Pain

What is pain?
No single definition would serve to encompass the concept entirely. Pain can come from many sources. It can affect you in many ways. Drive you to many things.

For instance, the most mundane sort is from injury that scars the body. Physical pain. That seats itself in the flesh and burns with a sharp-edged fury. The most tangible source of pain. It needs no elaboration.

Another kind of pain is that which plagues the mind. Caused by shame, doubt, uncertainty and denial of ones' desires. This is the sort of pain that cuts away at our peace of mind and undermines our strength until we have no recourse left. It is at such junctions in life that we find ourselves making decisions that will haunt us when confronted with hindsight.

It is saddening sometimes. The thought of how sometimes we no longer make choices based on how we wish to achieve our goals, but for the purpose of avoiding pain. At how low we sink in our self - debasement on occasion, merely to make the pain stop.

Then there's the pain that life so insistently inflicts on us. The sorrow of loss, loneliness, separation and failure. These are feelings that can be expressed but never shared in truth. For though we may try to say to someone, "I feel lonely.", or , "I am a failure." , these aren't emotions that are so base as to be simply cosseted and soothed away by the attention of another. They are the pains that plague us so deeply as to never fully be sated, like vampires sucking blood, they rob us of our vigor and vitality and leave us empty and hollowed out.

Though one can argue that by avoiding all attachment to the material and rendering yourself aloof to the needs that humanity has, by association if nothing else, imposed on you, I refuse to believe that a rational way to go through life is by choosing to either become a monk and denying the entire point of worldly existence or living a very virtuous and god - fearing life merely on the offchance of eternal happiness in the afterlife
.
I mean no offense though. It's just that the odds really aren't worth the bet. You understand right?

In the end though it all works out to the same thing, regardless of what path you choose. All of us are so intractably human. You scramble through life like someone stumbling through a dark room and you keep stubbing your toes on the goddamn furniture.

To deny pain is to deny your existence. All the belief that you have that this is not just some vivid fucking hallucination is based purely on the fact that when I pinch you, it hurts.

When I put it that way it doesn't sound quite so bad does it? But then I'll have to make a confession.
I'm not exactly right in the head. And that's putting it delicately.
To get right to the point, I'm a fucking masochist.
Surprised, aren't you?
But you shouldn't be. And when I explain why, I think it'll make a whole lot of sense. At least to give you some perspective, if not radically shift your worldview.

I love pain. I FUCKING LOVE IT.
Why?
Because everytime I feel the inevitable sting of Life kicking me yet again in the balls, and as I squeal and clutch at myself and fall over, I keep this in mind.

It's my turn now.

My turn, to get the fuck up, dust myself off, and beat all twelve colors of shit out of Life so bad, not because I want anything out of it, but because I just cannot deny the savage joy I feel in pummeling the fuck out of this sneaky bastard that refuses to stop sucker punching me. I don't think there's a better rush than the certain knowledge that you are owning Life's ass, and don't you try to fucking deny that.

So if you think about it, I'm a masochist, because I'm a sadist. There's irony for you. You can't ever say life doesn't have a sense of humor.

And there you have it. My very simple method to dealing with the pain.

Make Life regret it.

Fragility of Perception

When we’re young, the world belongs to us. There is nothing that lies beyond our reach. We’re immortal. We’re all – powerful. We’re the Gods of our own tiny realities. 

Worries?
Pffft.

Not for me. I’m too young for that. I want what I want. And there’s nothing you can say or do that’ll change that glorious certainty of youth.

It’s a phase. We all go through it.

But then, as we age, the world begins to assault us in all its cruel detail. We begin to notice the things that happen. And how they shouldn’t be happening. The perfect world we imagined begins to be streaked by grime. We’re troubled. But they worry lasts but a moment. As always, the young have no time to ponder on things that they cannot see for themselves.

And then we grow older. We learn, we learn how to understand the things that happen around us. The world isn’t as bright and carefree as it once used to be. In fact, if you took the time to look at it, the world is pretty damn fucked up.

And then, we decide, we can change it. We put away our worries, comforted by our convictions. The world won’t be so wrong, when we grow up and change it. Time flies.

We’re older now. We’re at the prime of our lives. We’ve learnt all we need to go out into that wide world and begin moving and shaking what we perceive as imperfections.

And the world bites back. We discover, to our dismay, that logic doesn’t apply in this tarnished, dirty mess we call life. People won’t change just because you explain to them the error of their ways. Righting the wrongs of the world becomes harder, because some people prefer being wrong. Not everyone has it in them to be good.

We’re hit hard by this realization. Until now, the challenges we’ve faced seem hard, but it always seemed like we could make a difference. We never considered the prospect that some people are content to stay in the dark. And though we don’t know it, some part of us begins to truly understand that there is evil in this world. We just don’t allow ourselves to fully see it. Lest we lose what separates us from it.

We try. We fail. We try harder, we might succeed.

But in the end, you realize that somewhere along the line, the flight became less about doing what was right, and more about doing what we had to, to survive. The world is rotting slowly. And we realize that in the end, we can’t make a difference.

The truth of how minuscule you are on the scale of things seeps in. And slowly, your need to champion the cause of good falls away. Your priorities have changed, without you even knowing it. You lost the fight a while back.

You just didn’t let yourself know it.

And then age begins to take you. The ocean of sorrow that the world is begins to weigh on you. You find it harder and harder to care. About anything.  You might have a family, you might have children of your own.

But a long long time ago, it became less about what you want, and a lot more about what you were obligated to do.

You provide for those who depend on you. The rote of life becomes easier to bear. Soon it replaces whatever semblance of life you had before. And you know the worst part? The one which terrifies me?

You’re absolutely fine with it.

And life goes on. Day in and day out.

Until you die.

You spend your last days wondering if you ever stood a chance. In between the senility that has robbed you of the will to live, you think of the choices you might have made instead.

You regret the things you didn’t do. The roads you chose not to walk. The choices you made by refusing to choose.

And you die.

But not me. I’m not like the rest of you.

I’m going to live forever. Death shall never take me. For I am young. And the world lies in the palm of my hand.

I won’t make the same choices you did. I refuse to let myself make the same mistakes.

I will make a difference. Because, I am truly different.

I will change the world.

And I’d die before I let the world change me.

Fin

A Thousand Worlds

I’m in New York City as I write this. I’ve never been here before. And it’ll be a damn long while before I come back. But in the short while I’ve been here, I’m already sure I want to spend as much of my life as I can here.

Do you want to know why?

It’s not because of the preconceived notions that you might hold in your head. It’s not because it’s the Big Apple. Not for the incredibly hot women. Not for the reddish haze of the sun as it dips below that incredible skyline. Not for the humongous pizzas.

Not that I mean to deride any of these things. They ARE good reasons to want to live here. Many decisions have been made for less justification. But the reason I want to live here?

It’s the same reason many complain of. You get a lot of people talking about how city life pushes a person to cynicism and apathy. Pastors and philosophers opining on the heartlessness of a system so godless, immoral, and illogical it defies definition.

And it’s bloody well true. I know that. You know that.

Living in a city like New York needs you to harden yourself to certain things. To render yourself emotionless in the face of sights you couldn’t handle otherwise. It’s the same with any metropolitan city. If everyone broke down on seeing a poor crippled child begging for change, the world wouldn’t run as it does. And that’s not evidence of an ideal world. It just affirms what everyone already knows.

The world is fucked up. But that’s a whole another topic. I’ll get into that another time. Not right now.

But anyway, I’ve digressed quite a bit. So I’ll cut to the chase.

The reason I want to live in New York, is because of the people.

People in the Big Apple are, distanced, from each other. There’s a boundary everyone places around themselves, a line in the sand they draw at some indeterminable time that they retreat behind. A refuge to shelter them from the madness of life.

I can walk in the midst of a thousand people in Times Square and feel utterly alone. I can look at the people around me, converse with them; laugh and smile at the gimmicks of the world, but deep down, I know that just like me, they’re hiding behind their lines. Looking out from that glass box they built to keep themselves safe from the storm.

And this doesn’t bother me one bit.

Why?

 This knowledge leads me on to a greater truth. That makes me believe that this world has more to it than I shall ever know.

This truth is my reason to live.

New York is home to 10 million people. Maybe more. A census is only so accurate.

And each and every one of these people, has lived their own lives, walked their own paths, and made their own decisions. Whether to good ends or bad, is irrelevant.

When I’m in the middle of a crowd, I cannot help but look upon a random bystander, and wonder about the story of his/her life. What has he done to come to this place, here and now? What did she have to face to bring her this far?

I’m quoting something that regrettably may be paraphrased, but it serves to summarize what I mean to say.

“No matter where your life might take you, you spend the entirety of it, inside your head.”

Within each of us, exists a lifetime’s worth of thought, memory and experience. We’ve all lived our own lives. There is no explaining the story of your life to someone. It cannot be done. It is impossible to achieve total empathy with anyone. If it could happen, the world would be a better place. 

But it cannot, because at any point of time, you can never fully understand what drives a person. You cannot hope to every fully grasp what makes them who they are. Simply because you have not lived their lives.

We all carry a world within us. Not just a world, a universe that no one will ever know or understand. We are creatures of the flesh, subject to lusts and longings that our bodies impose on us, but within each of us, lay a tapestry, painted by our imaginations, and limited by nothing.

If ever some God or 4^th dimensional being, capable of seeing beyond the flesh, looked upon us, what would they see?

If I am to hold any faith in existence, I hope they would see us for what we really are.

The light of a universe. An infinite point of light, within each of us.

A thousand, thousand worlds.

Damnation

What a fallacy life is. What a hopeless joke.

Well to clarify, I choose to relate life with consciousness. The ability to make your own decisions. To choose what is, and what isn't good for yourself.


Yourself.
What does that mean?
To exist. To think. To breathe. To desire. To dream. To Live.
An animal has no identity. Because it cannot (as far as we know), make any choices to affect it's own well - being in the bigger scheme of things. As far as animals are concerned, there IS no bigger scheme of things.
Humans are elevated beyond the level of animals simply because, unlike animals, they seek to carve a niche for themselves in this world, through the means of their own identity.
But why bother? Honestly speaking, there isn't much we have to live for.
Though this may be unacceptable to many, it is possible to explain the rationale behind every human act of kindness, compassion or altruism. How?
Through pure selfishness.
An example then.
Philanthropy.
Charity.
What drives a person to them?
By accounts, there is a feeling of upliftment, of some unexplainable satisfaction gained through aiding the world.
I have an explanation. Selfishness.
Essentially, Charity and Drug - Abuse are two sides of the same coin.
They both make you feel good.
And we both know how much every human wants that. That feeling of satisfaction and meaning.
So there you have it. Every thing good about the human race, sprang up from the same part of your brain that drives a drug addict to shooting up.
Kind of puts a spanner in the whole scheme of things doesn't it?
Let's have another example. Because I just can't get enough of them.

Friendship.
Love.
Society.
Things every human needs and wants.
Honestly, do I need to say more?
We bond with other human beings solely because of our inability to be alone. Every noble aspect of friendship and love, takes it's root from a purely self-serving point of view. Humans cannot survive on their own, hence they commune with other humans. It's not something that we can look in the face either.
If we could that would redeem us in one way at least.
But humankind, in it's infinite wisdom and foresight, has gilded love (both platonic and non-platonic) with the trappings of another form of altruism.
It sickens me. This inability to accept the truth. But that's another issue entirely.
Onwards..

Have I convinced you? Or do you require more?
Fine. One final proof. For those of you who still choose to remain without belief.

A mother's love for her child.
The single purest thing in the world. Romanticized by poets, venerated by the pious, celebrated in song.
Maybe this one thing, might remain uncorrupted by the taint that every human bears?
Wrong. Nothing more than evolutionary necessity. Hormones and pheromones.
If you don't believe me, look it up.

So, what have we learned today?
Human beings are self - serving in every aspect of their lives.
There is no such thing as love, because love springs out of it's very antithesis.
Everything that you believed was a lie.

Thank You.
Have a Nice Day.

Stupid Mistakes

A shrill screech was the last thing I'd heard.

I'd passed out after.

I woke up against all odds to find that I was surrounded by people.

'Dont move' they screamed together like an untrained choir.

They shouted it again and again, and maintained a safe distance from me.

My passive mind picked up on their anxiety and I obeyed by n0t moving a millimeter.

My father stepped forward and explained the situation.

' He was here son, but dont worry they got him. He's dead now, he came back for you, but he's been punished. But, I am afraid that he may have done some permanent damage.'

He hesitated a little and said

'Its very essential that you dont move because your face has been cut right through the middle. The good doctor will explain the rest.'

They were well prepared for this explanation, made me wonder how long I'd been out.

The good doctor, a man in his 40's with prematurely greying hair and a thin frame, stepped forward.

He said,

' You see young man, what we have here is unintended perfection. The perfect cut. Do not misunderstand me, but I can not not admire the art.

The big bad man, used a laser to cut through your face. It is a plane cut, angled at 30 o t upwards from the front, starting above your lips. The laser has cut right through your maxillary, palatial, sphenoid and occipital bones succesfully emerging from the back of your head, however as is common experience in life when plastic sheets stick to wet surfaces, all the blood vessels are in alignment and those which are'nt have been cauterized by the laser. A miracle indeed. Your face is being held in place by your mere lack of movement. Even the tiniest action could cause your face to split into two.

I suggest young man that you neither move, talk, eat nor drink, until a solution is thought of.

The brightest minds have been called forth to brainstorm so worry not, a solution will be reached.'

I did as asked of me and for three days I lay still. People came, people went. I became a scientific subject for some, a doomed relative for others and a horrific tale for the rest.

The fourth day, thirsty and hungry to the bone I was, when the good doctor came back.

He said, ' Young man, we have found a way to make you live. It is simple and painless and a permanent cure. You shall receive treatment from tomorrow. The world is good again.'

Joy surged through me like a roller coaster and I stood up and jumped as high as I could.

When I fell, I wasnt the same, I felt my plane of vision rotate and I landed in a pool of my own blood.

My body lay a few inches in front.