Living as humans
An astonishing fact about humans.
We are born tiny, we grow up, we grow old and die but in the process what we learn ? We are aware about our appearance, our possessions, our actions and some time the outcome as well but who is this self?
Inquiry into self.
We learn things. How to cook? How to milk a cow? All things needed not only to earn and to survive but also to out smart others. What about ourselves? How much we investigate about this ‘self’? What is this body and what is this mind? Who am I?
We have fascinatingly imaginative opinions about ourselves and all the people around us but in the black and white of bad and good. Opinions completely or partially divorced from facts. Vivid yet lacking relevant material details.
We neither have the time nor energy to take upon this arduous task. Why?
It appears to me that deep inside we are afraid to discover the truth. We suspect the answer would reveal something unpleasant. Some thing contrary to our programmed belief. Or perhaps we are afraid that we may not find out anything at all. We read, discuss and write about human behaviour but fail to scrutinise the movement of the self. We act and regret and later on regret why we acted in first place. We do not act and regret, why we failed to act.
Thoughts come and go and keep us tossing around the planet mostly on frivolous pretexts but we never wake up. The exotic food, the sophisticated company, the cultural mannerisms, the cosmetically beautiful but hollow smiles and intensely pretending surroundings keep us busy all the times. We keep postponing this investigation into self for yet another day but that day never comes.
A life spent.
Life is spent like a terminally ill patient who does not have to care for him/herself. The doctors are left to tell us about our bodies and counselors are to tell us about our mind. We die relying upon hearsay. We die sometime with satisfaction of having done this thing or that or we die with discontentment of not doing enough. We die grieving for our children or grand children or for having no children at all. But we make no effort to find out as to what or who is going to die? In fact most of the time conversation about death frighten us. We do not want to talk about it. It depresses us. The disappointment of death can not be rushed. Let it come when it comes. We are too busy with all the activity taking us from nowhere to nowhere riding on our thoughts, braving through anxiety, depression, anger and sometime even violence.