The master craftsman

Everybody has an alter-ego they present to the world. It speaks in a certain way to certain people, it addresses the poor in a certain way and the rich and influential in another. It has certain opinions on religion and world politics and what this world is coming to. And it always has a certain way of sounding --intelligent, or resigned, or world-weary, or cute.

We all have a set of labels we keep in our pockets, ready to slip in to our fingers at the correct given situation, ready to be quickly slapped on to our foreheads. These labels define us as we would be defined. Appropriate to situation and person, the label comes off and on.

We decide what best to wear to suit the most ubiquitous label or if to change attire and play around with several labels, play chameleon. We can;t quite decide who takes our breath away, but we decide which ones we keep, which ones show the most promise and which ones show the highest likelihood of our greatest future happiness.

We each have a justification for why we are, what we do, how we dress, what we talk about. This explanation is detailed for some, simple and easy to understand for others...but always ready at hand in case someone bothers to ask

.

We are hardly ever ourselves. We are a careful alter-ego of our reality, masterfully crafted to only show what we need the world to see.

A thought on peace of mind

At the outset, one could imagine that peace of mind doesn't have much of a place in life anymore. Everywhere I look, there are people walking, talking, dancing, spending the evening with friends, going out for a beer, catching up, gymming, hitting yoga classes, doing zumba, taking time off, crunching at work, grabbing breakfast, getting coffee with the girls, and stuff, and more stuff. It's always funny to hear someone say something along the lines of "oh I have to do that, that's where I get some peace of mind", or "oh I can't make it today, need some time for myself and a book." But it's there, as elusive as it may sound, most people have their refuge -- the place they go to just let go, and forget, mostly, I guess.

But the thing with this peace of mind business --  it's a grand irony. We get attached to these essential refuges or these things (or worse, people) who are supposed to be our grand getaway from the mad rush of real life. And the thing with attachment, the thing that really bites, is that it always, always disappoints. Everybody and everything will, at some point, disappoint you. That's not even cynicism, that's pure reality with a good dose of old-fashioned irony thrown in for measure.

People will act up, love will vacillate, families will throw tantrums. Gyms will close, friends will leave, the walkways of your haunts will be swallowed up for development. The trees you love will be cut down, your dog will die (GAHHHHHHHH). At some point, your anchors will all bob loosely in the water and leave you floating in distress, with no aim, and worse, angry with change and the fact that you lost out on the one thing that kept you together.

So, what to do? Geez, I don't know. I stick by my belief that the only way to rid ourselves of this vicious cycle is exactly as the Buddha preached -- remove yourself from attachment; find a place within yourself where you can retreat to, where this peace of mind is neutral to external shocks. Basically, find inner peace. Peace that doesn't rely on unpredictable props.

But, alas and stuff. This, as I have found out the hard way, is difficult. Most of us need something to hang on -- probably why we most of us still far away from reaching any stage of enlightenment. So, while I think this is an excellent strategy, and pat myself on the back for realizing this, the next time I want some peace of mind I will still be heading to my bed, surrounded by my loving family, and curling up with a good book.

A great hope fell/I am now an insomniac

It's quite funny that I have progressed from find-me-a-moving-car-with-air-conditioning-and-I'll-fall-asleep-like-a-baby-with-my-mouth-open to closet insomniac and bad dreamer. These days, with changes in work times and late shifts, sleep has been elusive, and for some reason, dreams have been a little less than pleasant.

It's just like everything else in life -- somethings you think will never leave you -- sleep, people, feelings, idealism. Then suddenly, things change, life gets a little difficult and you're struggling to keep up with everybody else and what you're supposed to be -- and you realize that small things have changed. You spend a little less time with real people, you stop worrying about what everyone else is talking about, and you try to stop expecting more than this from other people.

But I miss my sleep, I love my sleep! It was one of those things that I could boast about -- oh dude I can sleep anywhere! Ok I still can, but still. And I hate bad dreams. For the better part of my life, I was hardly plagued by nightmares, my nightly ventures were a sunny reflection of my spoilt existence. I had the occasional tsunami dream (for some reason) and sudden LTTE-attacks dream, but that was it. There was the one time I saw someone hacked to death, but well.
Now suddenly, I wake up with a start and thank God profusely that what I just experienced viscerally was just a dream, only a dream. It's worrying.

Random Emily Dickinson thought I picked up. Wanted to FB status this, but that would be followed up with a volley of well-meaning "Are you ok?"s from too many good people. This, I cannot be bothered dealing with. On another thought, I need to find more Emily Dickinson...she's strangely elusive on online poetry portals.

"A great Hope fell
There was no noise
The ruin was within"

For the whole poem, try

http://hayquaker1.blogspot.com/2011/09/great-hope-fell-emily-dickinson.html

On that happy note, Happy March, and all that.

History

Isn't just mad monarchs and their fallen kingdoms,

Conspiracies, lies, long-lost love and monuments past;

It’s lakes – and people giggling on their banks.

It’s the sea – and fireworks on the beach

On New Year’s eve.

It’s the sunset – and watching, rapt.

It’s the supermarket around the corner – and swapping credit cards

When the balance runs out.

It’s the scraggly mutt on the road – and taking it to the vet together.

It’s the roadside biryani spot – and a hurriedly-grabbed lunch

Before heading back to work.

It’s looking at a pillar, a pillow,

A tree-top or a tee-shirt and

Feeling a rush of memories

Of things past, but not forgotten.

Soundtrack

I want to say something like "Soundtrack of my life", but I'm holding myself back from the cheesiness :P



Great music from an Aussie band that's recently shot to fame. If I'm not wrong, this is from Temper Trap's 2009 album.

The busy life

The world spins madly

In a rush of change

And in a whirl of excitement

And new things, new people

New me, new life.

The clock holds not

Enough time, but the body

Moves, incessantly, thriving

On the pace.

Loving it.

But the quiet moments,

The little talk, and lots of

Feeling, get missed out on,

And the old me misses them

Like the old me misses you.

Reconciling

Sometimes finding the line is difficult, because the line between "right" and "wrong" is almost fictional, and is always completely subjective. When making decisions, I find myself toeing the line with unease, a part of me firmly grounded in the strong moralistic teachings that have were faithfully ground in to my by our trusty missionary service, a part of me aching to break free of all this virtuous crap and be the free-thinker that my education and life experience have taught me to be.

Perhaps it is this dichotomy that holds the seed for most of the inter-generational conflict we see today, not counting the internal conflicts that go unmentioned. There's such a tug-of war between the indoctrinated beliefs that we were weaned on and the iconoclastic culture that the Age of Internet has brought us. Where is the line, then? How do we reconcile ourselves?

Perhaps it's east to ignore the struggle--I know plenty of young, educated minds that firmly abhor all things outside belief. "prudes" we call them, why can't they live a little? Maybe this is just their way of dealing with the conflict within themselves, surely it's easier than questioning yourself constantly, God knows. 

Then there's the other lot--the smokers and jokers. The ones the aunties talk about, the ones you whisper about, while secretly wishing you had half the guts to do something that wild. Again, a great way of dealing with, beginning and ending with that beautiful sentiment: fuck this, fuck this all.

But for the rest of us, constantly questioning Life, belief and reconciliation of the self with the two, it's a long and arduous journey towards gaining some peace of mind. Fuck this, I say, fuck this all :)