Who do you choose to be?

I believe, that the world can be divided into three broad classes of people. 
The leaders, the followers, and the spectators.

Every person has a choice. 
"You're the pilot of your own plane."
The artist, the critique, or the spectator.
Who do you choose to be?

• The leader, the artist. Do you speak of your views openly, without a care in the world? Not afraid of criticism?
• The follower, the critique. Are you the one, who criticises others for their views, not really offering your own original ideas?
• Or yes, the spectator. Do you keep shut, and simply observe the chaos around you, not offering any view on any matter, but simply gulping in the situation, not judging, but observing everything?

The world needs more of the first kind. These 'rebels', that would guide our generation forth. I personally despise the second kind, but then again, they have their own reasons for behaving the way they do, which shouldn't be judged. The third kind, are fine. Nothing great, nothing bad. They just - are.

Everyone is a bit of the three, I suppose. I personally think I am a cross between the first and the third. I beg to differ, for what I believe is right, yes, but at the same time, am alright with anything that others have to say. Everyone has a reason. Everyone is right, in their own way. My perspective, though.

The first kind have a knack of asking questions, and answering them on their own. The second kind, don't ask, just simply answer. The third kind don't do either. They just agree, to whatever that ever was.

The point here, lies in a single question.
Are you working over what you believe in? Or are you simply following others, like a sheep, lost in a herd? Will you listen to them? Or be confident enough to pursue your own beliefs?

Every great legend that the world has known, has had his or her own original personality. They were surely the first kind. A leader. The artist. People followed them. People judged them. There were a few spectators, who observed them. These artists had their complete attention.

Adolf Hitler, John Lennon, Audrey Hepburn, Abraham Lincoln, Mahatma Gandhi, these were the people who listened and answered only to their own soul. They were never the ones to judge. These were the people, who drove others in the direction that best suited their own selves.

On a lighter note, even if we consider characters like, well, Superman, Courage, The Powerpuff girls; these belong to the first kind too. 

Lets concentrate on The Powerpuff girls. The mayor, more often than not, represented the second 'afraid to take their own decision' kind of people. The one who judged, between the right and wrong, but never had his own original views. Considering Mojo Jojo, he too had his own persona. Everybody (outside the TV show!) adored him, I'm sure. He belonged to 'first' kind as well.

We should strive to be the 'first' kind of people. The artists. The creator. The leader. The aim shouldn't be to garner followers though, it should be to strengthen ones own personal ideas, views. People should respect each other for what they are, and do what it takes, to do what they most love to do. Originality, creativity, yes, that's what the next generation humans should keep in mind as they continue to evolve.

The society has a funny way of binding us in the invisible ties of social norms. People are scared to break away, scared of taking risks, scared of taking a stand. The one's who do, well, are the 'first' kind of people. As I have coined before, these are the rebels. 

We live as though, we shall never die. Compromising, all the time. Don't settle for the second best. Your time is now. Do everything you can, for everything that you have ever wanted, for the change you wish to see. Be the first kind. The leader, the creator, the artist. Ask what you need to, allow your soul to answer, and follow what you believe in, always.

Because, they are beautiful creatures.

*

*

Snow leopards. Aren't they gorgeous?

For miles and miles.

A quick thin slip, and a huge fall.

Gracious be the ones that hold on to you.

Never did I seek, nor do I help.

I stay for I search, the source of everything.

I wonder if I can claim, but I know I could never.

Birds are meant to fly in the sky.

My never-ending will abandons me, time and again.

Yet I am here. Always am.

Ready, to offer, that hand,

which you too, long back, had once offered me.

So I set you free, I decide.

That makes me free too.

Play, I play along. Pity, and laugh.

Smile for the weak, and cry for the strong.

Trembling fingers that try to measure the heart,

don't deserve to handle, what they cannot.

Can I say, that I have abandoned myself again?

For a while, I tell myself,

but it seems like forever.

I must stop. I can't, I know.

I resist, hold on.

If I seek the end, I'll never reach the goal.

The goal was always, to be where you are.

The moment that counts, the present, what it is.

The rest is a myth, in the mind, fabricated.

So we fly. We fly, for miles and miles.

Not knowing, scared, yet at peace, at the same time.

I spread my fingers, but my hands feel hollow.

Then I clench them, and shake my head.

It is now. I forget. The bird is out of the cage.

.

This would be one of those attempts of mine wherein I try and put forth my creativity for I am trying to come up with something new and explaining which, hopefully wouldn't be much of a problem as I try to well keep writing and come up with something more solid as a subject to write about which on the first place was never related to this creative decision of mine and thus I shall speak about time, which as a topic itself, talks so much about itself for time will always be, and never be as well, creating it within itself as a multi layered dimensional setting creating more and more universes along, around, within, or no where near our own tiny world, thus breaking the popular belief of it actually being the fourth dimension of this world where we humans reside and keep moving forward in time so what I think of now are the possibilities by which one person could not ever stop and keep moving forth, or backwards, just like how I keep writing, word after word, creating new things out of what once were mere thoughts, which too were nothing but a culmination of all the influences that surrounded me from the advent of whatever was that made me today, parents, their parents, the seed of evolution, the non living things that existed before life existed, and everything that made those things, which takes me back to the moment where I as a being came first into existence, not as a physical form, but perhaps a thought itself, a thought that was certainly thought of since the beginning of every thought that ever was, and thus perhaps I was, just after time came into existence, hence I prove that I too am nothing but an entire universe with my own views and thoughts moving further like the roots of a tree, deeper into the soil wherever it shall reach and be reaffirmed of it's survival, better if prolonged, but still, me being a universe shall not exactly be same as the multi dimensional situation that I had earlier mentioned, perhaps just like a layer within, around, along, or no where near another layer would be, similarly a universe would be surrounded, or not surrounded, by many others, or by none at all, every universe having it's own layers of dimensions and time extending in all directions possible, the infinite possibilities around everything that ever was, and everything, like nothing being inside, or outside everything or nothing else, as a point in a line that extends away in one continuos progression, and that dimensionless point, being a single infinite dot, lost within the infinity of that line.
                                                                                    .
                                                     
(Looper and Pink Floyd did this to me.)

Thoughts.

Thoughts like water,  fall easily.

Slow, the drops, unaware, but at bliss.

There is nothing to guide, and lost are they,

the thoughts that seek, a home to return.

Questions follow the answers met.

Hopeful, but futile. An unending journey.

The kaleidoscopic world, a labyrinth.

Thoughts pulled closer, sinking in,

even as they try to break away.