I have been thinking about fate and destiny. Does the struggle that we put ourselves through really get us anywhere? Or do we just thrash in vain against the bonds of what is already decided?
The Hindu idea of Karma grants us free will, to do as we please while the Almighty keeps account, all to be reaped and paid for the next time we are given life. With that, all our fights matter, every decision and action leading to novel possibilities. On the other extreme, the pre-Christian Nordic cultures wholly left the course of their lives to fate. The Norns weaving threads of people together and apart to guide everyone along a path that is inevitable and pre-ordained, while the Gods looks upon it all.
In a conversation with a dear friend, I said that maybe if we look at our lives at a very small scale, zoomed in, the tiny decisions are maybe left up to us, but the general course is beyond our control. God’s will, if you think of it that way. But free will or not, the question remains, why do we fight? What is all this strife for?
In the grand scheme of things, what do our little wins amount to? All of this, just for death to take us in the end? These are the things that I ask myself, and you, if you wish to engage in this conversation. I wished to write an obtuse poem about this, but I seek answers, and the questions need to be clear. To borrow a friend’s words, “Someday I will write poetry about this but first I must survive it” [ paavam_mk after Lora Mathis on Pinterest ].
If you’ve noticed, up until 2015, we all knew what we were doing, where we were going. Now we are all so angry all the time, all of us, don’t we all feel lost? Does any of us know why we are doing what we do? I feel like we’re just going through the motions of what we are supposed to do, because we don’t know any better. Even if we stopped, wouldn’t the world carry on just as before? Surely our actions can’t affect the destiny of the Earth?
The Pandemic is a success, isn’t it? Look at us, socially distanced, isolated, lonely islands of personal success, too weak and proud to accept that we need each other, too busy to see that we are all crumbling into oblivion. This here is a fight where all of us are warriors. A fight to save human society, which for all its ills, is all that gives some meaning to the battles we wage our entire lives. Individualism is important in every creation, for art, but without someone to look at it except you, without you being witness to the joy that others feel from your work, how would you go on?
But we’ve been reduced to waiting for something to burst, collapse on us, for something, this, to finally end, so we could restart, walk on a new way of life. It’s as though we are all just waiting to die.
Spiral into me 