration — between the quiet of thought & the stimulation of the world. It argues that true creativity emerges not from choosing one over the other, but from moving between the two.

Drawing from everyday observations, philosophical musings, and lived experience, it weaves a journey from local roots to global awareness, and back into personal expression. Through its rhythmic structure, the piece emphasizes that growth is conscious, balance is essential, and life is both a mirror and a window.

It invites the reader to ask: Am I becoming, or merely repeating? To Grow Is to Roam and Return reminds us that every outward step should deepen the inward voice.

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When is a person most creative — while travelling far or sitting still?
Both paths shape us deeply, and each gives something real.

Our outings add freshness — we see and hear the world anew.
We step beyond our mental walls into a sky of richer hue.
We sense the vastness, far beyond what quiet minds conceive.
Old beliefs dissolve like clouds — our worldview starts to breathe.

In life, we build mindsets, often fixed in a silent stone.
Unless we're stirred or challenged, we retreat and sit alone.
Yes, we need our silence — a space for peace and breath,
But solitude must still belong to something larger than self.

We connect through daily duties, errands, voices & streets.
In passing conversations, we find where inner and outer meet.
Each one may seem small alone, but together they rise in mass.
We merge and then emerge, each time with something to grasp.

The question of who's right is not one we can hold.
Truth slips with time — even wise words grow old.
We build ideas and theories we think might be true,
But every “fact” is shaped by time’s ever-changing hue.

We travel to new places, where cultures live and breathe,
Where tongues are strange, and customs wear different wreaths.
Gods are made, meals differ, beliefs are shaped by land —
Some are taught not to ask, only to understand.

Suppose we live in Kangra’s hills, where mountains hush the day.
Our world is shaped by elders, and we walk a narrow way.
We learn what's given, rarely asked to stretch or doubt,
So thoughts remain within, and seldom travel out.

To grow beyond such borders, we must step through the door.
‘Small is beautiful’ holds true, but when tied to something more.
Few are lucky, bold, or stirred enough to leave their comfort zone,
To fling themselves into the wide, uncertain, ever-growing unknown.

Travel still shows fragments — we never grasp the whole.
But even one new broad vision can reshape the soul.
Touching something foreign doesn’t make it ours alone,
But even passing moments plant seeds we might own.

We should see museums, walk in fairs, breathe parks & art.
Watch foreign lands in films, see how other people start.
Some have risen high through learning, love, and care —
They build a world that nurtures all with dignity and air.

Harsher lands exist, and yet many bloom with grace.
They’ve turned nature to wonder, shaped with time & place.
By seeing such, we better know the space where we reside,
And how others strive with dreams that burn inside.

We come from loving parents, yet with limited means & sight.
So we must reach beyond them, toward broader beams of light.
We build this through our schools, our play, our shared events,
Through tours, exchanges, and programs of deeper intent.

Competitions teach us to rise, to strive from local to wide.
They ask us to prepare, to measure, to rise with pride.
We can't be content while the world moves on its way —
To know our capacity, we must push into the fray.

Yes, some will pull us down with envy, noise, or fear.
But we must break the inertia — apply that needed gear.
Newton’s first law still holds: no move without a shove.
We must push with books & effort, with questions & with love.

The wise remind us gently — we know very little, still.
But through each opened window, we find a deeper will.
Remaining open helps us learn just where we stand,
And how much more we must do with mind and hand.

This world is uneven — some rise while others fall.
Those behind must toil harder to level what we call
A fair & earned respect — through habits sharp & strong,
And faith in work and purpose to carry them along.

As I read about cultures, sciences, literature, & thought,
I find myself expanding, drawn into a deeper knot.
The world, in bits & pieces, enters through the mind,
And urges me to shift, to leave no growth behind.

The world reshapes my silence — its sights, talks & light.
Though I roam wide, I must return to rest and write.
My mind replays the images, the moments, and the sound —
It weighs, discards, or welcomes all that the day has found.

When I'm alone, and still, and the mind is moved to speak,
I draw what’s stored within, what thought and feeling seek.
Some may sing or draw instead — there's no one right way,
But words remain, and speak again, long after memory’s day.

My meditations form from what the world has shown.
They build within, give judgment, roots to what was grown.
We’re always in formation — more input keeps us bright.
Our outings are those sacred sparks that help us find our light.

Yet balance must be kept — experience must become art.
We must digest what’s gathered and discard the waste.
We cannot only take, but also must use what we consume.
For life is a conscious learning — its flower, thought in bloom.

 

Pawan Kumar,

27^th June, 2025, Friday, Time 8:34 A.M., Berhampur (Odisha)

(From my diary, 11th October 2020, Sunday, 4:07 PM, New Delhi)