The Perhaps of Life
…only the philosophical question is perennial, not the answers — Paul Tillich
There is a part of living that sometimes does not want to run as a well-oiled machine. With the turning of the wheels, if I pay attention, I can hear a faint squeaking.
Sometimes, when I stop along the path I am walking and listen carefully, I can feel an undercurrent that is constantly trying to erode my peace of mind. It is like wanting to sleep and letting go for a while, but there is an annoying mosquito that keeps buzzing around and will not allow sleep to descend.
Finding peace and the feeling of being together (and living with a sense of ease), alongside the uncertainty of whether or not I will be alive tomorrow, are two clashing thoughts. Their battles often leave me feeling exhausted. The thought that everything I do might one day be for nothing, yet there is still the need to keep on going and doing things the best I can, saps the will and energy.
The futility of moving forward but with the knowledge that each step is towards a precipice, and further, at any step, bottom could fall out, makes one want to let limbs go lethargic. In those moments, a sense of fatigue descends upon the spirit, making it hard to keep on moving.
Something inside wants to whisper, “Please leave me here and please keep going. For now, I am too tired to take another step.”
So, what to do? Is there a way out of the existential dilemma of needing to live and yet being aware of mortality? Is there a way to blunt the sharpness of the realization that mortality could just flatten a three-dimensional life into a meaningless nothing?
Once in a while, what antidote can one take to ward off these feelings and emotions that the internalization of mortality is susceptible to bringing? A glass of wine? A belief in something divine?
Perhaps, for some of us, there are no permanent resolutions, and the best we can do is learn to manage the conflict. We can hope to find ways to maintain a truce between living and dying, while acknowledging that occasionally, a full-blown conflict between the two may erupt.
Perhaps, we must always live with the realization that occasionally, the rug may be pulled out from under our feet, and we may fall. It could also be that the tension between living and dying is what defines life, making it interesting and vibrant.
The tension makes living alive.
Once the fall happens, I would question the logic and the meaning of existence once again. After lying flat on my face for a while, I will get up (as I have always done) and either build a new edifice or repair the one I already have (and possibly, make some tweaks to add resiliency).
Perhaps part of managing is accepting that for some of us, this is as good as it gets, and having this option in hand is a lot better than not having any alternatives and merely feeling lost.
Another possibility towards gaining a sense of lasting peace is to experience a sense of universal connectedness, which brings about the feeling of existing beyond one’s present form. This connectedness removes mortality from the equation. Left alone, life has no adversary to contend with. There have been moments of such connectedness, however, they are fleeting.
Perhaps one day, the essence of such ephemeral moments will be captured and preserved in a glass vial, to be worn around the neck and become my companion for life.
Perhaps, one day, I will wear a smile that mirrors the serene joy seen on the lips of enlightened beings.
Ciao.
