I stare at the sky. At times like this when I am made aware of my place in this giant universe. The ever expanding cosmos, the endlessly revolving heavenly bodies, comets, planets and lesser mortals like myself trapped on such celestial rocks. The space inside me contributes to the universe. Like a grain of sand on a seashore. Small and separate yet a part of it.
Sometimes I battle with my keen awareness of such a separation. An alienation of sorts. I feel the pressure build inside my lungs, strain the organic tissues and I find the need to scream into the night half hoping to hear a voice calling back to me. But such is life, people caught in their own doings. A mass and yet all alone individually. Sands on the seashore of day to day living.
There is a void. And the cosmic rule dictates no void be left alone. But one has few choices when a void resides within a peculiar shape carved into one's heart. Nothing fits. The air flows through. The water sinks in. And the earth is lost on the wind.
I am disappointed. Surprisingly, over and over. If there are lessons, I choose to ignore them. Unlearn them to preserve the essence of the being that is me. I paint on water, powder my days and let them loose on the wind. I look at stars and search for reaffirmation that there is indeed some purpose. Some grand scheme. God's giant infallible plan as those who believe say. Something that validates this monotonous repetitive cycle of misery and fleeting happiness. A pathological need for meaning pervades my thinking. My mind is colonised by my necessity to make sense of what I am and what it is that I find myself in. I resort to philosophy and science. I find dead ends and circles. The road never ends. I am walking. Different roads, same journey. Different musings, similar conclusions.
Why live? Why wait for Godot? I dont understand. And that bothers me. How do you manufacture meaning when there is none ? How do you blend when you are a grain of sand ? What if there is no death ? Only living, day after day, over and over. A cyclical life in which at some point your mind and body returns to day number one and the whole life up until then is repeated.
It depresses me. And I consider shaving my head, shedding my clothes and walking off into the Himalayas. But who am I kidding, I know I don't have what it takes to be a wandering ascetic. Even when I feel alienated I am deeply intrigued by that which I am alienated from. I can't and probably wont ever understand life. But I can't detach myself from it. Perhaps in there lies the core of my problems. Perhaps.
I think of people I love. Are they real? Or did I make them up ? How sad would it be if I was the cosmic god who set up a pipe dream within a fractured reality to escape his/her excruciating cosmic loneliness. It is one of the reasons I rule out suicide. That would be too much of a disappointment. Most of the times I tell myself, let's see how far this goes. Perhaps tomorrow I would attain some higher meaning and be the next Buddha in town.
That would be nice. Halos have always fascinated me. Wonder who came up with that. When I find myself slipping into a despondent lunatic search for meaning and company I ask myself to take a break and deal with it. Then I try to deal with it. Obsess on dealing with it. And then dealing with it in itself becomes a problem I have to deal with.
Perhaps this is where sanity breaks. Perhaps meaning resides at the heart of insanity. When rationality fails to please the mind I find solace in my own irrationalities. And then I feel jealous of rocks. It must be so easy to be one. The life of a rock. Always at peace. Perhaps.