Beyond being physical

Raining.

Heavenly music.

I’ve gradualy left my physical existence and transcended beyond the material world.

I cannot smell anymore, cannot hear, cannot see, cannot touch, for I have left my body. It feels dizzy up here. Everything feels cloudy. The clarity of reality is gone. But I still love it.

I can feel pure and free joy, needing none of your serotonin.

Oh! I feel you’re somewhere around too.

I know because I suddenly remember what brought me here. It was you. Alas! I now wish I could see and touch once again.

Someone please turn off the music and bring me back. Bring me back from this unreal trip.

Why? Why doesn’t somebody do that?

Just that little off button and I’d be back.

Back to you.

Wait! Stop! Don’t yet.

Oh my! It’s you. I can see you now. Up here… not physically though. But better.

I can hear you better.

I can feel you better.

Plan Z

I’ll be moving to earth in two days, or so they say. Life is a good thing, a one-time opportunity, I’m being convinced for the last couple of weeks. “You’re not ready for it yet”, they say every time they postpone my transit to earth. “Your questions.” is what they say have to die before I’ve to live. This time, I’d be moving for sure, for I heard the fairies gossiping about some “Plan Z”, something they probably try upon the most difficult of souls, something that always works they say.

Hi, I am Mary. Nice to meet you.

Hey. You’re beautiful. Never seen you before.

Beauty is nothing but order within chaos. It’s everywhere, you just have to look around.

I cannot. In all chaos, all order and all existence, I see deep nothingness.

What about me?

What about you?

You see nothingness in me?

Of course. But, oh wait! Umph… you should exist.

Why so?

I don’t think I can answer that. Oh wait, I’m hating myself for saying this. This is what the other fairies keep telling me when I ask them for meaning. Umm….

Yes, you cannot answer that. But about that question of meaning, how about asking it from me? I’m not like the other fairies.

What is this mark below your lips?

O soul! That’s a mole.

Why is it there?

Randomly. Why?

Randomly? No. It really makes a difference. You look so beautiful with it. Mary, this randomness is beautiful. This chaos within order within chaos is appealing. Aren’t you wrong when you attribute beauty to mere order.

Hahahaa…. Wow. I’m impressed to see a soul in-the-making intellectualize like this. The fairies were right about you. You are difficult.

So have we reached the “your question is unanswerable” dead-end already?

I told you I’ll never say that.

Then quench my thirst for meaning. Hey, wait, there’s another of this mole thing a little above your lip on the other side. You’re lovely.

Aren’t fairies meant to be that? Lovely?

They are? No. Not at all. It’s only you.

Because I have moles around my lips?

No, I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m enjoying being with you.

Oh Soul! If life is like these few moments we’ve been together, is there any possibility we may stop looking for meaning.

Yes. But…

There the fairy took my hands in her warm ones and placed her lips over mine. It felt like nothing else I had felt before. It felt like something that couldn’t be put into words, just like life itself. I had immediately begun to realize the existence of concepts impossible to put in words.

Mary, you answered me. You’re the meaning of life. Yes, It’s you.

Oh Soul! Why tears?

Could I beg God for you? Could he let you travel with me to earth? I’ll do whatever he wills in exchange, I’ll stop asking for meanings anymore.

Soul, let me tell you something this bright night. Do you think we, the fairies, have answers to these questions souls like you keep bugging us with? Do you think the peace you see over our faces is real?

Oh!

Soul, today that I’ve myself found meaning, why would I let it leave me. I’ll go with you.

We will go.

Egodystonic to Egosyntonic

A glass half full is a glass that was previously empty and a glass half empty is the one that was previously full. One deserves optimism and the other pessimism. This is realism. Realism judges the glass by matching it’s current state with it’s initial state.

An egodystonic perfectionist is someone who craves for perfection in the heart but ends up abandoning his tasks because that perfection is simply unattainable. They have thought of the task’s finished product quite a lot. That product is perfect, and finished before the task is even started. They always start with the glass full. A full glass can never get any fuller. It will always get less full, no matter how well they perform, and so they would always be pessimistic towards that task. Had they started with an empty glass, the glass would always be somewhat full, and they’d be always happy.

Starting with an empty glass is the simplest key that could transform an egodystonic perfectionist to an egosyntonic one, thereby converting one’s greatest shackle to one’s greatest weapon. That’s when perfectionism starts sounding like a sweet word, all of a sudden, for the first time ever.

But how to do that?

Well, it requires one’s realization that what one is working upon is yet to be accomplished and is only a blank, imperfect, absurd canvas, and anything one does adds to that canvas. Everything adds to it, literally everything, no matter how little and how imperfect. That’s it. The idea is that simple. Comprehending it may be difficult at first, but once it gets up into our heads, everything starts to change. Not only our classical procrastination begins to fade, our existential troubles start getting solved.

Speaking of existential troubles, I used to be upset when I would think of death, or the absurd. But then I started appreciating that my initial state was death, and each moment I spent was adding something to that initially dead canvas. Nothing could be too depressing anymore. No failure. No imperfection.

Perhaps, shifting one’s focus from the ultimate state to the initial state is all that we, perfectionists, need to do to cure ourselves.

Chain

A chain is only as strong as it’s weakest link, they say. Breath, the transit of inorganic air through our organic existence, is our weakest link. Life is our weakest link. A link so weak that most of us spend our entire lives taking care of this link rather than putting the chain to actual use.

Chains are strong, yet mortal. They have their breaking points. They are made to serve until those breaking points are tipped. Oh God, I wish to be that chain which serves the universe at any level until it looses itself, not the chain obsessed of keeping itself intact. Because ultimately both shall vanish. One with stress, the other with rust. Ah!! Rust, the punishment of attempts of self-preservation, the divine enforcement of mortality. Rust!!

Code is life

codingI hate my medicine textbooks because I can neither immediately┬áverify the knowledge within nor┬ácontribute to it. Everyone has a learning style. Mine is more of a disability. I’m that bird that learns to fly only as it falls. It hates reading flight manuals. I realize how this approach is unethical in acquiring medical knowledge, and that’s another reason I call my behavior a disability.

I wish to create. To craft. To solve problems. ‘Creating’ is more engaging for me than reading, talking,┬ásocializing, and watching movies combined. If the world eternally puts me in a jail in exchange for some real problems to solve and enough resources for the problem solving, I’d be the happiest person on earth.

Lucky me, I’ve been able to quench my burning desire to ‘create’ all my life. By coding. Coding is that magical thing you can create a whole world out of with, using only a computer and a mind. What could be better for someone like me? But unlucky me, I’m a practicing physician. I have fought for years trying to persuade myself out of the fantastic realm of coding. I planned my future life without it. I betrayed my passion. Because I had to be a doctor. Everyone said I had to. My parents too. I wish I was loyal enough to existentialism to break myself free from these confines and live a life that cared for nothing but passions.

Today, after watching a video lecture on a certain aspect of programming, I’m feeling very disturbed. I wish so bad to be back in the realm of code. I wish to fly once again rather than crawling through bulky books of ready-made wisdom. If only I could. I could. If only I would.