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 look at, 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 for 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 fact is that 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 why, 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 were not aware existed.

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

While there, I did 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 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 time resumes, and broken pieces of bones fall on the ground.

The pause is like the 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 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 one more 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?

Arun Kumar

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

Of course, you might argue that a life can never be lived without the cognizance of mortality because mortality is all around us. To that, I would say that yes, that is true but the difference I am focusing on is between a life that sees mortality but does not quite register it in its consciousness and contrast it with a life that not only sees mortality, but over time also internalizes 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 now 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 us.

The realization of mortality also alters perspective on various 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 experiences in life.

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 left to be checked. Instead, mortality suggests to us, checking boxes should not be the goal, it should be enjoying the process of getting there.

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 made 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 in is slowly, but inadvertently, drifting with the current towards a waterfall. 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 time.

Ciao.