This is my poem. I WRITE
to this lost world.
In the roads to infinity.
Roads less traveled maybe. But
I don’t seek infinity I am
Happy being a finite
And forever alive particle. Of fire.
Burning every new second
Milli micro nano. Second.
I burn. And infinite
Is for the gods who created sun. I am
Some of the most beautiful souls I have met in my life have spent a major crunch of their lives pandering to people who eventually died in their lives because even while they were with them, they knew that the relationship won’t run for long, and it was just a contractual kind of relationship in which the moments shared don’t matter much. And also, these beautiful souls DID NOT choose to live their lives with people they really wanted to because they were being manipulated by those “bad” persons. (I am calling them “bad” not because they are inherently bad, but because they were harmful)
And I have always wanted to ask them: Why?
Of course, for last three articles, I have been trying to understand one special point and that is: interpersonal relationships. And somehow I have realized that even though people don’t mean to, but they give more value to those people who are “useful” in their lives. Why?
Why can’t we be free of this utilitarian mindset, and live our life with the people we want to live with, share our moments we want to share with, and be free, open, extremely independent regarding our taste and preferences… and just LIVE the way we want to live?
I am still searching for the answer. And yet, I can easily claim that I never “use” people… (and perhaps that is why people are so insecure. They feel perturbed when they realize that they are not being used!) and I live with people who matter most to me, even though I am not DIRECTLY sharing memories with them… but I always feel that I am living an authentic life… and others who are more normal, and who “WASTE” their lives pandering to fear and utilitarianism and giving into the bullshit of other people who actually don’t matter to them… are leading lives that are less authentic.
Am I right?
I don’t think anyone can explain me, because even if it is painful at times, but absent memories with those I care and love are more important to me that the present memories with snaps of people that have come and gone…
Whenever someone tells me that you should not think much about how long your kidney is going to survive, I usually feel awkward because I know anyone in my place has to think once in a while how long his kidney is going to survive. If I don’t think about it, I will become reckless and lose it.
But then, when these very good people (they are extremely good, I know) show signs of insecurity to me, I feel frustrated and unhappy..
Because my insecurity is about a very real thing, it is about life and death… And I cannot be insecure if I don’t exist. Their insecurity is about things which do not exist. Their insecurity is more mental.
“Why do you feel insecure bro? Don’t you think if I had to do something, I would have done it a long time ago! Why are you continuously harassing your mind and heart and time in search of something that does not exist. I know you want to prove something, you want to prove to everyone that you are not insecure, and your insecurity has a valid ground. That is why you waste your time in creating opportunities (you use lies, you use stealth even though you comment on my stealth in public) via which you can prove that your fears are true. You want to make true that does not exist. Why can’t you understand that you are looking yourself in me? That, and it is the most important point, your insecurities about me are really your imaginations… You think about others what you are really think about yourself… That if you had been in my position you would have done the same thing which you accuse me of doing, yes accuse me….
Why can’t you understand that you are trying to ‘predict’ my actions based on your own tendencies towards life and you restlessness and your insecurities!
You might be a good person but you are weak and full of errors and you are trying to paste those errors on me. (So that you can be proved right in public. For you only public matters) You are more insecure than me… And that reduces your goodness. You are not good, believe me. You are mentally sick.”
I have seen many many insecure people in my life. Everyone is insecure in one way or another. They say that they follow the rule of goodness, that they are trying to do good. They say that they looking out for the general good. They become paramours of morality. In my opinion, they are sycophants. All their morality is a more dignified form of their fear, their insecurity… Even though they are good they are not doing good actions.
They are always fearful… More fearful than me… Who is literally living day by day…
Please act better. You are good, I know… But leave your insecurity behind. Do not torture someone just because you are insecure. Learn to be responsible for your actions…
I have often thought about how sadism is one of the biggest sources of pleasure in today’s world. Before when there were kings and peasants, even then sadism was prevalent, but today more people live the kind of lives kings used to live in those days. But keeping the question of past and present, the thing of philosophical interest for me is: how people don’t recognize and acknowledge it as an excellent source of pleasure.
Sadism is the act of finding pleasure in other’s pain which is caused by ourselves. For example, if we know that someone gets offended or feels a certain sort of pain by being in a certain situation, then, if we are sadists, we shall unconsciously try to present in front of her various possible scenarios in which he is lacking something lack of which is causing him pain. Like for example, x used to like vanilla ice cream, and by an event (if it caused by you, your satisfaction shall be even more) he is unable to enjoy it (suppose a doctor prohibited him vanilla ice cream), then even if you personally hate vanilla ice cream, you shall make a point of eating it and posting it on social networks (not sharing with him directly, discreetness is central to sadistic pleasure. The pleasure is less if everyone understands it) so that he can see it.
You do not like vanilla. You hate eating vanilla because it feels like a piece of bullshit on your tongue. But when he sees it and reacts to it in a painful manner, you suddenly start enjoying the very shit of a bull. Not the vanilla of course… Or the picture of a place he cannot visit because his parents don’t allow him… You enjoy the pain of the person… And believe me when I say it: it is one of the purest of pleasures. It is animalistic and deadly… And while it is unethical and totally dependent on other (if he does not feel pain, you will hate every bit of vanilla and every photo of that place) it is the pleasure of being in power… A false sort of power of course… in which you are unclaimed queen of your own bullshit dreams, but it is extremely satisfying for those neurotic cases which (‘who’? No) are persistently insecure about their position in society and are unable to enjoy anything on its own value.
But again, be careful… If he realizes that you are finding pleasure in his pain, it will totally depend on him whether you are enjoying or not. And even when he is in pain, you shall ask yourself: is he faking the pain just to have some fun? And then your pleasure will be just a piece of bullshit… Be clever. Enjoy it. It is not wrong… but always remember… The reason you enjoy sadism is that you are the source of someone’s sadism. And you will be mentally healthy and less prone to insecurities, if you can enjoy a thing on its own.
An ekphratic verse
It has begun to speak to me again
A solitary tree on a solitary path.
And its branch
Like a Pinochhio’s nose and its body
Like a man’s
Or a woman,
I don’t know, I don’t
Want to know.
Angels walk by when its quiet.
And when its quiet
A solitary tree looks like a man,
A man with a lengthy nose …
Will it be a site for a noose?
It shall see children and children
And children chirping on a swing…
I don’t know, I don’t
Want to know either.
Or when the sun sets, the ghosts
Shall dance on its twigs and the tree
Shall not be solitary again…
And can you see the wires?
Can you see the endlessness of the poles
And the endlessness
Of the solitary tree frozen
In a single moment tending to infinity?
I am walking in my dreams
Under this tree like a man
And like a man it has begun to shed
Leaves of words on me;
And these solitary leaves
Like snow melt on my head
And are numbing my mind
To a state of grave like calm.
I am not alone in a crowd
I have my solitary tree with me.
(I wrote this poem in Dr. Anand’s house on a painting drawn by her which she was inspired by a scene in Rakkar, HP)