Tag: death

  • Final Moments

    cropped-cropped-cropped-cropped-tumblr_mu79gcdgio1qeoyseo4_128013.jpgI’ve always believed that if we were to live a long and painful life, and in the end, in our last few moments, we experienced the absolute serenity and completeness of everything we sought to experience or achieve in our lifetime, the entirety of the pain and struggles of our lives would be easily forgotten. It would still feel like a complete and beautiful life, because the intensity of the struggles before that point would directly inform the intensity of gratitude and peace we would feel when experiencing it. But only if we live in the present moment. Otherwise we’ll lose that beautiful moment cursing at its late arrival while still yearning for the past to have been different.

    Zaid Ismail

  • Dying is Easy

    During my morbid years, you know, the years that are accompanied by knowing everything, followed by the years of futility before we realise that adults are weighed down with responsibility rather than just being deliberately boring, I found it attractive to look forward to death. Living beyond the age of 23 was not a life goal of mine, not because I was suicidal, but because it just didn’t seem like a probable outcome at the time. This improbability allowed me to live with a sense of freedom in my heart, feeling unrestrained by the burdens of deep contemplations of a future that I saw no reason to look forward to.

    This is not morbidity, and I’m not saying that to convince myself either. I’ve always viewed the advent of death to be one of liberation and ease. Life is a struggle, and the struggle is real for all of us. We find different ways to cope, to distract ourselves, and to push forward beyond the current state, but it doesn’t come easily. It requires effort. If that effort is not met with relief or joy at the perceived success of it, it intensifies that struggle. Those perceptions of success therefore become the trappings of morbidity or ease. If poorly informed, it convinces us that success may be in the shape and form of something that is detrimental to us. If well-informed, it may reveal that we’re not as celebrated as we thought we were, which has its own ball and chain to bear.

    Perceptions are therefore at the heart of the matter. How we perceive life or death draws us closer to either, or rarely to both. But we find ourselves facing life with a binary disposition. The debates and the philosophising are far too often focused on how to cheat death or live a fuller life, but is rarely focused on true balance. That true balance, for me, is how to appreciate life while embracing death. The one is meaningless without the other.

    People die a million deaths in a single lifetime, but very few live a single wholesome life before death. This is not surprising since many focus on understanding the definition of wholesome relative to someone else’s views without reflecting on their own needs, and then are convinced that they have a wholesome life, while never truly experiencing it for themselves. Life becomes a tick-box exercise when we are so externally focused and so internally ignorant. This is probably what I find most fascinating about the self-help book culture. We spend so much time looking for insights from others, that we spend only a fraction of that time seeking insights into ourselves. I know many would disagree by suggesting that their poring through those self-help books is their efforts to find what resonates with them, but that’s still like a child going to their mother, looking at the sun shining through the window, and asking if it’s morning yet.

    That seems to be at the core of it all. We’re often so insecure about our own capability that we need someone else to affirm it for us before we believe it for ourselves. I’ve never understood why the opinions of others are so important to our own lives, because I’ve always seen how two people acting independently but sincerely, regardless of race, religion, or culture, align with the same human ideals, and goals. But we’ve distracted ourselves with labels and compartments that go as fickle as defining our perceptions of others based on the compartments to which they belong, before we even see them as independently minded human beings.

    That’s where the chicken and egg situation arises. Do we behave the way we do because we’re conditioned to align with the traits and attributes of the labels that we subscribe to, or do we subscribe to those labels because we find familiarity in their traits and attributes? For this reason I despise labels, token events, and the like. It preconditions us to a conformed response to life rather than encouraging us to live and think independently. I think the insecurity that drives us as a point of departure is what informs our inclination to first be surrounded by nurturers before we believe that we are capable of exploring and overcoming on our own.

    I’m not suggesting that we only learn from our own mistakes, and that we ignore the experiences of others. I’m saying that we set out with the belief that it is achievable, and then draw wisdom from sources that talk to our goals. However, defining that goal first before seeking such guidance is the difference between leading and following.

    Dying is easy. We kill our spirits regularly, often several times a day, because the threat of failure and its perceived humiliation is so daunting, that we’d rather slay our souls than believe in ourselves. Humiliation is relative. A failure only becomes humiliating if the opinions of those around us defines who we are, and what we think of ourselves. But that’s the problem right there. Most of us know no other way of living, and then die a thousand deaths in the face of rejection.

  • Cyclic Sanity (Take II)

    Once we obtain a level of realisation regarding the finite nature of life, or rather, knowing without doubt that death is approaching, we will realise the time that is passing without us exploiting its opportunities sufficiently. When we consider that against the knowledge and skills we may have acquired up to that point, we realise how fickle our focus on life may be.

    If we truly believe in the ephemeral nature of life, and we claim to serve a higher purpose, then it dictates that we should endeavour to ensure that every skill or resource that we have that can benefit others must be brought to bear in their benefit. If we don’t, we’re insincere in our conviction of purpose, selfish in our endeavors, and undeserving of investment from others.

    Why then are we so easily distracted from this purpose? I believe it lies in the continued cycles of sanity that we subscribe to. We have developed an unhealthy fixation on time. Everything we do is measured in hours, minutes, or seconds. We see our lives through the cycles of birthdays that pass, and relationships in the context of anniversaries to determine its success. More recently we’ve been distracted by the annual commemorations of days earmarked to recognise the value of significant others in our lives. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and the insanity continues. But none of this would be an issue if it wasn’t for the distraction it instills in us.

    I’ve always believed that if it was not for entropy, time would be irrelevant. Yet we’re still more focused on time spent, than the progression of entropy in everything inside and around us. Coupled with this distraction is the conditioning that leads us to believe that there is age appropriate behaviour that is expected of us. Those that wish to be accepted by society willingly subscribe to these stereotypes, while those that don’t are often shunned or inadvertently isolated, or at the least, become entertainers.

    The combination of such conditioning and the distraction of time robs us of the very essence of life. Imagine a world where time was in fact irrelevant? Entropy would still exist, but then our measure of the quality of our lives will not be in how much quality time is spent with our family, but rather how much of our health and wellbeing did we expend in their benefit or enjoyment. Yet, we are caught in a cycle that insists that the best years of our health must be expended in amassing enough wealth so that our twilight years which are most often accompanied by ill health and fatigue is available for our indulgences in life. The logic is simply illogical.

    The reality is, we do live in a world where time is irrelevant, except when we give it significance. It’s yet another distraction that we use to ensure that we’re apparently not distracted from the task at hand. And that’s part of the problem. We’re so task focused, and time aware, that most of what we do eventually becomes a chore, the cycles bed down deeper, and freedom of expression and indulgence is considered within the norms that we subscribe to in order to be accepted, validated, affirmed, or all of the above all the while bemoaning the constraints that society places on us.

    When will we realise that we are society. We defined the rules that burdens our souls. The same rules weaken our resolve and discourage individual accountability so that we constantly shift the blame to the collective, while denying that we form part of it.

    I do not subscribe to age appropriate behaviour, nor do I believe in a work life balance the way it is traditionally perceived. But that is a topic for another day. Right now, it feels like I’m wasting too much time bleeding my thoughts into a post that will largely go unnoticed leaving me lacking in affirmation or validation, resulting in the stress of unfulfilment building in the bile that slowly erodes the lining of my stomach leaving me aching for acceptance so that I won’t have a need to feed on myself while denouncing my significance in a world that doesn’t care. Because I don’t care. And that is exactly the point we miss. Each day, every day, as we continue on that treadmill now fitted with an interactive LED display to feign the experience of movement while running like a hamster in our efforts to be at the top of the pile (pun intended).

    Life awaits.

  • Purposefully Distracted

    The earlier days of my life don’t prompt recollections of clarity and purpose. I can’t recall moments where I had a definite view of what I wanted to become and where I wanted to be at any specific point in my life. Of course, the one prevailing thought at the time was the premonition that death awaited me at the age of 23. Needless to say that premonition was wrong, and each time I experience a decidedly unpleasant moment in my life, I find myself wistfully recalling the comfort I drew from that premonition.

    Beyond that point I found myself unprepared for what lay ahead. Apart from the typical considerations of wanting to be an architect, or something, I pursued whatever opportunities came my way with relative ease and minimal conviction. My naturally competitive spirit drove me to push the boundaries in everything I did, but at no point did I find myself driven towards a higher calling. I merely made the most of what I had access to, and that pretty much sums up my approach to life as well, for a while at least. Eventually, after several severe betrayals, and the sudden realisation of the additional responsibilities that surfaced when I wasn’t paying attention, I found myself compelled to define a path for myself.

    I chose not to. Instead, quite sub-consciously I defined what it was that I did not want. What I wanted was too stifling to commit to. It limited me and defined me in ways that I did not feel comfortable imposing on myself. So instead, I focused on what I didn’t want. That felt liberating. Still does. I found that it allowed me to consider options that would otherwise have conflicted with a carefully crafted path in life. Little wonder then that I find myself restless when among those that have their lives planned to the last detail. They have this idea as to what they want to achieve, by when, and where to after that. It sounds too clinical to be life. Some view that as purpose, I view it as safety. Safety is something I’ve never truly craved. Comfort perhaps, but not safety from the fluidity of life.

    Against that backdrop I found myself observing those around me. Those that fit the mould and ticked the boxes of success. I could never relate, and in weaker moments, those empty boxes that I could never tick were used quite successfully to pummel my spirit further into the dirt. Fortunately those moments never lasted. But each time I emerged from that space it provided me with insight into the constraints of leading a life well planned.

    The plans that I saw unfolding in most people’s lives usually took a path that started off with youthful passion in wanting to change the world. That defined a mission for them that set them on a path to achieve the prerequisites needed in order to influence the segment of the world that they wanted to change. Those prerequisites ticked the right boxes and in turn unlocked opportunities that promised success, recognition, and importantly, wealth. Along with those familiar trappings of success came the distraction. Oh that painful distraction. The one that prompts us to indulge in the trappings as a token of celebration for our efforts to succeed in a world that we despised enough to want to change. Silently, and almost imperceptibly, they grew to define the very same world they set out to change.

    All the while the responsibilities accumulated to the point where the trappings were no longer tokens of success, but instead they had become necessities that were essential for the fulfilment of those responsibilities. Purpose didn’t matter any longer, or if it did, it morphed into a shadow of its former self. And slowly they assimilated without realising it. What once defined their desire to contribute their unique talents to the world now only defined their taste in the trappings that aimed to set them apart from the rest. Discernment replaced purpose. And so the distractions overtook and death became a reality that only happened to everyone else. That is when they lost themselves.

    I see many people almost totally bewildered when their carefully constructed path through life meets a forced detour. What started out as a great idea quickly unravels into empty stares when faced with the coldness that reality offers. At some point we all succumb. We set out with passion, get distracted by our ego, lose sight of what is important, and then shift focus to that which is needed to sustain the distraction while dismissing the passion for purpose as a whimsical desire of youth. We grow old because we undermine that passion for life. We grow weak and meek, and almost despicable when we believe that there is ignorance in youth rather than clarity of purpose. When we hold on to such beliefs of youth, we condition ourselves to accept that its abandonment is in fact maturity, while its embrace is foolhardy.

    I choose to live a foolhardy life. The best part is that it is not a crowded space at all. Unfortunately.

  • Elusive

    There has been a sense of peace, or composure that has eluded me all my life. I listen to people talk about concepts like home, relationships, connections, soul mates, and the like, and none of it rings true or familiar for me. I see fathers giving up their time with their daughters when still in their fragile formative years, and I wonder if they have any idea what they’re taking for granted.

    I never had a chance to build on the bond of fatherhood with either of my daughters. Both were snatched away at an early age, for similar but also entirely different reasons. There’s a strangeness that sets in under such circumstances. The natural bond that should have been formed is somehow replaced by an awkwardness of never fully accepting anything about the dynamics of it all that led to that moment when you’re standing face-to-face with your child. A moment when you’re torn between despising the behavioural traits that remind you of the betrayal you contended with from her mother, and the gut churn of wanting to express how much you understand that it isn’t their fault, while knowing that doing so will cause more harm than good.

    Sometimes I’m convinced that the principles I stand for are entrenched in a sound foundation, but there are other times when I wonder if it’s not just the façade I need to avoid embracing the full cold reality of me. Principles are great to earn scornful respect, but not so great to earn affection. The irony is that a principled life creates harmony, even if that harmony is manifested as predictability and dependability. Yet it’s those same principles that lead to the isolation of emotion when upholding what is right compels me to act against those that I know would rather have me embrace them in their wrongs.

    I look at the people around me and admire in a strange way their belief in tomorrow. In a life beyond the present moment. I smile at times when I see them investing in their future, all the while seeing myself as the speck in the eye of the beholder, causing that blink to brush away the speck, and realising that that blink is more representative of my life than any investment in any future I could ever make. I wonder if such an investment, if beneficial to those that will be left behind, will create a comfort for them that will draw them closer or further away from their spiritual calling. I wonder if making it easier than comfortable will be a disservice or a gift.

    I continue to contemplate these matters in isolation, because if even the simple troubles appear too complex for others to grasp, what chance do I have of having the deeper tribulations understood? Peace appears not to have been intended for acquisition in this lifetime. I mock myself with thoughts and aspirations of changing the world, while realising that it requires more than a lifetime to achieve. Handing down a legacy for another to take up needs the presence of one that embraces the struggles for purpose of my own soul. In its absence, the reality of life’s ephemeral touch bears down without pause or respite. The pendulum of time brushes ever so lightly against the arc of eternity, and in that very finite moment of its contact, an entire lifetime is lived.

    The truth about being human is not that we are capable of being great, but rather that we are arrogant in the face of such insignificance. Moments of reflection can be torturous at times. It etches into our consciousness the reality of death, and the finality and futility of life, but my innate nature for which I can take no credit continues to drive me to improve, aspire, and inspire, despite knowing that not much of my efforts will survive beyond my last gasp.

    Elusive. Even in the midst of the celebration of me I am reminded of the all that I have failed to be. With this thought in mind, I continue to pursue that which I know is unattainable, yet almost within reach. Life is an illusion, and death sets you free. I look forward to my liberation, and pray it does not overtake me at a moment of distraction.

  • Moving on

    There’s a difference between giving up and wanting to move on. Too many are shamed into staying because someone convinces them that moving on is giving up. Holding on to a bad experience, or a bad relationship is more reflective of a poor sense of self than it is of commitment. The zombies among us are those that feign loyalty while their true motivation is grounded in guilt. They’re the same ones that are bitter or angry, some passively so, but most aggressively so.

    Too many people I know live their lives committed to fulfilling the expectations of others instead of being true to themselves. Not only do they lack any sincere belief in their self-worth, but they lack any faith in the natural order of the universe. No, this is not a load of hogwash about supposed secrets that teach us that the universe gives us what we ask for. If it was that simple, we’d have world peace and beggars would indeed be riding Arabian stallions. The law of cause and effect is the universal order that we lose sight of too often.

    There is a fine line between making a choice out of commitment as opposed to making it out of conviction. Chances are, most that read this can barely tell the difference in their lives any longer. The more we focus on fulfilling the expectations of others, the more we convince ourselves that indeed that must be our purpose, and therefore our conviction in life. How we lie to ourselves to pacify our conscience when it nags at us asking what great purpose does our life serve. The most pacifying response is to convince ourselves that we lead a life of selfless service to others. So does a door mat.

    Service to others is not sacrificing yourself, but rather sacrificing your ego to allow them to view your vulnerability in a way that strengthens them. We draw comfort from knowing we can comfort. We draw strength from knowing we can protect. Yet we’re always in search of those weaker than us, or holding on to those needing our strength, rarely realising that there are others, significant others, that need to draw on our weaknesses so that they in turn can feel strong, significant, or worthy of providing comfort.

    Sometimes we stay because we don’t believe we’re deserving of better. Sometimes we stay because we hold a deep conviction that we are able to create something better. And sometimes we’re entirely oblivious as to why we stay because we’ve restrained ourselves from moving on for so long, that we’ve conditioned ourselves to believe that every reason to do so has been exhausted, and the only rational option that remains is to stay and draw strength from the morbid comfort of familiarity.

    There is a difference between giving up and wanting to move on. I choose to move on, not because I lack loyalty or commitment, but because I demand it as well. And when it is lacking, I refuse to accept that my self loathing should drive me to believe that I deserve nothing more. My greatest achievement in life has been to rid myself of the expectation of pleasing others. It came at a price. Often a very expensive price. But the liberation that it afforded me was and still is priceless. Living without feeling obliged, knowing that every act is one of choice and not obligation, knowing that every reciprocation is one of gratitude and not guilt, and knowing that favour is not my motivator but fulfilment is. That is what moving on has allowed me to achieve. The sweetness of being independent of man, but dependent on faith only. It has made me realise exactly how fickle I am, so that I find myself praying that others around me find the same comfort in faith, because fulfilment is evasive in their services to me. And so I pray that they also find comfort in moving on, even from me if needed, if that is what will give them the sweet taste of that most lonely of liberations.

  • Who puts a smile on the face of the village idiot?

    I’ve been asking this question a lot lately. Most people laugh it off, probably turning me into the proverbial village idiot since I put the smile on their face, but no answer seems to be forthcoming. It was never intended to be a rhetorical question. At many points in my life I found myself abandoning that which was dear to me in favour of assisting others to achieve that which was dear to them. My philosophy then, which still influences my choices now, is that my life was never about me but rather about those around me. It’s a sound philosophy, but only if everyone subscribes to it.

    The reality is, most don’t. The harsher reality is that my ego is probably the most unrelenting force I’ve ever had to deal with. So after going through endless cycles of hoping for that shared subscription, which in fact was a veiled desire for reciprocation, I would reach my tolerance levels of patience and then binge on a self-indulgent mission of getting what I believed was due. It was often justified, but nonetheless destructive. With each cycle though, I found my tolerance increasing and my expectations decreasing. But the question remained unanswered.

    The same question can be asked of a physician. Who is the physician of the village physician, or the care giver of the care giver? My point is that we’re all so focused on receiving the services and care from so many around us, that we often forget to consider what their needs are, especially when their needs are not our primary responsibility. The generous amongst us are the most abused. It’s a strange dichotomy though, because it implies that the more abused we are the more beautiful our souls. At least from the outside looking in.

    Unfortunately, the truth is not as pretty. The truth is closer to the fact that most beautiful people appear that way because they have abandoned their desires for themselves, at least within the context of what they desire from others, and they’ve filled that vacancy with seeking fulfilment and purpose in contributing towards the ease of the lives of those around them, not because they are expected to, but because they don’t want others to experience the same void that exists within their lives. I think the most beautiful smiles on the faces of dying people are not because they feel fulfilled but because they feel relieved that the struggle is finally over.

    I think those smiles say more about their willingness to leave behind what others still cling to than it does about feeling contentment about what they’ve achieved. I think those smiles lie, but the ones around them take comfort in it nonetheless, because that is what people do around apparently beautiful souls. They take comfort from them more than they give comfort to them. After all, a soul that appears to be beautiful cannot possibly be in need of the comforting from the pain that the overtly troubled souls require. It is then no wonder at all that the most forgotten are often the most tender. They’re the ones that demand less, give more, and expect little.

    I guess the answer then would be that no one puts a smile on the face of the village idiot. The village idiot has no needs because they appear to be out of touch with reality. We are inclined to believe that they lack any sense of the suffering and the pain of others which is why they always find a reason to smile, or to make others smile. Because as long as they have tears of laughter on their faces, no one will see the tears of loss or yearning that hides behind that beautiful smile. Village idiots are like the air we breathe. They’re taken for granted when they’re there, lamented for a short while when they’re gone, and quickly replaced when an alternate source is found.

    The problem is, we’re almost all village idiots waiting for someone to put a smile on our faces. If we weren’t, there wouldn’t be so much anger and bitterness in this world. Only a small group of idiots have realised that waiting for such an effort from others is an exercise in futility. While we’re waiting for others to care, we lose sight of the fact that they are also waiting for us to care, especially when we suspend our compassion in protest of the absence of their awareness of our needs. If ever there was a polarised state of being, this would be it. Neutrality is not possible, let alone an option. You either contribute or you consume, doing nothing denies another what is their dues, or their needs, in the same way that their inaction denies you of yours.

  • Tainted Perspectives

    Too often I witness people that are weighed down by life not because of the gravity of the situation they face, but because of the perspective that they stubbornly hold on to. That perspective most often feeds an underlying need that they maintain which is often based on expectations that they have from people around them. As I’ve experienced many times before, expectation is the source of much bitterness.

    Life, by design, is a vicious cycle. The only exit is death, but despite this reality being known to any reasonable being, it is the one destination that is most feared and often neglected. We’ve attached a stigma of morbidity to the reality of death even though it is life that deserves it instead. Life is what plagues us every single day, while death only plagues us once. Yet we hold on to life, believing that it is more deserving of indulgence, while ignoring death in which rests our ultimate legacy. However, taking a position on either extreme of this realisation is ill advised because it will leave us wanting.

    We are needy by nature. Through a volatile concoction of our needs, our ego, our fears, and not least of all our expectations, we sometimes find ourselves overwhelmed by the lacking sense of fulfilment because that toxic concoction is most often focused on seeking fulfilment from other beings not less feeble than ourselves. Those tainted perspectives are nurtured by our fears which are a result of yet other tainted perspectives relative to a specific life experience. Just as every experience results in joy or pain, every outcome results in an informed learning experience, or a reason to recoil and protect ourselves from a similar situation in future.

    But where does it all start? When is the seed sown that gives birth to the bitter tree that roots us in fear rather than an embracing passion? I suspect that the answer to that question is really irrelevant the moment we attain an age of self-awareness. As has been said, the beauty of the brain is the fact that it uses itself to analyse itself. For this reason there is nothing that compels us to suffer from the distorted perspectives that we inherited from the toxic environments in which we may have been raised. Unless there is a desire to achieve more, we will always hold on to less. That desire is based entirely on choices we make, but the choices we make are directly related to our frame of reference that we choose for ourselves.

    It sounds complicated, but it really is not. No matter how negatively indoctrinated we may be, we know what makes us feel good versus what makes us feel significant. Unfortunately we seldom take the time to notice the difference. Significance is based on how we are perceived, while feeling good, in simple terms, is based on how we feel about others. If our perspectives are focused on how others feel about us, we will inevitably travel a destructive path that will find us miserable and isolated even if surrounded by a room full of significant others. But, if our perspectives are focused on how we feel about others, we’ll find that we are forced to acknowledge and clarify what we stand for, which in turn will question our points of reference, which in turn will result in an awareness of self and surroundings that would otherwise go unnoticed.

    Our tainted perspectives are only inherited as long as we choose not to exercise our ability to be conscious and mindful of who we are and what we stand for. It is an ability, not a gift, nor a learned skill. It is born from a desire to want to know more, to want to be more, and to want to achieve more than the sum of our inheritance. That desire, I believe, is innate the moment we’re born. That is why the baby goes from laying helpless to crawling, to walking, to running, because without being able to effectively communicate, it is already wired to progress rather than to remain stagnant. It is for this simple reason that those of us that hold on to the past, or that resist growth for fear of failure, most often suffer debilitating diseases later in life because our bodies reach a threshold. That threshold is its ability to remain resilient in the face of the unnatural pressures that we subject it to. Eventually, it succumbs, and then we chase about sympathetically looking for cures for these invaders of our bodies, too timid to admit that it is us that our bodies need to be protected from.