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.