Internalizing Mortality (2)

 

Arun Kumar

1. Introduction

The internalization of mortality, the recognition and acceptance of our finite existence, has the power to transform our lives in profound ways.

Before internalizing mortality, life is characterized by a sense of invincibility and the pursuit of transient pleasures. However, after this existential awakening, we often experience a shift in priorities, values, and perspectives, embracing life with a newfound sense of purpose, gratitude, and wisdom.

In this following, some aspects of contrasts between life before and after the internalization of mortality are cataloged.

2. Life before the Internalization of Mortality

Before individuals internalize their mortality, they may lead lives characterized by certain common themes:

1. Invincibility and Risk-Taking: The perception of invincibility often prevails at the young age when getting old and dying is something that happens to others, leading to risk-taking behavior. The consequences of being may seem distant, and life becomes a daring adventure.

2. Superficial Pursuits: Pursuits may lean toward superficial, materialistic, and hedonistic goals, such as the relentless pursuit of wealth, fame, and momentary pleasures.

3. Time Mismanagement: Time is often squandered on trivial or unfulfilling activities, and individuals may procrastinate when it comes to addressing what truly matters to them.

4. Neglect of Relationships: Meaningful relationships may take a back seat, as the focus on individual pursuits overshadows the importance of nurturing connections with loved ones.

5. Fear of Aging and Mortality: Youth and vitality are prized, and aging is often ignored. The concept of mortality may be pushed to the periphery of one’s consciousness.

3. Life After the Internalization of Mortality

The internalization of mortality reshapes the way we perceive and live our lives:

1. Prioritizing Meaningful Experiences: Life takes on a new meaning as individuals prioritize meaningful experiences over superficial pleasures. Time becomes a precious resource, motivating the pursuit of fulfilling and enriching moments.

2. Embracing the Present: The past is accepted, and the future, no longer taken for granted, driving a renewed focus on living in the present moment. Every day is seen as an opportunity to make the most of life.

3. Search for Meaning and Purpose: The recognition of mortality inspires a quest for meaning and purpose, leading individuals to explore their passions, values, and contributions to the world.

4. Deepening Relationships: The importance of relationships becomes paramount. Time spent with friends and family  is cherished, and there is a greater commitment to nurturing and building strong connections.

5. Reduced Fear and Anxiety: Internalizing mortality can lead to a reduction in fear and anxiety. With the knowledge that life is finite, individuals find greater resilience in facing life’s challenges and confronting the unknown.

6. Reflection and Self-Improvement: Self-reflection becomes a regular habit, fostering self-improvement, self-awareness, and personal growth. There is a desire to become a better version of oneself.

7. Legacy and Contribution: People seek to make a lasting impact on the world, leaving a meaningful legacy through their actions and contributions. This is motivated by a desire to be remembered for positive, lasting deeds.

8. Spirituality and Philosophy: Many individuals turn to spirituality or philosophy as a means of grappling with the concept of mortality, finding solace and guidance in different belief systems or building their own.

Conclusion

The internalization of mortality is a profound awakening that can dramatically alter the trajectory of one’s life.

Life before this realization is often characterized by superficial pursuits. In contrast, life after the internalization of mortality embraces the present, prioritizes meaningful experiences, and seeks to make a positive impact on the world.

Life after the internalization of mortality becomes a journey of self-discovery, personal growth, and a deepening connection to the essence of life itself.

While the acknowledgment of mortality may at first seem disorienting, it can ultimately lead to a life lived with purpose, authenticity, and an appreciation for having a golden buttery croissant in the morning.

The internalization of mortality makes one humble and urges us to let go of the physical and psychological baggage that we habitually carry.

Ciao.

Internalizing Mortality

 

Arun Kumar

Northern hemisphere and it is the month of October.

The place where I live at about 30o N, October is the month of transition from summer to winter. There is chill in the air and even if there were no calendars to refer to, there are enough signs all around that changes are happening. Buddhist followers would say not to be surprised because impermanence is a fundamental tenet in the universe. And for a good measure they would have also added that clinging to things and wishing them not to change is an invitation to suffering.

But philosophy aside, October and autumn are wonderful times of year when the soul wants to transition into a few months of introspection. And of course, there will be no more yard work to do — cut the grass, weed the flower bed, protect the tomatoes vines from cutworms.

When October arrives, the Sun no longer stays so high in the sky and leaves are changing color. By 7pm it is dark outside, but inside, it feels like we are inside a cocoon and feeling safe and warm.

October is a lovely time of transition that connects summer and winter. Going through the transition there are gentle tides of emotions within that feel delightful and nostalgic.

One nostalgia is about my childhood days growing up India. October would have been the time to bring out the quilts from their storage and put them under the sun to get the smell of mustiness slowly evaporate in the air. I can see myself burying my face in the warmth of those quilts to take in musty aroma and feel the vague nostalgia of the passage of time.

Then I did not know what those emotions meant but they felt like there is a place somewhere in which days pass slowly under a crisp blue sky and winds bring the sounds of someone playing flute at a distance.

The time of going from summer to winter is a time for and remembrance of transitions.

With the notion of transition, I am reminded of two modes of living I have been through. What separated them was the awareness and internalization of mortality.

Before that transition mortality was just a passing thought, a meh that happened to others and was none of my concern.

In life after the internalization of mortality there was an awareness that I share the same fate as everything around me; my time, my days are also numbered.

The internalization of mortality brought changes in perspective on how I view the world, what I strive for and, what does the passage of time means.

The internalization of mortality was like looking at the world with different glasses. It was like going to an optometrist and a new prescription glass gets fitted, and when you walk out of the front door, the world holds a crispness that you think did not existed.

The footprints change in perspective were evident during the recent example of my recent visit to Milan.

While there, I did not desire to rush and strive and to visit every Duomo or Piazza that were listed in the travel guide. There was a sense of realization that within the city there are so many monuments, nooks, and crannies that have an equally long history but there will never be enough time to see them all.

Heck, in the place I have been living for the past 30 years, we have not yet visited places that tourists come to see.

Instead, it was much more pleasurable to go around at a leisurely pace seeing what one can, and then take a break to have a nice long lunch or dinner, or a cup of coffee with a fluffy buttery croissant.

That golden croissant would be remembered for a long time. What would not be remembered is flashes of camera and ending up with five hundred pictures that I would not ever have time to look through again.

The internalization of mortality, paradoxically, lets the pace of life slow down. The realization that time is finite does not result in a mad rush to try to do everything or checking every box from the bucket list. Instead, it urges to be mindful of the quality time spent on checking of a few boxes that one can.

The internalization of mortality should be the motto for the slow life movement. It is the proverbial suggestion to slow down and appreciate life. Now I also have an urge to also type slowly and be thoughtful before the tips of my fingers hit the keyboard.

Soon it will be winter. A time for introspection. However, by the end of January I would be dreaming about going to some tropical island. I would be dreaming about spring and summer and freedom of stepping out on the back porch again. With patience, winter will slowly roll over into summer.

But not so with the transition that the internalization of mortality brings. It is a one-way journey. Once the mortality sets in there is no going back. I don’t even want it to happen. Life afterwards is more mindful, humble, and expansive.

Ciao.

News Flash - Pause in fighting to save some (but then kill more later)

 

24 November 2023 morning. As is part of my perfunctory morning routine, I have a warm cup of earl gray in my hand and settle down to look through the headlines.

The top news this morning is “Pause in fighting, paving way for release of captives.”

The headline is about war going in Gaza and death and destruction it has caused since 7 October 2023.

The headline is telling us that there will be a mediated pause in fighting. A semblance of a civilized world will be restored for a couple of days.

Perhaps for a few days the dust will settle down and the noise of explosions will give way to silence, amongst which cries of humanity resulting from its loss can be heard.

There will be a pause in which children and their families will not be on the run from one shelter to another and for a few nights will have the blessing of uninterrupted sleep.

The mention of pause also conjures up an image that in a couple days an invisible hand will press a button and the paused brutalities of war will resume.

The thought conjures up the image of a movie where in the middle of an action sequence everything gets frozen in midair and after a few seconds when the flow of time resumes, and broken pieces of bones fall on the ground.

The pause is like that freeze time effect in movies.

And so, in a few days the pause in the war would be over. During that time, a few prisoners and hostages will be released or exchanged. After that the fighting would resume, and later. inevitably more would die.

The absurdity of it all - exchange few human souls, but later extinguish souls of many more - should be apparent.

Guess that is how the human mind works.

In finiteness a quest for eternity is born

In finiteness a quest for eternity is born

 

Midlife is the time to let go of an over dominant ego and to contemplate the deeper significance of human existence  ― Carl Gustav Jung

 

Arun Kumar

Twenty years. Thirty years.

Or it could be just one more moment, one more day, or another month.

There is no way of telling what it would be. It is perhaps something one does not want to know either.

What would happen if the moment was known?

When far, it would just be an ephemeral thought.

Sure, one day it will get closer but for now the time between here and then is long enough for few galaxies to form, few stars to born, few civilizations to evolve.

Or so it seems.

But gradually the moment keeps getting closer and becomes harder and harder to ignore.

And then…

…one day a realization that it is destined to happen dawns and decides to stay.

Time is no longer as bountiful as it once seemed to be. It suddenly feels compressed.

What is ahead is certainly not long enough for galaxies to form. It may not even be enough for a caterpillar to become a chrysalis and turn into a butterfly.

Yet, within this narrowing corridor of time, a transformation happens. The brevity of what is left makes it so much more precious.

In its finiteness lurks the promise of touching eternity.

In finiteness a quest for eternity is born.

Why rush through the fields of lavender?

While mortality reminds us of our limits, it also liberates us from the shackles of trying to do everything.

Arun Kumar

Imagine a life that is lived with the cognizance of morality and another without.

Of course, one might argue that life can never be lived without some cognizance of mortality, given that it’s woven into the fabric of our surroundings. And yes, that’s true. But the distinction I’m exploring is more nuanced — between a life that perceives mortality without truly registering it in consciousness, and a life that not only sees it, but gradually comes to internalize it as a personal destiny.

With that understanding, the question I am pondering is how would two lives differ?

The intent is not to make a judgement as to which life may be better but is to query a hypothetical scenario: if two such sets of populations were to exist, then how the average lives of individuals between them would differ.

Since I myself have not transitioned over to the set of population in which mortality is recognized and internalized, I can share a few thoughts about the influence the internalization of mortality has on living.

The internalization of mortality brings a sense of humbleness. The touch of mortality reminds that the arrogance of “I” will eventually be subdued by something bigger than “I”.

“I”, after all, am not the master of the universe. The arms of the galaxy do not revolve around me.

The realization of mortality also shatters perspective on various other aspects of life. It makes us question the aspirations we have and goals we so ardently pursue. It makes us question the point of carrying on grudges forever or pushing ourselves beyond necessity so as to climb another rung on the ladder of success at the expense of other life experiences.

One day no matter how many sacrifices one has made to reach the sky, mortality would politely ask to please climb down and follow it.

The realization of mortality suggests slowing down to feel the pleasure of engaging in activities a little more mindfully. It tells us that there are a billion things to see and do, however, the time at our disposal is finite. Given that, there is no need to try to check as many boxes as we can because no matter how many are checked, there will still be a billion more to be checked. Instead, mortality suggests that checking boxes should not be the goal, it should be enjoying the ones we do check.

Mortality tells us that it is the enjoyment of engaging in activities that is going to matter and will be remembered. Not much would be remembered when rushing through the fields of lavender at a mad pace.

The internalization of mortality speaks to us about the importance of the present and of the limited time that is given to us. The boat we are on is slowly, but inadvertently, drifting with the current towards a waterfall of our end. A month lost in trivialities is never regained, it says.

A life with the presence of mortality is sobering, humbling, calming, grounding. Even more so, and in a strange way, by reminding us of our limits, it also liberates us from the shackles of trying to do everything.

Ciao.

Why we need to develop a force field against absurdity?

 

Arun Kumar

Some time back I like countless others who have lived on the Earth before, or are living now, or will live in the future, had some musings on “is it even possible to ever come to terms with our mortality (and the thought that when life end it *really* ends) and develop a way to live and have a functional life?”

Life and mortality being together is a paradox; a potential for being a dysfunctional couple hobbling along and never enjoying moments of harmony or peace.

Like all paradoxes, perhaps the paradox of mortality and living cannot be resolved but can only be managed. Think about “everything I say is a lie.” There is no exit ramp on the highway of this paradox.

In the context of managing this particular paradox, strategies have been developed to wriggle our way out of it. One of them is accepting the path of religion which offers us the olive branch that after our death we continue to exist in some form. This path tries to take mortality out of the equation.

All these solutions resolve the paradox by eliminating one pole of the paradox itself, i.e., when life ends it really does not end, and with one side of the paradox eliminated, it might be easier to live a functional life.

The other extreme of possibilities, of course, is that the short span of time is all there is given to us and all we could do is to accept and try to reconcile with this notion and have a functional life.

One of the primary consequences of harboring this thought is that when we finally get a respite from the daily grind and pause to take a bird’s-eye view of our life, an uncomfortable question occasionally surfaces: Why, in the world, have we been doing what we’ve been doing?

All the rat race, the politicking, and the conniving, holding petty grudges! Really? Tomorrow, we can fall off the cliff and holding grudges will not make us any lighter.

With the notion of a finite existence, everything we do in between can feel so profoundly absurd.

Feeling that the motions we go through are at best absurd, what are the options available to us to live with the absurdity and have a functional life?

While there may not be a cure for mortality and the feeling of absurdity it can bring, a possible path forward is to accept consequences and carve a way to live that can soothe the bluntness with which the realization of mortality can push against our flesh.

A possible path is to discover what we value in life and develop a portfolio of engagements that aligns with those values. The way to know what we value is to recognize the activities that bring feelings of happiness, sense of accomplishments, emotions of connectedness that transcend our finite self.

Although the paradox of mortality and living would remain a paradox, the approach can still allow us to have a functional, creative, and meaningful life that is occasionally punctuated by the humbleness that mortality can bring.

Recognizing what we value and building a portfolio of engagements with activities that allow us to actualize what we value, is a key to be able to live with the cognizance of mortality and to have a functional life.

May the force of such a portfolio of engagements be with us.

Ciao.

Why is Autumn so special?

 

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower” — Albert Camus

Arun Kumar

Autumn.

It is a beautiful time of the year. It is also a time of transition, both in the external world and in the world within.

Outside in the woods behind the house, trees have sensed the shrinking hours of daylight, felt the drop in the temperature, and on occasions, shivered in the chill of mornings. From their experience, or perhaps from instincts now carried in their genes, they know it is time to get ready for the winter that will be here soon.

And within, spurred by changes that are happening outside, autumn stirs a rainbow of emotions — a sense of peace, connectedness, sadness, melancholy, nostalgia.

Autumn.

Over a span of a week, leaves go through a metamorphosis and suddenly adorn themselves in different shades of color — red, orange, yellow, purple, gold…

On some days in the background of clear crisp blue sky (that only autumn days are allowed to have), their colors stand out. Looking at them it seems like they are dancing in the breeze at a slower pace and are holding a special show.

Autumn.

It is time to hibernate the garden and clear the spots where perennials grew all through the summer having their own dazzling display of colors. But now, it is also time for them to also bid adieu.

It is also time to pick up the last red tomatoes hanging from the vines before they shrivel up after a night of hard freeze, after which, looking sad, they ask “did you forget about us.”

Autumn.

It is a reminder of the winter ahead. It is a reminder that by 5 pm the sun will be below the horizon and by 6 pm it will be dark. And while it would be cold outside, I would be safe wrapped in the cocoon inside home. Perhaps, I would be sitting in front of the warm glow of the fireplace with a glass of wine while shadows dance on the walls.

In going from summer to winter, the meaning and comfort of home changes in subtle ways.

Autumn.

It is a time when reminders of impermanence are all around. Impermanence is in the display of fallen leaves covering the ground, in the chill of the air, in the smell of burning wood from the smoke drifting from a chimney. It is in the honk of a flock of geese heading south (I would be wishing to do the same come January).

With impermanence abashedly at display, autumn is also the time of realization of my mortality and a gentle nudge that I am in the autumn of my life.

It is a time to remember that years slowly, but inadvertently, are passing away. With each passing year, that realization of mortality has an increasing sharpness and depth to it. And yet, the same realization is also a source of inner peace.

Autumn.

It is time for vague nostalgic emotions to knock on the door and say hello. Perhaps they come to ask how the spring and summer were, and if I would like to take a break and go back to places that in my mind’s eye are gentle, peaceful, but also, are filled with a soft ache of melancholy knowing that someday the show will end.

Autumn.

With its arrival, I am reminded that next year trees will once again wear green colors, once more leaves will do their slow dance in the background of flawless blue sky, but bound by my finiteness, I may, or may not be around to appreciate.

Although there are no guarantees, for now, come next year I still intend to see it all though.

Autumn.

It is time to relish the anticipation of slipping under the warmth of quilts and feeling of being back in the safety of mother’s womb and each morning when climbing out of the bed, have the feeling of being born again.

Autumn.

It is indeed a special time of the year.

Ciao.

Something of you will linger forever

 

There are endings that bring
a touch of sadness
yet they also hold
vague promises of eternity,

for although, come tomorrow
what I touch, see, smell,
savor, and hear
may not be there,

something of you
will linger forever. 

What is common between wormholes and transitions?

 

Arun Kumar

Mother’s Day. Father’s Day. Every day of the year is devoted to celebrating something.

For all germophobic out there during the time of COVID, there is also a day to celebrate cleanliness. Down the road, soon there might be a national mask wearing day.

Or maybe, every day of the year should be a national mask wearing day. Not only would we have fought the pandemic better, but there would also have been less bickering among the politicians.

There is also the day of our reckoning when the sum of all days in life is tallied, and a number written on a folded sheet is handed to us. That number is the Karma of all our deeds. We just hope that the number is positive, and we had a life that was well lived.

One day at a time, either lived with celebration or otherwise, the entire life passes away. It all happens in the units of a day.

Day is the fundamental unit that keeps turning pages of calendars into the past. The passing of the day is also a reminder of the impermanence of everything that surrounds us. The span of the day there are so many beginnings and endings.

It is a universal truth that everything begins, and everything ends. The subtle signs of beginnings and endings are everywhere. Some on a cosmic scale — a star exploding, its life coming to an end. In its last breath, it illuminates the night sky.

Other endings are more nuanced — a seed sprouting on the sidewalk living precariously and hoping to see another sunrise and not get trampled over by some wandering feet. If lucky, it will grow to give the much-needed shade to some restless soul.

The connection between beginnings and endings is the period of transition. Transitions are the wormholes that connect the endless cycle of beginnings and endings.

It seems inevitable that the smooth passage of time will eventually be punctuated by transitions — something ends and makes room for something new to begin. The day when we leave home to go to college followed by the day we finish college and embark on a long career, followed by…

In navigating most of these transitions, the stepping stones are all laid out for us. The wormhole is already in place and all that is needed is to step into it. With the ease and naturalness of breathing, we close one door behind and open another in front.

Every transition, however, is not that easy. In some, there is no wormhole waiting for us. There is nothing obvious in front of us to step into.

After some endings, to navigate further, we have our work cut out. We have to construct the wormhole, a task that could turn out to be like a layperson needing to learn quantum mechanics. It is not a trivial endeavor.

Some transitions, like the day we retire, or the day when the realization of mortality begins to stick to our skin fall in that category.

Another category of hard transitions could be struggling to navigate the wormhole that connects psychological changes in our perspectives. One such change is how we perceive the passage of the day, and it happens when we begin to realize the fundamental importance of the day, the basic unit of how we spend our time, in shaping the sum of out life.

Before the change in perspective a day used to be just a day. It started and it ended. Nothing more and nothing less. The sun rose, and many hours later, it set.

After the transition there is an awareness that the passage of a day means much more than it seems to be.

Afterwards, there is an awareness that days add up to a week, weeks to a month, months to a year, and years to a life lived. With that, how we decide to live a day adds up to how we lived this life.

At some point of time in life a realization comes that on average we live around 30,000 days (~ 82 years) and out of that we have already lived 25,000 days (~ 68 years), and what is left is 5,000 (~ 14 years) more to go.

The span of life counted in the number of days is a jarring change of perspective and adjusting to this transition requires building a wormhole. It requires taking a deep breath, jumping headlong into the task, and hoping that in the part of universe that we will come out is kind and friendly.

And did you know that there is also a national wine day. A day we can all look forward to. Let us drink to that.

Ciao.