Consumed

It is all too easy to be consumed by questions of purpose, of meaning, of significance, of accomplishment,

but it is all too difficult to remember just how little it might take for us to live a good life.

The Latter

It’s easy to feel a sense of purpose in our lives—to feel as if we’re playing a part, a role in this world—when we choose to do something that we believe changes the world, whether by promulgating kindness and love, by ensuring the welfare of other human beings, by fixing something that seems fixing.

But lest we forget that there are those among us that have taken up an unsung role—those that promulgate hate and evil, that inflict suffering on other human beings, that break things that didn’t need to be broken. It is not possible for absolutely everyone to be doing the “right” thing, is it? If we posit that suffering is an integral component of a fulfilling life, that heterogeneity in character and in physique is a natural and necessary occurrence in the homeostasis of our world, that every force that exists in our world—good and evil, happiness and sadness, pleasure and pain, life and death, strength and weakness, abundance and famine, humility and pride, valiance and shame—must fundamentally be in balance, then the question inevitably becomes:

Who is responsible for the latter?

Change

As we might expect the sun to rise today, and as we might expect it to fall, we might expect that all else in the world follow the same pattern of consistency—the weather, the water that we drink, the food that we eat, the people around us, the very nature of our own existence.

Why are we surprised, distraught, and flustered when these things—fundamentally impermanent, inherently transient, in constant flux—finally decide to change? Do our minds truly weigh the probabilities of each of those occurrences in a manner that reflects the actual patterns of the universe?

Thoughts at rest

Written text, however, belies such impermanence and imperfection in thought, creating a space by which we can create something, amidst these torrents of time, that just might be timeless, and that we might create something that might dare to quell and encapsulate the chaos—the entangled mess of ideas, of reason, of emotion—that persists within our information space inside the mind.

Thoughts in motion

The beauty of conversation—the sparks of joy and intuitive human connection merely at the sight of an effervescent smile, of laughter that makes the soul dance, the timbre of our voices that vibrates within our bones. And yet, it is all but ephemeral—a fleeting procession of ideas that may never reach maturity, a transitory and chaotic interplay of emotion that not only overshadows but persecutes the purity of reason, shattering the structure of logic. It is a peculiar duality—between impermanence, amidst torrents of time, and staggering imperfection, wrought by imperfect beings.

What am I?

If I cannot control my emotions, what am I? What am I, but driftwood in an incomprehensibly vast ocean, ceaselessly tossed by the waves and dragged by the currents? What am I, but a ravenous predator in a desperate pursuit of a meal? Or am I the prey of such a beast, merely awaiting an inevitable fate? 

But if I cannot experience my emotions, what am I? What am I, but a faceless and featureless entity, a cog in an incomprehensibly complex machine, an actor in a plotless play?

Forgiveness

If we latch onto a rigid ideal of free will—that, despite all the chaos, uncertainty, and complexity of this world that we live in, we are all allocated equally difficult circumstances, that we have an equal response to those circumstances, that we all play under the same rules, and thus that we become equally capable actors to carry out our individual desires—forgiveness ceases to make any sense. 

Within such a perspective, how do we explain human difference? If we presume that we operate under completely fair and equal constraints, then why is it that we’re not all the same in nature? What is the true origin of benevolence or malevolence? If we predicate that we each chose to be different, then the question inevitably boils down to what made us choose one thing over another? Why does someone choose to do good over bad, or bad over good? In such a world, the logical conclusion would be that there must be some inherent energy within each of our spirits that predisposes us towards a certain path, and, at that point, we’ve come full circle, and proved that there is no real choice, and no true free will. 

True forgiveness is fundamentally an implicit understanding of these limitations that exist within our supposed free will. If we can agree that this rigid understanding of free will is even remotely flawed, to forgive is the only right thing to do, because the alternative is the complete and utter destruction of the fabric of humanity, mired in an unceasing cycle of antagonism and blame, of pride and obstinance, of guilt and shame. 

Gratitude

Be grateful.

The alternative? 

Needless misery and discontentment.

A farewell

I have no doubt that one momentous day, my heart will finally decide to break this years-long fast.

Amidst clouds of uncertainty, enveloped by shadows of the past, and faced with the daunting prospect of irreversible change, it will nevertheless begin an inexorable pursuit to satiate an insatiable desire—for love, for truth.

But my vow is this—no matter where this effulgent heart may lead me, there my mind will be at peace.

Always doubt yourself

If we honestly take some time to step back and look at it objectively, we may likely find that our intuitions have led us astray for important decisions in our lives far more times than they lead us onto a path to live a life we’re proud to live. It’s clear what our brain is trying to do when it shoves these mistakes of our intuition under the carpet with no hesitation, while also being the most credulous victim to confirmation bias.