Different things and thoughts have led me to put up this post of mine. I should start off with a warning that some who read the following (if they get through till the end) may find it a not-a-very-happy-post. Some two weeks ago - two different people told me in their own ways within the space of 24 hours that I tend to bring out the worst in others every now and again. They weren't being mean, malicious or spiteful, and I know them a bit as human beings. They are honest and good human beings, if anything. If some other well-meaning individual had said the same - I would have either spat out a furious and spiteful retort or just guffawed but I take the words of some rare people very seriously, and I sensed the truth in the words. My tendency to be fearful or jittery or restive about some things is something that rubs off on some people and under some circumstances. There is nothing unusual about such an occurrence. Fear is a virus, and it is infectious even under normal circumstances. That's how fear sometimes creates a world of its own, and not an entirely pleasant world (some day I might be a little more specific about this).
So one sets up tests in order to tackle some crippling fears (which must be dealt with in order to lead at least a semi-normal life). One tests and some tests end up being damp squibs and others flare up for a bit but don't really deliver what one had imagined they would. Some tests go horribly wrong and one would indeed like to go back in time and fix things.
Writing on a blog....as far as I can see doesn't harm anyone. One orders one's thoughts, one doesn't brood when one is writing; one doesn't get into a tizzy and one doesn't hyperemote or hyperventilate. One simply writes. That's all there is to it. And who knows - one might even find out other ways and means to deal with the oddities and the realities and actually find some brightness every now and again through the experience or later. All said and done, even if it does nothing brilliantly constructive - I don't think it does any harm...so here 't goes.
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One can but be thankful and grateful for certain things that life gives us and doesn't give us. I've never, quite obviously, quite understood how it works out. But then again - this post isn't about karma. And if some things transpired or didn't (depending upon what the "thing" is) I know - and I know very well that life doesn't simply just go on. I know the pundits will say "one must make the most of things", that one must face life boldly and bravely, that one must get over grief and sadness and get on with life. And these are fine sentiments, I know. I know that they are noble and courageous sentiments expressed by noble people, without doubt.
And I'm sure (and I have read that) some of those same people have gone through enormous heartbreak and heartache and terrible mishaps, which leave horrible hobnailed boot stamps on their lives, and every day. Some people lose their children or a child, some lose a spouse, some lose a parent, some a sibling, some a loved one. No matter how much pain I can imagine in my head - nothing, I know even marginally compares to what the bereaved go through. I'm quite sure too that death does not affect everyone equally - some people take it harder than others. How the ones who do, cope with such traumatic events also differs.
I have known people who belong to different categories.
I have also heard people saying that "death isn't the end of life" or "death is inevitable. The ones alive must pull themselves up by their bootstraps." - To be perfectly honest - I haven't heard anyone actually say those exact words...but one knows what I mean. Go and tell that to a child who has lost her parent. Go and tell that to a parent who has lost a child. Go and tell that to a wife who has lost her husband, go and tell that to anyone who has lost a loved one....for those who indeed are able to let their humanity live inspite of such loss - I am in awe of (and there are immediate names that come to my mind) - but those who are grief stricken beyond repair - I have never and will never be able to say "Get over it."
Some people don't get over death. They don't physically die. But something dies inside them, and some things just keep dying every day that they exist and survive. Maybe they become stronger in some senses that they are better able to face a world that is for the most part not a kind one, and full of mind numbing or mind screeching misery and suffering - and they become bitter and cynical and sharp people themselves. Possibly, (unless one indeed is blessed with infinite grace and some elements, which I don't even know how to describe) the more sensitive an individual is and the more intelligent - the more crabby s/he becomes.
Some people do. They do get over death. They get over the death of their loved ones - and I've always been amazed at how they manage, and they manage constructively. That is they are still able to reach out to others; they somehow manage not to become bitter, they do not become completely closed to human contact and/or human love and compassion. They also face life with joy. I have no idea how they do it. I'm leaving out the completely disgusting people out of the equation: those who never can love yet happen to lose a parent/spouse/child and keep throwing this bit of information out while in the company of people just to squeeze out some sympathy. Of course in some cases - death is welcome. If a loved one is going through serious health problems and is in pain, and the chances of recovery are remote, I would personally see to it that the person is put out of his/her misery. Yet in other instances: I have always been quite taken aback to see or hear about bereaved ones facing life with incredible resilience.
It's a similar amazement that I feel when I hear about people who overcome physical challenges to their own selves. There was a mountaineer who once got caught in the crevice of a mountain. He was alone. Nightfall was fast approaching. The winds were getting more intense. He managed to dislodge a boulder but his left arm was still stuck in between two rocks. All he could reach into was his pocket where he found his swiss-army knife. And he did what for him was the only thing he could do. This is a tale that Beth found in a magazine and got me to read. I never will forget it of course.
The mountaineer went back to mountain climbing after a period of time...
Some people lose people - and not through death. These are the deaths of once-upon-a-time cherished and priceless relationships, and no - things are not the same. One gets through sometimes - but many things here too die. I have never quite been able to understand people who say, "Oh, get over it."
There are yet other horrifying thoughts that never quite leave me in peace. They are just thoughts however - for me. They are, in the end, just thoughts. Yet they are real for those who live through them and bear with them. There is human cruelty. There seem to be no limits at all on this one.
In and out of my musings and dealings, I cannot but still say that there are some things that are absolutes for a life to simply be. I cannot get around this - no matter how much and how hard I try. And of course these absolutes differ from person to person. It is a very individual level thing. And one learns through some experiences what one can and/or cannot live with or without, and sometimes direct experience may not be entirely necessary. Of course I am using the word "live" - not exist, not survive. And what might be earth shattering for one - may not be for another.
And that life that is lived with some absolutes in place may not even be a great or a grand life - in the sense that that life may be of no good to anyone else. The life may not end up being that of Florence Nightingale or of Joan of Arc or of Madame Curie or of a Meerabai. Then why should those absolutes not be taken away? Why might fate not suddenly be fickle and say, "other people can do without this. I don't see why you should need this to be? If I take this away - it will build your character."
No, it won't. Some things, if they aren't there, will make me potty brained. Not a laughing matter. Not for me. Yet within this universe why should it matter whether I am blessed with some absolutes or that I am potty brained? Why might those elements not be taken away from me?
I don't know. And even though I know that fear is the most crippling emotion that I experience, the fear never can completely subside. And so I pray, and I pray very hard, and I wonder whether I'm praying hard enough or in the right way. I have never really learnt how to pray. I have learnt (and I don't know how or why) not to tempt fate though. I still end up making odd deals and sometimes odd deals have already been made, or so I say - and I hope God is listening.
I hope though that I can face my own death with equanimity. I am not as yet and most likely never will be prepared for the death of some, and I can only pray.
I guess this is an odd and not a very buoyant post but I have learnt that some thoughts - no matter how badly formed are better expressed than being bottled up - and I'm not forcing anyone to read what I write. An imploding and exploding pressure cooker scalds all those who are near and around.
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