Why I Have Gone Into Seclusion


In this candid reflection, Sam opens up about stepping away from social chatter and phone calls—not out of indifference, but as an act of quiet rebellion against the noise of life. He muses that most of our problems arise from the restless mind and its endless buzz, which we often mistake for living. Through this introspective note, he invites readers to pause, sip coffee at sunset, and ponder whether peace begins where the “I, Me, Mine” ends. Honest, humorous, and deeply meditative, Sam’s farewell is less a goodbye and more a gentle nudge toward inner stillness.

Social Text thirty years after the Sokal affair


Social Text still exists. In the spring of 1996, when the journal was the object of an enthusiastically publicized hoax by the physicist Alan Sokal, its survival seemed a bad bet. You published an essay arguing that gravity is a “social and linguistic construct?” Really? The mainstream media, hitherto unaware of the existence of this very little, very marginal magazine, were uncertain what exactly they were mocking. Was Social Text’s foolishness postmodern? Left wing? Cultural? Academic? They were certain, however, that what they smelled in the water was blood. On their side, and for a not insignificant portion of the left, jubilation. On the other side, humiliation. (I should know: I was the journal’s coeditor at the time.) We seemed like the stupidest people in the world, or the stupidest people who had been pretending to speak on behalf of the most avant-garde sociopolitical views. One friend of the journal suggested that we fall on our swords. If we owned no swords, swords could be made available.

The journal did not fold. One reason was that it had published a lot of good work, none of it remotely resembling Sokal’s gravity-is-a-construct nonsense, and those who cared about such things knew it. Edward Said’s “Zionism from the Standpoint of Its Victims” had come out in the first issue in 1979; for U.S.-based critiques of Zionism, 1979 was early. Other issues contained Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick’s “How to Bring Your Kids Up Gay” and Aijaz Ahmad’s Marxist critique of Marxist (and Social Text cofounder) Fredric Jameson.

Losing Ourselves to “The They”: Heidegger’s Warning to the Modern Mind


Heidegger’s Being and Time unveils a quiet tragedy of modern life — our surrender of authentic existence to what he calls “the They.” In our average, everyday way of living, we speak, think, and act as others do, letting social norms and public opinion define who we are. This conformity numbs our individuality and hides the deeper question of Being itself. The comfort of belonging replaces the courage to be. To live authentically, Heidegger urges, one must awaken from this anonymous existence and face one’s own finite self — not as “they” live, but as I truly am.

The Empty Mind – J. Krishnamurti


In this profound Saanen talk, J. Krishnamurti explores the nature of intelligence born of insight — an awareness that acts instantly and without conflict. He questions the conditioning that makes human beings seek satisfaction through conformity, ideology, or authority, and urges the listener to sustain a “flame of discontent” that leads to true understanding. When all patterns of comparison, imitation, and suppression are dropped, the mind becomes empty — not void, but free and alive. In that emptiness lies insight, and from that insight, spontaneous, unmotivated action arises — pure, immediate, and transformative.

Where the Streets Have No Name: U2’s Anthem of Transcendence and Freedom


U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name” is more than a rock song — it’s a cry for transcendence. Bono imagines a place where identity, class, and faith no longer divide us; where names and boundaries dissolve into something pure and infinite. Born from the streets of Belfast and the deserts of Ethiopia, it becomes a universal hymn for freedom — spiritual, emotional, and human. The music itself seems to climb toward heaven, mirroring our own yearning to break free from limitation and live in a world, or a state of being, where the streets truly have no name.

Why Sonam Wangchuk Matters: The Moral Compass of a Nation


Sonam Wangchuk stands as a moral compass in a time when dissent is under siege. In our co-authored piece for The Wire, we argue that his peaceful resistance—anchored in Gandhian ideals and ecological wisdom—embodies the conscience of modern India. Wangchuk’s fasts and climate-focused activism are not acts of rebellion but acts of restoration: of truth, environment, and democracy itself. His story is a mirror to the nation’s soul, reminding us that silence is complicity, and courage is the truest form of love for one’s country.