Category: Rant

  • 13 Lessons from 2020

    13 Lessons from 2020

    Perhaps it is too soon to count the lessons, but these themes are pretty consistent so far. I figured, given what a year it’s been, I may as well stick to the number 13 to keep aligned with the ominous nature of this year.

    Here goes my 13 lessons from 2020 thus far. I expect it to only get more colourful as the final quarter of the year works its way through the digestive tract of time.

    1. Everyone became an empath

    Social media has been flooded with self-proclaimed empaths. The fascinating part for me is always how many of those who claim to be empaths are bitter at the world, rather than empathetic about why it is in the state that it is. More interestingly, I find it curious to see how anyone who suddenly realised that a gut feeling turned out to be true suddenly becomes an empath that can accurately read the emotional disposition of anyone that saunters across their path. My gut feeling suggests that there is something amiss in all of this. Besides, we’re all empaths by default. It simply varies by degrees of self-awareness.

    2. Kal ho na ho means different things to different people

    For the uninitiated into the Bollywood sphere, roughly translated, it means that tomorrow is not guaranteed. Like the empaths, this is another claim that is brandied about by the masses who proclaim to be living their best life, or doing what demands courage because tomorrow is not guaranteed. Sadly though, many embrace this concept from a position of fear, rather than hope. Thus, the non-guarantee of tomorrow leads many to hold on to the fear that they court today, because a familiar pain is more comforting than a fragile joy. Much is lost in the process of claiming today while believing that we’re not waiting for tomorrow, not realising that it is precisely the hope that tomorrow holds that should be subduing the fears of today. It’s complicated.

    3. Giving it your best shot doesn’t guarantee success

    The massive impact to small businesses and employment opportunities globally proves that it’s not always about your best shot. Sometimes, being amazing doesn’t guarantee an audience, or an income. When we stubbornly persist in approaching human value with a capitalistic mindset, we will continue to diminsh the value of the human contribution in the absence of its economic viability. Therefore, your best shot is only your best shot if economic viability is prioritised above your contribution to humanity. And yeah, I may be projecting my personal experiences in this regard given my line of work. It’s 2020, so I’m sure it’s allowed.

    4. Pervasive ignorance still trumps collective wisdom

    The toilet roll saga, followed by the poor bats who apparently spawned a synthetic patented virus, followed by the debates about the effectiveness of social distancing, mask-wearing, and so much more, all confirm that there is no collective wisdom in a severely fractured human race. Collective wisdom is only possible in the presence of a collective value system. If nothing else, given the massive negative shifts regarding economic parity, or human dignity between the wealthy and the poor, it’s pretty much confirmed that collective wisdom is class-based survival and profiteering and not wisdom at all.

    5. Love doesn’t always triumph over fear

    Fear, by far, still rates as the key ingredient to making important decisions. The fear of hope is echoed in the statements of hope. The victim-hood is evident in the proclamations of the victims who remain defined by their moments of oppression. And of course, we fight fear with fear by being fearful of the fear of what the rest of this year holds. In all of this, there are few who realise that they need to just be, without a need to proclaim their love or hope or fear about what life holds true for them. But to just be who they are despite the ravages of the time in which we live. If we could call it living. And, of course, those who chose to love in the face of fear will realise that their love was often only enough to sustain their own sanity, but not enough to subdue the fear in others. How may are spurned for diminishing the validity of the fear of another when they respond with love instead?

    6. Hope is not always the opposite of fear

    One of the greatest tragedies is when we compete in our efforts to proclaim our struggles to be greater than that of others. It’s all relative. What we proclaim as hope to rise above where we’re at is often just fear looking for validation. Proclaiming our struggles to the world rarely provides any material relief from those struggles. So when we convince ourselves that hope looks like a vocal stand against fear, we need to consider if we’re being truthful to ourselves, or are we just pacifying our conscience.

    7. Collective struggles don’t always unite people

    Oh boy…where to even start with this one. Bigotry in all domains has intensified rather than subsided. The in-fighting in many communities far outweigh the collective efforts to lift the burdens from the most vulnerable in those communities. And this plays out globally. Whether first or third world, rich or poor, theist or atheist, the reports of selfless human contribution have been rare and exceptional, and most certainly not the norm. Even in finding cures we’ve seen the opportunism of the elite trump over any efforts to serve with compassion before profits. All puns intended.

    8. Soul mates don’t always connect

    Under such straitened circumstances, the overwhelming burden of a life under duress has dulled many a romantic heart, and subdued many a giving spirit. When overwhelmed with the threat of a never-ending oppression, survival often means sacrifice of what is important in favour of what is urgent. When fear drives our decisions, finding a balance between the two is near impossible , and thus, we consider soul food a luxury when life itself feels like a threat to our sanity. Connecting with anyone, let alone your soul mate, then becomes a struggle when holding on to sanity feels like finding love is a luxury. If only we’d realise that sanity becomes irrelevant when love breathes comfort into our anguished hearts.

    9. What is valued is not always what is cherished

    Continuing the theme of important versus urgent, comforting each other begins to appear as a luxury or an unaffordable indulgence when we look to take care of ourselves first because we lost any reason to trust that we will be taken care of. Sometimes we do this because we believe that we need to save others from the persecution of our lives. Hence, we see what we value as being inconsequential to the existential threats that we face. Again, survival mode triumphs over our humanness, and empathy is replaced by utility.

    10. Humanity still places priority over materialism compared to compassion

    It’s only important if it can be monetised. Of course, this is only true in our efforts to put food on the table, but is vehemently denied in our free posts on social media. Perhaps our hypocrisy as a race of humans is most visible in our proclamation of the dearness that we place on the hearts we hope to touch or heal, but ignore such value the moment profit margins must be maintained. If lock down has taught me anything, it is that there is an absurdity in our belief that essential services are only essential if there is a way to fund it. Suddenly, we suspended our ability to produce because someone decided to suspend the economic system. Rather than question the merits of the economic system, we choose to question the value of our contribution in the absence of such economic reward.

    11. Empathy is absent in religious structures and spiritual circles

    The most religious and the most spiritual have shown a disdain for compassion or empathy. They have demonised non-compliance and enforced ritual instead. 2020 has revealed the true merit of the self-proclaimed custodians of religious superiority across all religions. There is not a single major world religion that has risen above the others in their efforts to place the human before the doctrine. But, wasn’t the doctrine established because of the frailty of the human to begin with? I think we speak on behalf of our gods when we need to be perceived as spiritually superior when we lack confidence in our ability to influence by our conduct. Of course, there is also that thing of funding that turns religion into business.

    12. Benefit of the doubt still doesn’t get the benefit of the doubt

    The irony is morbidly entertaining when we consider that we doubt those who request the benefit of the doubt. This is, again, most prominent in the economic structures that govern everything we cherish as human beings, with credit histories meaning nothing in the face of protecting profits. Financial institutions the world over have insisted on claiming interest and extending the life of contracts in a show of compassion. However, they were very careful in ensuring not to lose a cent in income, further extending the indebtedness of the vulnerable. What appears to be a short term relief only turns out to be a longer term slavery. Compassion is not compassion if it only extends the suffering rather than alleviates it.

    13. Fear, and not hope, still drives most people’s life decisions

    With the onslaught continuing, even those who throw caution to the wind do so because they fear being subdued for much longer. It’s our belief in our impotence to change things that we willingly surrender to it without further effort or protest. But, to save face, we must present it as a bold step against oppression or blind following, rather than to reveal the vulnerability of our fears that we harbour within. Our need to appear bold or courageous or significant immediately undermines any merits to such claims. Thus, if nothing else, 2020 is revealing the true calibre of who we are, and we have been found to be lacking in almost every sphere of our lives.

    Final thoughts

    Despite the morbidity and the struggles that have saturated the lives of the majority during a year of unprecedented imbalance in nature, the human spirit continues to struggle on. However, for the most part, it has intensified the nature of who we were before this pandemic hit. Those who were selfish and bitter intensified their rage and self-serving ways, while those given to servitude increased their sacrifices, often at great personal expense.

    The new normal that many are waiting for will turn out to not much more than a clearer picture with more blatant evidence of the normal that always was. But, because so many were oblivious to it in their cocoons of distraction, it will be experienced as a whole new world after Covid-19. Sadly, there are much greater tragedies in the world that have been unfolding, and continue to unfold with impacts that dwarf the statistics claimed by Covid-19, and those will continue to to remain below the line of sight of the consciousness of the collective, because as we’ve seen, collective wisdom is a myth, and empathy is an indulgence of victim-hood.

    There is no new normal. Only a new realisation of what was always wrong with the world as we know it. Will this result in a shift towards the resolve needed to fundamentally improve the human condition, or will profiteering and individual gain continue to contaminate our efforts in our pursuit of the peace that everyone claims to be striving for?

    The cynic in me suggests that it will be business-as-usual for the next few generations. I pray that I am proven wrong.

  • Fleeting Thoughts X

    Fleeting Thoughts X

    If I were to write without restraint, would you see my soul or judge my sanity?

    Sanity is elusive when it competes with the heart.

    The heart is not satiated by the intellect, and the intellect cannot reason with the heart. They both swim in their own orbits.

    Like the sun and the moon, each orbit complements the other and are never truly isolated in their purpose.

    Purpose is recognised when we look beyond the fear and connect with the value that we hold within.

    The value we hold within is only considered valuable if it is allowed to create something larger than the sum of our lives.

    The sum of our lives must serve more than us, or else it feels inconsequential.

    To be of consequence is the heart of fulfilment.

    To share what we have is the root of fulfilment.

    Gratitude is the fulfilment of fulfilment.

    Fulfilment is denied when gratitude is withheld in the face of expectation.

    Expectation threatens our composure when we doubt our significance.

    Our composure is dependent on our perception of our flaws.

    We focus on our flaws and ignore the one who appreciates those flaws to be the very reason why we’re enough because we doubt our significance.

    Self-loathing is spawned by our belief that we’re flawed, rather than the reality that we’re human.

    To see our humanness requires us to gaze upon ourselves with empathy.

    Empathy is subdued through a life of dutiful servitude.

    Servitude denies our right to need or to expect, but cherishes our responsibility to fulfil the needs and rights of others.

    Rights and needs are most often claimed but seldom respected.

    When we forsake our rights and subdue our needs, we lose the sweetness of life and focus validation from others instead.

    Validation from others distills into bitterness as we grow aware of the conditional nature of such validation.

    Bitterness is the fruit of shame, and shame is born from judgement.

    Judgement demands that we view ourselves through the eyes of others, while wearing the lens of our own self-loathing.

    It is through this contaminated frame of reference that we shape our contribution to the world, and then judge the world harshly for not recognising our effort.

    Our contribution is first done selflessly, then selfishly. Trust is lost between the two motives.

    When trust is lost, love is abandoned and hope departs.

    When love and hope are absent, life’s passion is dulled, and servitude beckons.

    Servitude is the true opium of the masses because servitude deflects attention away from our worth, and directs attention to our utility.

    Utility is the saving grace of a life unfulfilled.

  • A brain dump

    A brain dump

    The irony of a brain dump lies in the fact that it is my search for my brain that leads me to want to dump what distracts me from its use. Distraction creeps up, sometimes slowly with warning, but sometimes with devilish bravado unseating my senses and leaving me gasping for reality.

    Reality has never been a friend of mine. Each time I thought we were getting along, it slapped me in my face with a boulder. Not even a rock. As if a need to prove to me that living life in full measures means that life can only ever respond in kind. Kind. Now there’s a quaint notion that I hope to experience at some point.

    I find myself caught at the curious juncture of being invisible while simultaneously lacking the benefit of anonymity. It means that I can do nothing worth noting without my efforts being dismissed, while having a keen focus on everything I do that may be judged to be lacking. It echoes in terse tones my relationship with society for almost half a century.

    Someone guessed my age recently. They assumed me to be 30, instead of 50. Perhaps I did experience a kindness after all. But, they weren’t significant to the outcome of my life, so their generous gesture was lost against the rumbling of the thunder that was beckoning the next storm that threatened to roll over me.

    Crescendos of joy quickly obliterate the years of struggle. And the years of struggle return in anguished chants, mocking my half-smiles when that joy is unceremoniously ripped away. The vagueness of expression, at least, appears to offer me the comforts of an old friend. Pathetically, my oldest friend is a writing tool and not a being.

    Self-deprecation is such a luxury. I marvel at the possibility of being able to abandon life while indulging my self-loathing, oblivious to the unfulfilled duties and privileges that others have claimed. My fixation on fulfilling the same has left little room for claiming what I need. Even when I do, my attempts are so feeble that it lacks any convincing.

    The lock down has tested my philosophies and my resolve. Both have passed, despite neither serving me. It only ever serves others whom I cherish, but never me. I suspect I need to rethink my belief that the purpose of life is to serve others, and in such servitude we shall find joy. I think I missed something important in that. Of course, it’s difficult to convince myself of this being an erroneous philosophy because the joy I’ve experienced in serving that elusive significant other has rewarded me with a joy so divinely sublime, its fleeting moments serve to torment me for the rest of my life. Each expired second since it flitted by has in itself been a lifetime of torture.

    Love is for fools who have hope, live with hope, and believe in hope. Guilty on all counts. Only, when you live as precariously as I do, interpreting a love such as this becomes a mystery of its own. It’s the kind that cherishes deeply, loves intensely, holds endearingly, but releases gently. It’s the release that I need to work on. Perhaps if I didn’t make it so comfortable I may have more than a fleeting moment of divinely sublime joy.

    Divinely sublime. The divinity and the sublimation both beyond the view of the one who offers it. It’s a twisted tale of contorted cynicism that life has heaved at me in buckets, or more likely troughs. It is my grasp on the subtlety of beauty, or the hints of romance that breathe between her pauses and between her aches that horror has imposed. My subject of beauty focused on the horror, while I, in my romantic notions, caress with care the breaths and the pauses, seeing in her the divine where she only sees the pain.

    It’s a dance with destiny, with two left feet. Me being ill-footed while destiny laughs mockingly at my attempts to courts its lustrous beauty. I recede, full of angst, full of despair, but filled with joy in a conflicting sway of emotional upheaval that celebrates my ability to connect with the beauty that is so well hidden, while succumbing to the demands of the one who hides it.

    A brain dump, or a heart dump. The two are so intricately woven into the being of me that attempting to discern between them is as foolhardy as my hope of fully embracing the beauty that I see. Just there. Within my grasp, but out of reach. Like a mirage, it demands that I revisit moments past, not retracting my hand, fear driving my reach, while hope connecting my sight. Until it is in hand, it remains elusive. A mirage. But so real that letting go is impossible, while holding on is prohibited.

    As I slide further down this slope that extends from the recesses of my being, my efforts to dump that which clutters my thoughts only reveals the beautiful prose of life that it harbours. My contempt for it yet again misplaced, as I realise that I grew loathsome towards it for distracting me from my purposeful endeavours, while denying the reality that such endeavours were the distractions I needed to cope with the absence of what I buried so deeply.

    Once allowed into that haloed space, it can never be released. Only peered at quietly and solemnly in secret. It will only ever again be revealed to the one who reached its alcove without even knowing. Such is the miracle of two, cut from one. So natural is their embrace that the ease with which it satiates the thirst of the souls leaves no scarring, or evidence of its visit. Only the quiet confidence it instils in empowering the hesitant decisions that have long since lost relevance. But relevance is defined by what is yet to be reconciled. It is in such reconciliation of the hurts of the past that the present in discarded, and the future laid to waste.

    But hope. If not for hope harboured by the jaded fool who courts its pleasures far beyond its graveyards of happiness, the discarded gifts would forever leave the future wasted, and the past honoured. It is the jaded fool that disregards such constructs of nature. It is the jaded fool that seeks the divinely sublime, despite the backdrop of horror that threatens to disembowel any attempts to be glorious beyond the measures of the past. It is the jaded fool that resurrects the romance that love courts, or the love that romance beckons. If not for this fool, much will be spent in futility.

    Some believe this to be the words of a writer. One who is perhaps endowed with the ability to express what others struggle to contemplate. However, it is more truthful to note that these words are of the one who pains to express clearly the lyrics of his soul, in the hope that its mate will pause for long enough to see the truth of what can be.

    [If you’ve read all the way to this point, I am duly impressed and saddened. For anyone to connect with these words, you must first connect with my pain. Blessed be the gentle ones who love too fiercely, accept too easily, and hope with futility.]

  • Ready to Rage

    Ready to Rage

    When tolerance levels are breached, rage is an inevitable next step. It’s like the boundaries of fear that are overcome in moments of desperation when the realisation sets in that remaining true to our current approach, is as meaningless or ineffective as throwing caution to the wind, and demanding what we need, or want. But, in that lies the problem.

    My tolerance levels are defined by me, not anyone else. Each time I give in to the breach of it, to the rage or the demands that bubble beneath the surface of my emotions, I find myself buying into the assumption that in doing so, that final act of desperation where reason has failed me will, in fact, yield the responses that I want, or expect. But that assumption is what is incorrect.

    Assuming that others care enough to honour your needs or requests is an assumption based on entitlement. Or maybe not. Nonetheless, demands only ever result in compliance at best, but rarely, if ever, respect. And thus, I find myself reminding myself that we cannot give what we don’t have. If I lack tolerance, it means that I lack patience, or that I embrace entitlement. It’s a fine line between sanity and pacifism. At which point do we accept and move on, and in the process compromise what we stand for, versus stand our ground and demand a change in behaviour from others?

    Pacifism, or the need to turn the other cheek does nothing to correct the unwelcome behaviour of those that assume that they are entitled, and in the process trample on the rights and dignity of others. The balance must lie somewhere between being driven by the principle of it all, and desiring that they realise the value of upholding such principles.

    That desire is what challenges us in our moments of weakness. Moments when we experience the intensity of the void of not being served as we serve, or appreciated as we appreciate. Moments when our respect is assumed to be expected, and our concern is assumed to be neediness or interference. Those moments test our merits and our resolve in being able to set aside what we need, in favour of what we wish to see realised in the lives of those around us.

    Rage if you must. But remember that rage will only ever allow you to vent in the moment at hand without any benefit for the future. If nothing else, it may reveal the truth of the sentiments of the ones that you hold in high regard, but as always, be sure that when you prompt such a response, you must be ready to embrace the answer.

    Rage if you must. But rage with purpose, and let that purpose be enabled through actions that create rather than destroy the very outcome that you hope to achieve. Let your rage inspire you to act, but not to impose. Let your rage drive you to change that which you despise or find lacking, but don’t let it convince you that you are entitled to a favourable response. Nor are you entitled to righting the wrong that you find problematic.

    Recognise your rage as the source of the intensity of your passion. Then, feed that passion, not the rage. The world is full of raging beasts, each demanding their significance without earning it. Or demanding such significance from those that have no interest in appreciating them. Don’t add to that rage. Replace it with passion, and purpose. Replace it with a conviction in who you are, and not who you demand others to be. The former is the beginning of the path towards peace, and the latter is the path towards hell on earth.

    Let your rage bring peace where imbalance thrives. Let it inspire others to rise with conviction, rather than fight with abandon. Most importantly, let your rage never be unbridled, because in that is the root of losing ourselves to the very same contempt that we hold of those that breed such contempt into this world.

    Be better than that.

  • #MenAreTrash #NotAllMen #AmINext

    #MenAreTrash #NotAllMen #AmINext

    This is for the men out there. The ones who need to consider what they have become when they find it excusable to strike a woman, or worse, to violate her, or kill her. And for those that may not have been raised by a loving or caring mother, because we know they exist as well, do you really want to be like the monster that raised you? Be better. Own Your Shit and stop finding reasons to blame society for your despicable behaviour.

    No, we are not all trash. But there is trash amongst us. Those of us that see and don’t speak or act against that trash are trash as well. But we are not all trash. You don’t resolve a problem by painting everyone with the same brush. You resolve it by supporting those that are trying to correct the wrongs and the toxic ones of their own kind. When you demonise the good for the actions of the bad, you feed the cycle of toxicity and abuse that you’re fighting against. Now is not a time to stereotype and generalise. That’s how we end up with polarised positions and the xenophobic insanity that we have in this world at present. Now is a time to be clear and decisive against what is intolerable, and supportive of others that find it equally intolerable.

    You can start by objecting to posts that objectify women, or that create comedy out of women being treated badly, or men that refer to women using derogatory terms because it makes them feel macho. Start by calling out those that think it’s OK to undermine the dignity of women, or who blame women for the choices that they’ve made. Start by objecting to what is intolerable, and perhaps we’ll find a path that will allow the human behind the trash to emerge.

    Bad behaviour only gathers momentum in a system that encourages and supports it. A system is useless if it doesn’t get the support needed to nurture it. These systems of abuse and vile behaviour are spawned by cultures steeped in misogyny and inequality. If you defend such cultures out of loyalty, you are trash as well. And it’s time to call it what it is. The next time you decide to raise your hand for a woman, or you decide to take what you think is yours to take without permission or kindness, I dare you to look into the eyes of the one you’re abusing, not at their face that is distorted in pain so that you can see your own pain. Not at their writhing body that is trying to break free of your hold because it reminds you of the cruel hold that others have over you. And definitely not at their weakness because it reminds you of your weakness that you’re trying to deny. Look in their eyes and see the same human need for protection and kindness that you think was denied to you and consider that you have just become part of the problem that robbed you of your humanity.

    Be better. Own Your Shit! If you don’t own it, it will own you…be someone that the younger you would be proud of, not someone that the younger you would be afraid of. :'(

    P. S. Sadly, from personal experience, I know that this applies to both men and women. There is trash on both sides of the gender divide.

  • To Tell Your Story

    To Tell Your Story

    After an insightful and engaging workshop that lasted all week, I found myself contemplating whether I have a story worth sharing. There are far more intriguing and gut wrenching stories than my own, and no shortage of them being from my own demographic as well. So I was forced to consider why mine is any different.

    To understand why I found reason to question this, you need to be aware of my aversion to writing for the sake of getting attention, or sharing stories to get sympathy. I think deliberate sensationalism is tantamount to selling your soul, and publishing a book so that you can get the accolade of being a published author is only tainting the profession more than self-publishing already has. This probably sounds hypocritical from someone that just self-published their own book. (By the way, it’s called The Egosystem and you can find more info about it from the link on my homepage).

    Cheekiness aside, accessibility to platforms like self-publishing is great for people that have a sense of pride in their work. People who don’t live their lives believing that everything they do is inspired, and everything they say is inspiring. It’s for people who have a healthy level of doubt and care enough to question the quality and value of what they’re putting out there. I’m not suggesting that they must have a perfected product before hitting publish! Not at all. But when I contrast that against the so-called writers that brag about the 42 or 50 books that they self-published just last year alone, I must question the quality and the seriousness with which they’re pursuing their craft.

    Self-publishing is a blessing for writers that don’t have the funds, resources, or connections to get a publisher to take on their project. It’s also great for someone that has something of value to share but doesn’t have the network of support or means to get professional services before releasing their publication. However, if you have the ability to self-publish, then you also have the ability to do research and fact-checking. You have the resources and skill to produce more than just a dreadful cover that looks like a 10-year old’s doodle in PowerPoint, and you definitely have the ability and tools to understand the basics of plagiarism.

    The problem with people that don’t take these basics seriously is that apart from destroying their credibility as writers, they fill up the online stores with such a huge load of absolute crap that the good stuff gets buried so deep that it is next to impossible to find. That means that any writer that takes their craft seriously will have to spend that much more on marketing and promos, and put in that much more effort just to find an audience. Contrary to common belief, word of mouth is not as viral or available as many world like to believe it is.

    Every indie author dreams of publishing their book and then getting friends, relatives, and acquaintances to buy it, read it and tell everyone that they know how amazing the book was, and in that way sell enough copies to get the attention of a major publishing house so that they stand a chance of hitting the big time. If that ever does happen, there is more fluke involved than there is a well thought out plan to make it happen. Like many other indie authors, I also got a rude awakening when I realised how expensive social media advertising is, and how unsustainable paid advertisements are for getting and keeping your audience’s attention for long enough for them to make a buying decision. Unless you have a small fortune (preferably a large one) to invest in promoting your book, there is a good chance that it will remain a well kept secret, all thanks to the flippant writers that think that being able to publish without restraint is a license to dump garbage on the Internet.

    Beyond the above challenges, the key challenge facing a new writer is finding the confidence to share their story because with the millions of books out there already, chances are good that a similar or better story has already been told. What I’ve realised this week is that it’s not just the story that matters. It’s so much more including the authenticity in your narration, your unique expression, and of course a little bit of luck and a thick skin that all come together to give you a fighting chance of producing a book that more than just a few people will be willing to pay to read.

    If you have enough self respect to care about putting your name against a piece of work intended for the enjoyment or benefit of others, and you believe in the value of the story that you want to share, then share it, but be authentic in your expression and don’t try to be someone else. And most importantly, show due respect to your intended readers by producing a quality piece of work and not something that resulted from a wet dream of fame and fortune because you hope to stumble upon the correct numbers for the lottery after publishing.

    (This probably sounds arrogant and condescending to many, but I don’t care because liberalism holds no promise for those wishing to master their craft, and offers no direction for those seeking a new path).

  • Authentic Toxicity

    Authentic Toxicity

    Therapeutic expression has been elusive for some time now. Deliberately writing to finish a compilation of thoughts tends to constrain the thoughts themselves. It feels like herding cats, a sensation akin to seeking constructive engagement in a toxic environment. The benefit of a toxic environment is that it tends to provide sufficient distractions from the emptiness that it fosters. That emptiness is most prominently experienced when you exit from such a toxic space.

    The toxicity provides a sense of morbid purpose at times. That morbidity, however, is only ever felt when the efforts to achieve a positive outcome from herding the cats results in the dispersal of the cats, and a box of litter in your hands. The optimist looks at the litter in the box and celebrates the fact that it is contained. The pessimist looks at the litter and feels cheated out of the purring comfort of the cats that littered only to be left with the litter and not the affectionate embrace. The realist takes the litter box, empties it out, and moves on to find another cat to fill the litter box in the hope that the next round of litter will be accompanied by an affectionate exchange as well.

    Sometimes we’re so fixated on the hurt or the pain of betrayal that we hold on to that litter believing that it is an essential and defining part of the box. The box, of course, being our capacity to embrace life. Speaking in metaphors remains a cryptic skill that avoids unwanted scrutiny. Scrutiny is only good if not practiced for the sake of gossip or morbid curiosity. There are too many that show an interest in the problems of others simply because they need to feed their egos by internally (sometimes overtly) comparing the wholesomeness of their own lives to the life of the one that is feeling at odds with the world. Far too often that sense of wholesomeness is grounded in the convenience of being surrounded by others that have less. It doesn’t feel so wholesome when surrounded by others that have more.

    The sincere ones focus on those that have less so that they (the sincere ones) can gain an appreciation for what they have, while the insincere focus on the same so that they can feel superior and be recognised for their superiority. Authenticity does not feature for the kind that live their lives in the spotlight, even though that spotlight is powered up by their own egos for most of their lives. The meek under-estimate what good is in their own lives, and therefore celebrate the same icons who power up their own spotlights. Icons can be created through manipulation of the truth, but authenticity will continue to escape such a manufactured reality. That lack of authenticity leaves most feeling unfulfilled, including the icon worshipers. The realisation of such a lack of fulfilment manifests itself in the lives of the worshipers as an incessant subconscious yearning to have more and do more than the fickleness of the idol.

    We cannot wish away problems or adversity just as much as we cannot wish happiness into reality. Both are outcomes of our contribution towards its ends. Inactivity never yields happiness, it only ever yields complacency at best, and a festering of adversity at worst. A sincere choice made towards alleviating the adversity will provide a sense of fulfilment even if the outcome was unsuccessful. There is much joy and reward in knowing that you tried and failed, than to one day regret not having tried at all. That reward lies in the fact that despite your best efforts, the good you tried to impart was not thwarted because of a lack of effort on your part, but rather because of a lack of gratitude or awareness on the part of others. In that lies the secret to a peaceful life. The willingness to accept that despite our best efforts, success is not guaranteed, but in spite of the threat of failure, we chose to prevail.

    A brain dump carries its own sense of release from the angst of existing. Existence is a consequence of being, whereas life is a consequence of choice. I have always chosen to live, rather than to survive. A deep breath was never about regaining my composure or my footing, but instead, it was to take in the sweetness of everything that defined my experience in that moment, be it good or bad. Internalising the whole of the experience builds character, while internalising only the palatable feeds the ego. The ego does not exist independent of our choices. It is our choices. Too many blame their egos on their innate nature, when their innate nature has been stifled from fear of owning their life because of the risk of ridicule, or failure.

    Authenticity is in short supply. Everyone goes out searching for it in others, but very few offer it to those that seek it. Even less offer it despite them defining it as the minimum standard against which they will choose to show others due respect, or consideration. In a transactional culture, instant gratification is only a symptom of the insincerity of the masses to give before they receive. The epic proportions we have reached in this regard means that dignity is optional, and self-respect is not a consideration because self-respect has come to be defined by the trinkets of success that we have on display to the world, rather than the sense of accomplishment we have as a human being.

    Being human eludes us, while doing in humans has become a global sport.

  • Stark Reality

    There is a starkness that stares you in the face as you see the distractions for what they are. Looking to the future with great expectations, I always found myself pushing the boundaries within which I operated. It was never about what is, but instead, was always about what could be, what is possible, and what I could improve. What if the world could be different, better, more enthusiastically engaging, rather than predictably boring and rigidly traditional? Thoughts like these, despite rarely fully surfacing, tickled my mind throughout my life. With each change I influenced, I convinced myself that I was making progress. I was improving, and more importantly, I was contributing positively.

    Years of reflection tend to strip away the candy coated layers that colour my perceptions of reality. Pursuing a career meant seeking purpose and being able to contribute towards society. Establishing a home meant adding to the wholesomeness of this world that is in such desperate need of more of it. Encouraging others to prevail beyond their self-imposed limitations seemed like a noble pursuit as I tried to infuse my passion for progress into the lives that I touched. That’s the candy coating that maintains the pleasantries of life. Chipping away at it quickly reveals the lack lustre tone of the core that is less palatable, like a sugar coated pill with a bitter core.

    I see, with great disdain, the hoards that cherish this life as if it were not fleeting. Selling our souls to distract ourselves from the bitter core that we tasted in moments of defeat, moments that robbed us of the comfort of being in control of our delusions, as the reality of someone else’s delusion prevailed in our lives instead. We live lies, blatant, obvious, and well known lies, but hold on to it because of the emotional highs that it offers. Emotional highs are easier to solicit from delusions because we make it what we wish it to be, because in the absence of such delusions, our impotence in the face of certainty smacks us down.

    Reality is never known, except in death. Everything up to that point remains a distraction from its inevitability. We hate inevitability. It denies us control, which denies us power, which reminds us of our insignificance in a world that we cannot control. There is not a single king that reigned forever, regardless of the mythical statuses we endowed on some to the point of deifying them. The greater the collective weakness of the masses, the greater the delusions needed to maintain social order. Those that subscribe to the delusions as wholesome gatherings of human connections weaken themselves, until those with an inkling of recognition of those delusions become estranged from the common good while the distracted lead the masses down the garden path to oblivion. But oblivion can be a beautiful place, just like collective self-imposed suffering.

    When everyone subscribes to a harmful behaviour, its perception of value makes it healthy, but only within the context of the collective delusion that we live. We compete to excel above our peers in who can most accurately and elaborately articulate the distraction to the point of giving it purpose. They are the ones that are celebrated as leaders and spiritual guides. True guidance cannot be obtained from others similarly or more elaborately distracted. Such leadership is akin to the guides that demonstrate the strategy behind a video game. It is leadership focused on how to excel at a commonly respected distraction.

    This world is full of such common subscription to common distractions that have grown to define our purpose and objectives in life. Study the cycles and the systems with such intensity, that your mastery of it leads you to believe that you are in fact mastering life, when in essence, all you’ve mastered is your own ego. That is not the same as subduing your ego, but few would recognise the difference.

    The painful irony is that the ones less distracted are not easily found, if ever, because they do not circulate among the distracted. They avoid the systems of delusion that attempt to cheat the inevitable outcomes by soliciting collective celebration about achievements that prevail in part beyond our moments of inevitability. Inevitability is death. Some meet it while still breathing, others don’t see its imminent arrival until it has overtaken them, while a few spend their lives preparing for it. They’re the intelligent ones. But faced with a sea of distracted delusionists, they appear as nothing more than an insignificant lot of fools who just don’t get it.

    A fool, if left to judge the merits of others, will deem the entire world a charade except for those that respect their foolhardiness. This world is overrun by fools, pretending to be leaders, providing spiritual indulgences that alleviate the burden of seeing reality for what it is. The starkness of reality exists somewhere in between all this insanity, but fortunately for most, its starkness is also its rarity.