Tag: thoughts

  • A Thousand Thoughts

    The last few weeks have been harrowing but beautiful. It was a combination of everything that is wrong with this world, and everything that could be right. It took me from the depths of despair and despondency to the heights of elation and then left me abandoned somewhere in between, drifting along my meandering path as I tried to make sense of the extremes I had just faced.

    My usual composed nature was too easily disrupted this time around. I found myself feeling deeply what I usually only observe with fair detachment. It was oddly uplifting while simultaneously jarring. However, the truth of it rested somewhat deeper within me.

    I have expended a fair amount of life in the pursuit of understanding the range of emotions that I witness in others, because too often I found myself unmoved while standing beside someone in a moment of devastation. Many would interpret that as insensitivity, when the truth was closer to oblivion. That oblivion was founded in the lack of any reference point against which to relate to what was happening around me. In the absence of not having been a recipient of a full emotional spectrum (for lack of a better phrase) it should be easy to understand why it is that some of it would seem foreign to me. For some reason, this simple logic escapes most people, including me at times.

    There is much that I have heard, learnt, and contemplated about the true impact of environmental and societal influences on our fragile but powerful minds in our formative years. I witness its damaging effects in my daughter who still struggles to subscribe to a code of morality and ethics that should be second nature to her. I also see it reflected in my other daughter who is distracted by a false sense of control while finding comfort in owning a space that is not yet fully formed, and by implication, not hers to own. I observe them as being growing human beings, but I am often reminded that many adults have not completed that cycle either.

    I thought that I was finally succumbing to hopelessness. I receded, allowed the fog to occupy my mind, while I surrendered to the approaching storm without even bracing myself for its impact. Fortunately such cowardice didn’t last long. What felt like a surrender turned out to be tolerance, or more accurately, intolerance. I realised that with all that I was faced with, I set out viewing it as yet another cycle of insanity given how many times I faced it off before, and gave up wanting to prevail in the face of it. That was me defining my tolerance level for the wave of bullshit that was about to hit. At that point, my own words taunted me. Tolerance is not the same as capacity. I realised that I had decided that I had had enough, even though I was capable of handling so much more.

    Emotions are for wimps. It’s a convenient barometer against which to determine the composure of others, but beyond that it lacks appeal for me, except where such emotional charges are harnessed and leveraged for effectiveness, rather than spewed forth from a lack of control, or a fit of self-absorption. I had my moment as a wimp in the sunshine, and I didn’t enjoy it. It was not about control, it was about practicality. The intensity of the emotions that I experienced in those moments allowed me to feel vulnerable, and therefore slightly more human than I am usually considered to be, but it did not offer me any value beyond the perception it created for me.

    I realised that in seeking to understand and be sensitised towards the emotions of others, I unconsciously adopted some of it for myself. I allowed my environment to shape me for those few moments, and it was unnerving. I came close to believing that I had finally gone over the edge, and that the conditioned responses I witnessed in others had suddenly become my choice of expression. Fortunately that resilience that has guided me through my life set in for reasons I have yet to fully comprehend. Perhaps I do comprehend it, but would rather not articulate it from fear of contaminating it.

    Some things are better left unsaid, and some things are better left unexplored. The mystique of life is lost when we seek to define and unravel every wonderment that visits us. Sometimes, to stand in awe is more powerful than to know the answer. Right now, I know that the realisations are far more important than the events themselves. What these weeks have proven is that despite my best efforts in life, there are some things that will follow its own course in spite of me, and there are other things that will follow its own course to spite me. In both instances, if my response is anything but a true reflection of who I am, I will be uprooted and any semblance of sanity will escape me forever.

    The slippery slope of life beckons, but I’m not ready to step down on it yet.

    [This post is deliberately vague, more so than my other posts, because I think the emotional tides that I surfed are more important than the events that I dealt with. The events come and go and change shape and form more often than the tide comes in, so to focus on that is foolhardy. It always made more sense for me to focus on the internal promptings I faced in the experience at hand, and that has kept me on an even keel when all about me were in rough waters. The challenge with such a perspective is that it lifts my emotional baseline above most around me. That baseline is the point at which my emotional disposition shifts compared to others when faced with the same circumstance. At times, it could imply that I am cold and insensitive in the face of loss when sadness should be expressed. At other times it could be that I would be fascinated with something seemingly mundane, while others look on unimpressed. The offset is awkward, but it creates opportunity for much mockery, and this is turning into a post within a post, so I should abandon this thought process before it becomes totally incomprehensible.]

  • think…think…think…think…think…think…

    I think till it pales me, and then I observe how my thinking pales me, and then I observe how my observation of my thinking pales me. And the cycle continues until I have no energy nor inclination to think, at which point my brain switches off, my emotions go into neutral, I quite unconsciously assume a detached disposition and I appear as cold and insensitive as a sociopath. Worse still, thoughts that can only be entertained by a sociopath start trickling through my head until suddenly I realise how detached I am, how sullen I appear, and how fatigued my body is, and it prompts a burst of consciousness that jolts me out of that stupor and into a flurry of thoughts and passion and creativity that manifests itself in flirtatious and endearing behaviour that leaves most bewildered at the sudden change in temperament.

    I’m not moody. Sometimes I just succumb to the weight of life. The gentle souls that touch my life in my later years inevitably bear the brunt of the lessons learnt at the hands of the despicable souls in my earlier years. What didn’t kill me didn’t make me stronger, it only made me more jaded, but progressively more impatient. I keep lying to myself thinking that survival implies strength, when in fact it simply implies adaptability. Knowing how to dodge the bullet doesn’t make me bullet proof. It simply makes me smart enough to know when to duck. But eventually, I get tired of ducking and instead, I stand square-shouldered facing the onslaught with eyes wide open, my heart gently ticking away in my chest, waiting for what I always knew was inevitable, knowing that it will hit me hard, but defiantly standing there waiting to see exactly how hard it’s going to hit.

    I look at life and envy those that can live in the moment without a concern for the consequences. It must be so comforting being so numb to what may come next. But I can’t help but look at life and see what came before and what will come next without ever allowing myself enough time to savour what is. The present moment continues to elude me. Silence. Now there’s a nice idea!

  • Sometimes I share details of personal struggles with strangers because I need the release, and other times I do so because I hope that they may avoid the pitfalls that I experienced. Nonetheless, the shedding of my veil of privacy is always sincere. More often than not I restrain myself because even I find it hard to swallow the volume of colourful experiences that I’ve had to endure. And when I place myself in the position of the recipient, I can only imagine how quickly they reach a point when they question the voracity of what I’m saying.

    I guess I have yet to figure out the human psyche, especially within the context of interpersonal relationships. I can sense the anguish or regret, hope or passion and even optimism in the words of strangers, but I can never foresee being discarded. That always takes me by surprise. Every single time. Perhaps it’s representative of an over-inflated ego or sense of self. That would be a contradiction of note, given my grave insecurities about my ability to contribute positively in a manner that may be well-received. 

    Hasn’t happened yet. Perhaps I’m plagued by both ingratitude and delusion. A fatal combination for one who desires to connect with others on a human level. I guess my latest experiences just reaffirms my hesitance to want to reduce the story of my life to a book. 

  • The Universality of Islam…for Muslims

    Islam is far too universal for there ever to be only a single interpretation on how to implement its teachings and principles. I think we indulge in excess of the worst kind when we try to impose a single view of what Islam is supposed to be about. There are fundamentals of belief that is unquestionable, but the implementation of the practises offer variations across different schools of thought, with each believing they’re more accurate than the next.

    Given the universal appeal and tone of Islam, why is it unfathomable for so many to accept that the differences were in fact intended to show the breadth of practicality that Islam offers, rather than to narrow it down to a single view based on chronological order of how it was experienced during the time of Rasulullah (SAW)? It goes without saying that if something was specifically forbidden after it was previously allowed, then the prohibition must obviously be upheld. But if it wasn’t specifically prohibited, and in fact was just done differently at different times under different circumstances, why can’t we simply accept that its in fact the principle of what was being practised that was consistent and not the acts of the ritual itself?

    I’m being deliberately vague because the important point I’m trying desperately to establish is that the principles matter more than the rituals. It must. Islam is a way of life established on principles and precedents with sound logic and immense wisdom inherent in its philosophy. But we lose all this the moment we become cult-ish ritualists who believe that there can only be a single way of worshipping Allah and following the Sunnah, and that in doing so, we have to choose a madhab or school of thought and place ourselves in broadly accepted pigeon-holes in society so that we don’t unnerve people by challenging contemporary wisdom about how it all fits together. 

  • Insomnia

    A few years ago I struggled with insomnia in horrid ways. There were times when I would lie awake in bed staring at the ceiling until 03h00 with nothing and a million things rushing through my head at the same time. Eventually, I’d get out of bed, drive around all the scary neighbourhoods in the middle of the night, since I’d never attempt that during daylight hours or in the early part of the night, and eventually return home at about 05h30 to crash in bed around 06h00, only to wake again at 06h30 to get ready for work.

    This cycle went on for weeks at a time, if not months. The only thing that occasionally helped me at first was warm milk loaded with honey and ginger as a night cap. More recently, chamomile tea helped as well. But I found with chamomile tea I would wake up feeling heavy-limbed and groggy. Quite possibly because I still went to bed too late. 

    But the most effective of all was the tongue exercise that I discovered somewhere along the troubled path. I realised that each time my mind was racing, or I was distracted, my jaw would normally be clenched and my tongue would be pressed against the back of my teeth. This happened even when I was laying in bed trying to sleep. Eventually I would focus on just relaxing my jaw and my tongue, and without realising it, I would quite quickly drift off to sleep. Peacefully as well. 

    The theory in my head goes something like this. Our bodies seem to be naturally inclined to want to express our emotional or intellectual state. Hence some people gesturing unconsciously whilst deep in thought, or others having conversations with themselves, etc. So I figured that instead of trying to clear my thoughts when my mind was cluttered, I should rather focus on relaxing that part of my body that was reacting to the racing thoughts – my tongue. By focusing on relaxing my tongue, in fact not even focusing on it, but rather just allowing it to relax, my thoughts cleared and my mind was able to switch off for long enough to fall asleep. 

    It’s served me well ever since.