i have yet to write a piece about the death of my dog. a constant meditation of death, that’s what it’s all about for me these days. once like two fish swimming in a fish bowl, now one fish trapped in its little pond. everything i do is defined entirely by me. it starts and ends with me. her death brings home the loneliness i’ve felt since my mom left. usually takes several months for it to hit me bad but my severe self-enforced seclusion prior to the test and now her death ... the rituals we had together, almost everything was tied to her: my excursions to the outside world (how long i could stay), my eating (to share), my sleeping (to make sure she was ok), my walking (a heightened awareness of the position of my feet so i wouldn’t step on her), my affections. yes that. and now she’s gone.
i was alone before but now the selfishness of it weighs me down. the utter selfishness of it perplexes me: when i prepare food, when i shop, when i am happy ... no-one, nothing to share my labour. an island. i understand how years ago an older friend told me i would not tolerate the selfish existence that i advocated. now i truly understand the need (not want) people feel for partners or children. we move on from adolescence – a period of consciousness expansion and shameless self-propagation. we reach the boundaries of normal human existence in a sense and realize our isolation. mostly this is experienced as boredom or a feeling of futility, a horrifying superfluousness. the unbearable lightness of being. we attain king solomon’s frame of mind:
vanity of vanities, all is vanity.
what advantage does man have in all his work which he does under the sun? ...
all the rivers flow into the sea, yet the sea is not full ...
that which has been is that which will be done. there is nothing new under the sun ...
there is no remembrance of earlier things ...
from ecclesiastes or the book of solomon.
this coming from a man who “set (his) mind to seek and explore by wisdom concerning all that has been done under heaven”, this is a frightening prospect. but that is not the end of it. there is a way out. to keep on growing we must move on to a different level. another dimension of existence. i am not amused by my multifariousness any more. the self which once absorbed constantly now yields to the natural instinct of sharing. a sign of maturity, of manhood. most sick people, physically or mentally, regress towards that phase of selfishness. they feel their self contracting again, a volatile space. never fixed. so to take is a symptom of dis-ease with ourselves. to give is the fruit of my soul-labour. the gratitude and love towards our benefactors, material or spiritual, breeds this selflessness. if we hamper it, immediately the cancerous guilt and shame mar our selfhood. we injure ourselves. hence the deep sickness of those who suffered at the hands of their parents. an arabic proverb: the one who lacks a thing cannot impart it. as of affection and selfless love. if we were to apply this self-violence in a different way we would heal ourselves instead. this way is selflessness, humility. i can see now how this is tied with love, life, death, existence and god. i see how it all comes together. this is passion.