Yet.
"Inevitability.
Conformity.
Acceptance."
Their positive connotation is the new normal. Or has it been ages?
Regardless, rebelling or even resisting inevitability is a losing case.
It is not even a battle, simply a massacre.
To confirm what is considered to be standard is natural.
Question unasked.
To willingly accept with a shrug, and be on our way, is a mantle of maturity.
To us... the ordinary.
Indeed. Why confront? Why think? Why even bother?
It is easy to accept the inevitable, and far easier to follow the footsteps of our predecessors, our gurus. They offer a well-trodden legacy for us to walk, enlightened.
And the feeling of being a valuable albeit invisible member of the facade of greater harmony is so heartwarming!
As a part of the greater community envisioned to embrace materialistic unity!!
As one who courageously shares one's life with like-minded.
Find happiness therein.
Yet.
This happiness is created by conditions beyond us. If those conditions can impart happiness, then surely they can easily be taken away. The kind of happiness we can purchase. The kind of happiness we can measure in cold-hard numbers. The kind of happiness with the first numerical to be from either 1 to 9 with zeros succeeding it. Take away the first numerical, and then with only zeros left, that is the happiness of the western mind, we have gladly centered our life into.
Yet, the western tradition is not to be blamed. For it was once built on philosophical introspection where thinking and reflection existed, once upon a time...
It has evolved into something else, its authors have never conceived. It has resulted in one pure culmination of understanding, a dominant truth.
For it is the truth, thinking begets suffering. Retrospection propagates it. Combined they are the true faces of human desire, the path of suffering. Yet we try to understand self and the world, an extension of self. And so knowledge is unveiled through the experience of one's own and others whose is recorded in words from time immemorial when one descended unto the realization.
Suffering exists. But not true happiness,
Only suffering. only it...
"... an inspiration springs forth within the verses of sweet murmurings, the tender grace of aesthetics, the contours of a woman's charming face and her swaying body, as her bright smile reflects her kindness within. We fall for her natural charm, which invites care and tenderness, yet her cruelty unintentionally lies in her subjective response to our gesture unanswered, her attention to our rival inspires a twinge of jealousy and hurt, I can only weep with these recurring thoughts... mi amor, why can you not be mine...just why?"
Loneliness is an inevitability when we traverse in between the world of shadows and light. We conform to that as a truth and accept, in our unworthiness of being loved by the one whom we adore most, we are destined to remain in solitude.
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And so we avoid suffering, or try to and thereby act before thinking and reflect after doing.
The energy and time spent on contemplation could be wisely spent in actions; twice, thrice, and a dozen times.
That is what we think. We think not to think. We act not to reflect.
But to subject our sensations to immediate gratification, the feel-good narrative.
We create the illusion of happiness not to be brought down by the ponderous dullness of life, which we try to spice daily with the filters of anthropocentric colorful narratives.
We act as if everything is alright. We are the best version of ourselves or hope to be. We turn blind to the inner insecurity we have when we interact with the strangeness of others as part of social etiquette. We see what we want to see, or expect to see. We say what is pleasing to the ears, and keep on the facade of civilization.
Yet.
We keep tabs on the supposed wrongs done to us. We belittle honesty and find mischief charming.
And the world works in this way, the performance where each of us is supposed to give and act in a certain way. Many stars arise to entertain the rest of us, the mediocre who cheer them on...
Ah! what a beautiful world of happiness build as a symmetrical house of cards on a castle of sand surrounded by a palace of sticks, it is...
Even in the deliberation of these acts, the question remains...are we truly happy?
This state of happiness i.e. so short-lived, so whimsical, is it even worth it?
Why there is always a feeling of helplessness each time?
Indeed, an age-old question.
Yet
The world is a lot bigger, its horizon wider than perspectives, the point of reference, both; mayhaps yours and surely mine.
In this provincial part of the world, our inner mindset is influenced by mainstream culture, as a result, we project ourselves as different and suave with the complexity of rituals conceived by the genius of the western mind, yet our eastern dal and bhat, the basics of basic still defines us.
We have not been able to go beyond the mere loop of subsistence and yet we dream of the ideal life, that is immediately impossible.
And this blatant show-off of specialness, this perfect facet of our brittle self, has become an anchor of hubristic reality, especially for this narcissistic generation, which I am part of.
Perhaps we need to feel that power of control. As the possible solution to the persistent need of wanting more, be part of something important, an association of conformity, a crowd within crowds, the inner circle of the innermost circle, in any power structure humans have so conceived as.
Perhaps, to own things that could never be owned, to create a compulsion, leverage, there is a subtle conflict of interest even in conformity.
Struggles, conflicts, for the ultimate organic materialistic evolution, is this what modern life is all about?
The survival of the fittest?
As a conclusion of bitterness, an aftertaste of reality experiences that has led a vessel of living to adulthood... not the rosy imagination of childhood...sweet
Yet.
"I willed and the world opened up to find me wanting..."
What is the meaning of the world, when "I" am not in it? The world exists no more and is unreal, non-existent.
It might go on, like the rise and fall of the tides in the ocean, or as natural cycles of life and death, a continuity of sort-
But if I am not in it, it is meaningless. This world is unworthy, without "I", the beholder of this all, the traveler who records the content of this. space, timeline, and reality.
For now, for a finite period of "time", I am a life form living with a set of inherent and acquired memories. The glaring deficiency of "I" is an adaptable body so ill-equipped for drastic environmental changes. Always, "I" continues to lose a part of myself striving to stay afloat on the river of time. The destiny of living "I" is to be the ocean of nothingness. I am lost in the eternity of darkness pervaded by the depth of darkness, in the absence of colors life represents. It is the finale. My ultimate physical existence submits to death, as everything "I" call myself; the agony of losing the "self", memories, and this physical form, all disintegrate, to nothing. It is the true inevitability
(PC: uniquehunters.com)
Yet
In the silent sanctuary of my being, the eye of the storm, the meaninglessness of my existence, my insignificance in the greater cosmos intensifies. Unlike the feel-good conformity whose sweetness rivals the brewed aged wine, the new normal feels, immeasurably vast, in a strange way to me.
In my helplessness, it hurts, unknowing where the true hurt arises from, it hurts more in my ignorance. The daily rituals provide a sense of structure, a pathway to conformity, yet, a part of me cries in sorrow with the absence of true meaning. This brittle structural purpose of being holds together the fragile pieces of myself.
"But what I think is mine is never mine"
Separating oneself from the comfort of certainties,
Neared and nearer, we, us, I, grow apart
awaiting, THE END.
Yet
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