I love silence. It allows me to think.

It is not the chaos that makes me think.

I attended numerous meditation classes, had even read online articles on this subject. And, they all say the same thing – We dwell in our past and worry about our future. That is true. We are all living dangerously close to a unique madness. Dawn of an urban nightmare, that is. I was beginning to understand that, how quickly our whims change, while fascinating a thought.

I don’t have to validate it. It just comes naturally to me. I believe it is the same with anyone else too.

I wonder what made thinkers then? Socrates, Aristotle, Albert Einstein, Nikolas Tesla etc. They brought about societal changes, and we are enjoying what they have claimed to be true.

I was not amongst them, but I’am a writer. A fiction writer at large.

This year, I tried writing non-fiction. I was experimenting with my writing. The only few non-fiction books I read this year lie in the deep chasms of my bookshelf.

I remember a day, when I had read 10 pages straight, sipping coffee and seated in the balcony. I felt I could not understand it, and I withdrew. I could see the open pages flutter in the cool evening breeze. It was a reminiscence of my chaotic mind at that moment.

Was I deciding what to write? Fiction or non-fiction? I didn’t know.

So, I just closed the book and went to meditate. Five minutes in deep meditation, I’am at peace. I have learnt to let go of my worries in meditation.

I’am usually silent after a meditation. I was in silence only to realize that I was not interested in non-fiction anymore. Total dispassion seemed to overpower me. But I was beginning to like it.

I was in silence. Because, it allows me the space to think.

The cycle continues.