Tag: sincerity

  • Elusive

    Indulgence in distractions is a worldly pastime because it’s desperately needed. Reality, for the aware, will always be excruciatingly burdensome. Despite my most enthusiastic efforts to convince myself that the reality behind the burdens is in fact the truth, and that the burdens are in fact the distractions, I keep finding myself sobered up by the reality that I’m wrong.

    Living idealistically while trying to remain grounded in reality is exhausting. Being the optimist around a bunch of defeatists is exhausting. People are exhausting. And so is life. There is a natural inclination for people to employ their innate ability of osmosis to drain the life blood out of those that they polarise towards in times of trouble, while reciprocating with nothing more than a meaningless token gesture or a materialistic gift. Most people live on credit, but they’re so focused on their material debts that they fail to realise that their contribution towards the upliftment of those around them falls far short of what they take, which leaves the real debt unsettled.

    The good life, in this world, seems to be acquired when our volume of distractions exceed the reality of our responsibility. It’s no wonder then that the sense of fulfilment or completeness that we all seek is so elusive. That’s the thing with distractions. If you focus on sustaining them for long enough they begin to appear as essentials, while the truth that they were used to dumb down assumes the status of an unrealistic expectation. I guess that makes reality elusive as well.

    It’s not surprising then that life is as complicated as it appears to be. But in that there is a rub as well. If the majority is convinced that this life of distractions is in fact reality, the minority that realise the fallacy of it all will find themselves at odds with the prevailing logic, which regardless of its flaws, will significantly influence the level of peace and harmony experienced by the grounded ones. In that lies the gravest choice because the realisation of something can never be undone. We can never un-realise a truth that we subscribe to. The only way to truly change our grasp on reality would be to find meaningful evidence that convinces us that such a realisation was wrong to begin with, or perhaps insufficiently informed.

    In the absence of finding such relief, the burden of reality as we perceive it to be will never subside even if we successfully distract ourselves from it for most of our lives. I believe that the moment of clarity we experience before death finally overcomes us will be the moment when all distractions will finally be rendered impotent and the reality of our lives, our excuses, and our failings will suddenly grip our souls. That final wretched embrace will leave us yearning for the life that we always wished was over while romanticising death, but the romance of death will give way to the unalterable reality of its finality. Such finality will not spawn peace or comfort for the soul that was distracted during their life.

    I am convinced that there is an important point in all this rambling, although even that seems to elude me right now. Perhaps it’s the fact that my struggle has always been pitted in striking a balance between encouraging the wholesome balance of reality and harmony while finding it necessary to spurn the actions of those that detract from such a goal. One of my death bed regrets will inevitably be my inability to demonstrate the sincerity and intention behind my actions, which is easily hidden by my intolerance for obliviousness.

  • Distracted by Life

    Looking at the insecurity that lurks behind the eyes of the arrogant ones that I engage with on a daily basis is all that makes them tolerable, and keeps me sufficiently pacified in not wanting to expose their feeble-mindedness for what it is. The realisation of understanding the fears of another makes it very difficult to judge them harshly, or to treat them cruelly, no matter how well deserved it may be, unless of course my own fears and insecurities rise above theirs at which point being brutal comes naturally.

    But there is a more painful underlying reality that weighs me down and it’s difficult to grasp the true nature of it. I feel compelled to be patient whilst simultaneously feeling aggravated by the lack of action that such patience demands. Being caught between the need for restraint and the need for instant gratification is entirely uncomfortable. Stringing together any meaningful thought patterns becomes a challenge in itself given my nature. One of my greatest fears has always been stagnation of spirit. Seeing death around every turn, and sometimes in every breath, while knowing that I’ve not applied myself nearly as effectively as I know I am capable of. With this in mind, seeing the vacant stares from behind the arrogant facades only riles me up further, driving me to want to grab by the collar every walking dead that pretends to be more than they are while entirely wasting their life by assuming a posture that wins hollow acclaim from strangers that add almost no value in their lives other than the comfort of brief acceptance for the moment that they were beheld by such superficially guided standards.

    A rant, a rant, is all this seems to amount to, although I feel the angst in my chest driving me to want to articulate something that I believe is important but that I’m struggling to impart. Simply stated, I think people are distracted by bullshit. We’re so misguided by tokenism that we fail to realise how much we pursue that which is contrived, rather than the wisdom that should be derived.

    This is barely making sense to me even. Perhaps, after all, it is a reflection of my mind’s craziness relative to the embrace that I enjoy from the people around me. An embrace of common views and values that are rarely celebrated. That embrace of spirit or of being that is set aside in favour of the indulgence of practical benefits. Life is distracted in that way. We’re distracted by the practical reality beyond just what is practically needed, quickly slipping into the daze that drives us to believe that such a practical need is in fact the objective of our existence.

    I seem to be discussing the inevitability of death more often these days, with the constant reminder that it is an inevitable destination which therefore makes no sense to be feared, but should rather be embraced. The time spent fearing it results in a paralysis of thought and action, although some would argue that it in fact spurs such thought and action. The idealist in me drives me to believe that action resulting from fear is insincere, since without the repercussion being known, the action would lose its purpose, and therefore by default negates its value. Maybe not. Perhaps the realisation should be that acting with impunity in the face of such an undeniable reality is worse than acting out of fear, although the sincerity of the former would be far more admirable than that of the latter.

    But such idealisms hold little appeal for people still distracted by the practical reality of life. I naively believe that if we focus on the legacy of a life well lived, without courting the accolades of such a legacy, death will automatically be a welcomed destination. If our choice of spirituality, religion, or values that we subscribe to brings us balance and harmony with those around us as well as the world that is somewhat detached from us, then perhaps in pursuing such a balance without the constant fear of its repercussions on what is to take place beyond life, we may find that we will live a life of meaning and purpose, whilst also fulfilling the entry criteria for a death that heralds comfort and peace.

    It’s therefore ironical that in our pursue for peace, we tend to wreak the most destruction.

  • Inspired by Death

    When faced with the realisation of the finite nature of time, and by extension, life, it seems superfluous to be in search of inspiration to do that which I feel passionate about. Of all the day dreams and fairy tales that dot my imagination from my earliest memories, wanting to change the world was almost always a consistent theme, sometimes on a small scale, and at times in a much bolder way.

    I lack the patience to simply outgrow things because that implies a natural evolution of my being rather than an intelligent effort. Waiting for situations to change simply because with the passage of time it is likely to change is about as inspiring and meaningful as watching paint dry. Worse still, it holds the same sense of fulfillment as the act of counting the grains of sand in the desert. The remembrance of both the inevitability of death as well as the very finite limit it sets on our lives, often without warning, should be enough to spur me into action against every thought that I conceive without the need for any other motivator or source of inspiration. But it doesn’t. At least not as often as it should.

    The main reason I’ve always receded was because I saw no reason to proceed. An obvious statement with not so obvious implications. While the thought of death may spur me into action, it rarely has the same effect on those around me which frustrates me. That frustration is more reflective of my self-criticism of not being able to convey the urgency of life to those around me, and less about my contempt for their waste of life. So my choice to recede is because in the face of an unreceptive audience, any performance no matter how brilliant, is futile. So just as we need receptive hearts to inspire us to want to share a message, the absence thereof causes the words to dissipate into the lethargy around us.

    I sometimes grow impatient and aggressive when I’ve exhausted all reasonable measures to get through to someone that is blatantly destructive or oblivious to how they’re undermining their own potential, but once that final expression of exasperation is spent, the acceptance of it all descends and I move on to focus on more meaningful endeavours. Anything that holds the promise of fulfilment, not necessarily reward, is enough to engage my senses and pique my interest.

    I’ve often been accused of being obsessive with taunts of OCD hurled at me on many occasions, often cloaked as a joke. But my obsession is one that this world could use more of. My obsession is that I wish to leave every situation or every place in a better state than it was before I touched it. The net effect of my life must be more than just an accumulation of comforts and wealth, or a fulfillment of responsibility. It must extend to the upliftment of those around me, including myself.

    For this reason death inspires me. It inspires me because with each skill that I acquire, I feel a compelling need to use it to benefit another before the breath is removed from me and the skill is wasted. It will be wasted if it was neither used to benefit others, nor passed on as a gift to empower another. So before death reaches me, I hope to expend myself in ways that will leave as little wastage as possible for death to claim.

  • A Brain Dump

    I’ve been struggling to focus on almost anything recently. I’ve been plagued with thoughts of ‘what next’ for a long time now. While I still have a lot of passion for what I do, my passion for doing it with the people that I do is fast fading. I’ve always managed to find avenues to express myself creatively in my work, regardless of how mundane the task at hand may seem. That hasn’t changed, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult to find the patience to convince others that there is a better way to do things.

    I’m usually the one that questions the status quo while others revere it because it is a tried and tested way to do things. When people tell me about the tried and tested ways they’re familiar with, all I hear is ‘it is my safe haven, my comfort zone, my sphere of influence, so don’t you dare try to change it!’. It’s ridiculous how people can define their worth by something they achieved or were party to several years ago and still hold on to the residual glory of it all. I despise myself when I find myself doing something in 10 steps when I can do it in 8. And then I despise myself for not being able to do it in less than 8 steps, even though everyone else around me is still content with 10 steps.

    Ok, maybe ‘despise’ is a strong word to use, but the restlessness I feel inside me is not much less than the same contempt that environmentalists feel for those that don’t recycle. I’m not lazy, but I hate to apply a certain amount of effort to something when I know that I can get away with less. This frees me up to do so much more with the energy that would otherwise have been wasted. And as the days go by, my energy levels appear to be dwindling. There is much that I should be doing that I’m not even thinking about right now. This is probably the slide into that place of lethargy that sucks the life out of us before we reach a ripe age, and as aware as I am of it, I seem to be helpless in jolting myself out of it.

    Actually, I’m not helpless. I never have been. I guess this morbidity that overshadows me right now is bringing out the dramatist in me. There is a lot that I have going for myself, but I guess sometimes the uphill drag of the ball and chain can wear us down when we least expect it. Sometimes I wish I had this go-to guru that I could refer to in my life. That’s never been the case for me, which is probably why I second-guess myself so often. I often find myself wondering if things really are as uncomplicated as I see them relative to the overbearing complexity that most people seem to invite into their lives, or am I really just missing the point because I’ve always had a somewhat skewed sense of reality?

    Recently I’ve found myself contemplating what it would have been like for me if I had a meaningful role model that I could look up to and turn to for advice each time I was faced with a life altering decision, but just as soon as the thought tugs at my sentimentality, I feel that annoying realisation surfacing again. That realisation that had it been any other way I probably would not be as effective at what I do as I am today. In a recent discussion with a friend she mentioned that her pursuit of academic studies did more than just give her the foundation on which she hopes to launch her career. She said it made her feel safe because she knew she could rely on test scores and other such outcomes that would give her the affirmation and comfort that she needed to feel like she was on the right track.

    I’ve never looked for that, and I don’t know why. But in many ways I’ve also been fortunate in not having had my thinking moulded by any institutions or scholars because I was never exposed to such structures. The downside was that it felt extremely burdensome at times, but the upside which far outweighs that is the fact that I’ve never listened to anyone else when they imposed their limitations on me. I wouldn’t quite call myself a free spirit, nor would I ever consider myself to be a rebel. In fact, I’m not sure how I would define myself if I ever found a need to, and perhaps in that I’ve found much liberation and space to breathe. I’ve always been keenly aware of the perceptions that others have of me, but somehow I don’t ever recall applying myself to gain their favour despite knowing that they found much reason to ridicule me.

    I’ve often said that the resilience that I’ve demonstrated throughout my life was never something I could honestly lay claim to. It was inherent in me for as long as I can remember. Perhaps that resilience itself was only a symptom of something more. Perhaps it is a state that is acquired when we don’t try to live up to the expectations of others, and instead maintain a singular focus on the logic and purpose that would drive us to act. Perhaps my obstinacy in not succumbing to the expectations of the social structures that I despise is in fact my strength. Perhaps it isn’t.

    This road seems to be quite weary of late, but I’m not yet ready to take the path most traveled. Even if I wanted to, it would mean that I would need to have a desire to aspire to the ideals of the group whose path I would wish to choose for myself, and such a group I have yet to meet. I’m an old soul that yearns for the wholesomeness of a simple life, but am conflicted by my need to change the world into something slightly less despicable.

  • Cheap Wisdom

    The obvious truths about life often escape us because we’re too distracted trying to figure out the complex issues. However, just as common sense is not so common, remembering the basics requires more than just a basic understanding of what life is about. It’s odd that those that have achieved much are trying to simplify their lives, yet those that have achieved little are striving for more. It’s also odd that those that are striving for simplicity are constantly reminding those that have less to be content with less.

    I’ve found that by mingling with the weak, I was always reminded of my own weaknesses and found comfort in being among those that were equally or more weak. However, in mingling with the puny, I found myself being belittled and undermined because they needed me to be reduced to their stature so that they would feel better about themselves. This seems oddly familiar when considered within the context of my former observation of mingling with the weak. It seems I’m deluding myself about my own puny-ness.

    It stands to reason that if we wish to improve ourselves we should associate with those that are better than who we are, or who have achieved what we aspire to achieve. However, unless this plays out in the workplace where we’re trying to move up into a higher salary bracket, in life as it occurs from day to day, such associations require a healthy dose of humble pie because it’s only in acceptance of our shortcomings or weaknesses that we are able to acknowledge that we can obtain benefit from someone that is more accomplished than ourselves. Let that someone be in our immediate circle of peers or contemporaries and even healthy doses of humble pie are insufficient to encourage any meaningful exchange of life’s lessons.

    It has been said that the ability to state the obvious is a sign of genius. I’m not so sure this is true even though I did profess to possess exactly this quality today. All in jest of course. The truth is, genius is over rated. Being able to see the obvious only requires a focus that does not consider the distractions. A clear grasp of purpose and objective makes it easy to navigate through the gunk in order to arrive at the desired destination, or at least to continue to head in that general direction. Unfortunately we afford distractions too much importance because we often set out without clearly understanding what it is that we wish to achieve or acquire. Like they say, when you don’t know where you’re going, any road will do. Similarly, when we set out with only a vague understanding of what it is that we need to achieve, it’s very likely that we’ll achieve very little, or worse, something completely unintended!

    Of course there are times when we’ll find ourselves in the middle of the perfect storm of lethargy in which case we’ll be the unwitting recipients of a seemingly great accomplishment simply because we allowed ourselves to unconsciously wander into a domain that we would never have consciously explored in the first place. Cheap wisdom is cheap because it’s not required to be coherent, but fortunately there will always be sincere ones among us that will look for the good in us that we don’t recognise in ourselves, thereby deriving benefit out of that which we discard as meaningless or inconsequential. If only we could see ourselves through such sincere spectacles we’d probably find that we wouldn’t undermine our potential to achieve greatness as much as we do while looking at the mirror through lenses glazed with cynicism.

  • Composed Insanity

    It’s been a long time since I’ve felt any sense of composure about me. I constantly feel as if I’m on the edge of finding that elusive balance, but each time I flirt with that notion I find myself immersed in yet another challenge or another initiative that is almost always self-imposed. Despite this, I’m not at odds with myself or my life even though it sounds or feels like I am at times. There appears to be a subtle but important difference that has emerged in the way I deal with adversity these days. On many previous occasions I resolved to be principled before being strategic, always assuming that the one negated the other, and as a result I found myself jobless on two occasions, and divorced on three.

    But I now seem to have an awkward balance between principles and strategy. Awkward because it doesn’t feel like something I’m ready to embrace just yet, even though I know that it’s better than the absolutist approach I adopted before. There’s a tinge of insanity that always lurks just beneath the surface spawned by the absence of fatherly guidance in my life. My life has never been garnished with a healthy dose of mentors, coaches, or the wisdom of an older generation directly passed down to me. At every major intersection I found myself standing alone and trying to decipher the road signs without the help of a guide or manual, with only an innate sense of spirituality and resilience that has been my companion throughout my life, and a keen sense of observation that helped me to glean some wisdom from the actions of the elders that I was sometimes exposed to.

    It’s difficult to explain, but the reality is that I’ve never had the benefit of a father, or a fatherly figure to refer to in times of growth or opportunity that threatened to launch me into a new phase of my life, even though I had a father until well into my adult years. My emergence from teenage naivety into my early adult years was driven by passion and purpose, with a burdensome sense of responsibility guiding my choices, always using the rights that others had over me as my guiding lights. Doing right by them always enjoyed a priority higher than satisfying my own needs, but in that I’ve found much fulfilment and resolve, as well as inspiration.

    It still didn’t make the difficult decisions any easier, or the mistakes any less grave. I wrought destruction at times when I thought I was acting selflessly, but in fact my idealism misguided me to the point of stupidity, resulting in much regret. The regret always set me back a couple of years at a time whenever the consequences of my idealism overwhelmed my sense of purpose which always extinguished any sense of passion that may have been left in me. It’s these same feelings of anxiousness and restlessness that inspired the never-to-be-delivered letter that I once wrote to my daughters.

    I pray that you never will understand some of what I’m going through, some of what I feel, or some of what I think…because to understand you would need to experience what I’ve experienced. And I wouldn’t want you to feel the pain and the anguish that I’ve felt that made me feel, see and think the way I do. Although it’s the same pain and anguish that has given me this appreciation for life, for a smile on a stranger’s face, or for the chirping of the birds. My wish is for you to learn from my experiences and the experiences of others because there’s so much more to life than the opportunity to make your own mistakes.

    The only way you can cheat time is to learn from the accumulated wisdom of generations past. But if you insist on learning it all yourself, know that you’ll never learn more than anyone who has lived only a single lifetime without any wisdom to draw on. Know that your pain and your anguish will be unnecessary, and know that your life would only ever be half-lived, if even that. So instead I pray that you are able to cheat time, acquire a wisdom beyond what you may inherit, and give your children more than what you had to cheat time with. And if you do this, know that you have achieved more than any human being can be expected to achieve in a single lifetime. This is the only path to immortality that I know.

    I wonder if they’ll ever appreciate the sentiments and sincerity in that should they ever come across it at an age when it may hold some relevance in their lives. But this is not a post about them, or what I yearn for them. It’s a post about the insanity that, being a constant in my life, allows me a sense of composure that robs me of rest, or ease. I find myself unable to remain still for long enough to appreciate the peace that exists at the tips of my fingers. That peace, that composure, is out of reach. The soul that guides the outstretched fingers remains distracted by the noise and the clutter of trying to live a life well lived, finding only turbulence and upheaval in a world full of people desperate to find silence. I’m not so unique in my desire to acquire what everyone else wants, but the path that each of us travel to arrive at this restless point is so vastly different that comparing notes would always be a futile exercise.

     

  • Mother’s Day – An Awkward Moment

    I’ve been tempted to ask a few people the kind of question that is often dismissed as being ridiculous or unrealistic. But it’s really a simple question that goes something like this. Apart from Anniversaries, Birthdays, and days like Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, do you believe that you acknowledge or celebrate the contribution of your parents, or other loved ones, sufficiently in your life? If yes, you don’t need to commemorate Mother’s Day, or any of those other occasions. If no, then those occasions are desperately needed reminders for you, and you’re probably a contributor towards the reasons for having a need to set aside a specific day to acknowledge these people in our lives.

    I still maintain that living life by predetermined occasions intended to celebrate the contribution of individuals, or even just to acknowledge them is a waste of life and a lie to pacify our own inefficiencies. We can speak idealistically of acknowledging and affirming significant others, but when we wait for the occasion of a birthday or similar event to express such appreciation, then we easily fall prey to the act becoming a ritual rather than a sincere effort. Worse than this, we assume that the person will live long enough for us to acknowledge them when that occasion arrives, because acknowledging them as and when we feel inclined to do so naturally seems to be too burdensome.

    I’ve previously expressed my distaste for celebrating birthdays, and similarly, I also spurn the celebration of such token occasions because it encourages the mindset of ‘take for granted now because we can always make up for it later’. Mothers, fathers, and significant others, including our children, must not be conditioned to only expect to receive affirmation or gratitude from us on specific occasions. Nor should they be conditioned to believe that it’s only expected of them to reciprocate in the same way either. Talking about the celebration of life must not just be a romantic notion or an ideal, but instead it should be something that we practice with conviction.

    There’s enough tokenism in this world which feeds the cycle of insincerity that plagues almost every human interaction these days. Find a reason to celebrate the people in your life at times when they least expect it. Don’t wait for special occasions. Life is too fragile to take it for granted by assuming that tomorrow will be another day for us to do what we should have done today. But this is not about procrastination. It’s about gratitude. True gratitude is not guided by superficial occasions that celebrate milestones that are meaningless. We’ve placed so much emphasis on the occasions, that we’ve forgotten what the true celebration is about.

    Occasions like these have only ever served to appease the conscience of those that fail to celebrate the significant others in their lives the rest of the year. This becomes ever more evident when our parents grow old, which usually coincides with the prime of our lives, at which point the sick mindset sets in that suggests that they had their turn, so now it’s ours, and they should be able to understand that.

    The lethargy of society in giving back is a constant source of disillusionment. We’ve taken consumerism and made it an inherent part of our personal relationships as well. I pray that it changes. More than this, I pray that the majority of people that read this post will disagree with me about showing affection, appreciation, or affirmation to their loved ones on predetermined occasions only.

  • When Prayer Becomes Worship

    Quite inadvertently I realised this week that we only apply our minds and our hearts to those things from which we hope to acquire good. At first I thought it was just another superfluous thought, but it seemed to resonate in most things I did that day, especially prayer. Being a Muslim, there is never a shortage of emphasis by others on my need to comply with religious injunctions, especially those related to prayer.

    I’ve always taken exception to people who do things for the sake of compliance, because that is rarely sustainable and almost never fulfilling, with prayer being at the top of that list. Compliance and its promised rewards cannot be the only good that can be obtained through such submission, and this is not limited to religious submission only. In everything that we do in our lives, those things that have little or no identifiable reward often results in half-hearted attempts to do something with the intention of pleasing others, or to avoid ridicule or reprimand or worse, to avoid punishment. That just seems like such a waste of life.

    When I observe others, I find that the ones that do things with the most conviction are those that realise the benefits or the impact of what it is that they’re doing. For the same reason, you would find a janitor that would take more pride in their work than a qualified surgeon. It’s not the prestige of the job that drives that passion for detail and excellence, it’s the realisation of the contribution of what you’re doing relative to the greater good that drives us to want to do more than the bare minimum to accomplish the task at hand. For this reason you will find that two identically skilled and qualified individuals will produce a very different quality of result simply because of the personal perspectives and convictions that drive their actions.

    Complacency is only subscribed to when we lose sight of the true purpose of our servitude. In everything that we do, be it spiritual or physical, there must be a benefit for ourselves first before there can be a benefit for others in order for us to apply ourselves sufficiently to the task at hand. That personal benefit is often not material in nature and could take the form of fulfilling deeply held needs that we’re rarely consciously aware of. However, in serving others, we fulfil our need to be significant and to matter in a reality beyond just our own. In the spiritual realm this translates into finding personal benefit in our submission to the object of our worship.

    When prayer becomes a grounding point, a point of reflection, and a means towards attaining a clarity of thought and purpose let alone appreciation for what we have, that is when prayer becomes more than just a ritual. Understanding how that moment of submission balances the clutter with the sublime that leads to a more wholesome life is what turns it into an act of worship, rather than an act of obedience, or need. When all these realisations come together in our minds when we set ourselves down to pray, that moment becomes a cherished moment that cannot be rushed or compromised, but instead it will demand a level of mindfulness and conviction that will reflect in everything else that we do. It’s no wonder then that we are taught that if the prayer is sound, then everything else will be sound as well.

    Even if a ritualised form of prayer is not something that you subscribe to, the reality of being human will drive you to points of deep reflection on the purpose of life, creation, and what lies beyond. Perhaps that is the moments of true prayer on your part, regardless of your religious persuasion, and perhaps the conviction with which we meet those moments has a far greater bearing on the rest of our lives than we could ever imagine.