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.