I was looking through my old notebook where I penned my thoughts. It is funny how technology has made me so lazy to write anymore. Anyway, I found this piece in November of 96 where I can recall myself being at East Coast beach in Singapore.
16/11/96
Sitting by the beach, just after the rain and the sky is still grey, cannot see the horizon.
The horizon; a "false" break between the earth and the sky, which in "reality" there isn't. I've been thinking, a lot of things on my mind. Especially about "reality" and what we perceive by our senses.
There, in the horizon, is a lesson to be learned. What we perceive may not be what is truth. How then can we judge the truth? What is true? How do we recognise it?
"Truth is clear and falsehood is clear." Maybe the Prophet s.a.w. said that - I can't remember.
I see some people fishing and is reminded of a passage I once read a long time ago. For many, fishing is a challenge, a competition but for the French, it is a way to relax, to think, to reflect. Fishing is a soothing pastime. While waiting for the fishes to take the bait, one has a lot of time on one's hand to reflect. What kind of reflection would I seek if I was a fisherman? What "fish" do I hope to catch?
The sound of the waves hitting the shore, the waves coming in one after another and dissipating, creeping back to where it comes from. White foams on the beach soon to vanish away, replaced by others. Life is like that too. Old memories forgotten, replaced by the new.
16/11/96
Sitting by the beach, just after the rain and the sky is still grey, cannot see the horizon.
The horizon; a "false" break between the earth and the sky, which in "reality" there isn't. I've been thinking, a lot of things on my mind. Especially about "reality" and what we perceive by our senses.
There, in the horizon, is a lesson to be learned. What we perceive may not be what is truth. How then can we judge the truth? What is true? How do we recognise it?
"Truth is clear and falsehood is clear." Maybe the Prophet s.a.w. said that - I can't remember.
I see some people fishing and is reminded of a passage I once read a long time ago. For many, fishing is a challenge, a competition but for the French, it is a way to relax, to think, to reflect. Fishing is a soothing pastime. While waiting for the fishes to take the bait, one has a lot of time on one's hand to reflect. What kind of reflection would I seek if I was a fisherman? What "fish" do I hope to catch?
The sound of the waves hitting the shore, the waves coming in one after another and dissipating, creeping back to where it comes from. White foams on the beach soon to vanish away, replaced by others. Life is like that too. Old memories forgotten, replaced by the new.
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