For the first time ever today, I felt like there’s a dangerous cache of unresolved anger within me that could surface at the most inconvenient time and make things difficult for myself. I’m usually one of those overly positive people – attempting to see the best in every situation, romanticising the littlest experiences, finding memories in the mundane – you know the type. And yet, I found myself being angry at rain today, something I’ve never done before, and telling it things like “you’re not even a conscious thing, you’re just a looming element with inconsiderate superiority over all us insignificant beings.”
I’ve romanticized monsoons like the rain speaks the language of my soul. I never, ever curse the rain. In times where rain could pose some trouble, I pray for it to give us a rest and when it didn’t listen, I defended with the most naive explanations. And today, probably as a consequence of a completely unconnected unresolved conflict, I killed the romantic association I had with the rain in one swift blow.
It makes me question what I truly believe in at all. All the spiritual and romantic nuances of my life could just as well be a facade to conceal away the sense of helplessness I feel about my life. I cannot deny that I often feel that we all are hopeless idiots roaming around the planet with no real control over anything – we could fall sick any day, meet with an accident any moment, lose a loved one, have a wrong thought, meet a wrong person, be an innocent victim of a crime, so on and so forth. Not even the biggest billionaire on the planet knows which hot tub bath will be his last. What are we doing at all?
There is ample scientific evidence to demonstrate that nothing we do is really our own choice. “The sense of self” is the biggest hoax there ever has been. All the voices in our head are the by-product of the hormonal game in the brain that we have close to zero control upon. As a collective, we’re really just fragmented embodiments of some big game of destiny or physics or whatever you want to call it.
So to hide this sense of no-control or helplessness, I’ve incessantly romanticized, spiritualized little things because its comforting to think that there is some greater power at play that’s on my side too. Is it really? As much as I want to keep the romance alive, this unresolved sense of hopeless anger is bound to surface again. I’m losing the flow of thought. I’d love if someone can show some hope.
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