A slit in your right eyelid reveals another morning, another pursuit and the
correct timing by the minute at which you must rise and rid yourself of your
comfortable nightwear. It is once again, time for the soap to be used, the white
pearls to be brushed and the spotless, crisp cotton to be worn and admired. As
you grudgingly or delightfully say your goodbyes, which depends on the day of
the week, the condition of your night and the crispness of your morning toast,
the thought of the undertakings of the day clouds your mind.
The tasks begin their pattern of continuum at work; may you answer the call,
this contract needs signing, Miss Stella has collapsed, sort the virus out, the
case has been adjourned and so on and so forth. Before you know it, the ticking
of the clock resonates more loudly, springing you back to reality and the
realization that lunch was already and forgetfully consumed and it is indeed
time to depart back to your abode. Where has the time gone you self enquire?
Could the day have passed this swiftly? But it does not end, for the academics
have reading to contend with, the mothers have domestic thrill to enlighten them
and partners have words and much more to be negotiated and exchanged. And that
is the cycle with which many, if not all of us spend in our personal ticking
time bombs until we expire. The daily rituals, chores and challenges are the
trimmings which garnish the meal of life and without them blandness would be the
flavour of discussion shared over copious cups of tea. However, with all the
expectant phases of life which one looks forward to and with the stimulation of
one’s daily episodes, how come the feeling of futility may strike some of us?
How come grandeur in living does not conceal you from the tedium of cushy
living? This in truth is the cycle of life but how liberating is it for the
mind’s well being?
It is not. If it was, man would not need to forget with an intoxicant and
would not crave to be unchained by suicide. Tears would no longer recall the
impact of plummeting on supple, bouncy fabric or solid granite flooring.
Brutality would no longer electrify a victim into trepidation and fists would
not be prone to coating its target in red bloody blotches. Caffeine would no
longer be a piece of good fortune in disguise for the voyager, indulged at a
time of greatest need but rather at the time when least required. It is only
when we become adults that we appreciate this rat race, for children are untied
of such concerns and lavish in their childhood with thoughts of fantasy and
eternity provided it is not robbed off them. But if life is not liberating how
can we become liberated? How can we change our perceptions and attitudes towards
the confinements we are under in this life?
Limitation is the weakness of every soul, limitation in knowing, possessing,
receiving, doing, declaring and in every sphere of one’s life. However, if
limitation is allowed to preside over and dampen the curbed spaces within which
we live this life, we will indeed never be mentally freed. To be liberated is to
treat the inner before the outer, to please the upper before the lower, to look
beyond before looking into and to do and to act now before tomorrow. Liberation
is in the steadiness of actions, the incessant hard headedness of endeavoring,
the arduous labour of discovering and rectifying and imparting when and to whom
it is hardest to give.
I do not know why the phrase employs a rat out of all creatures. It may be
because rats are able to identify precisely where to find solutions and can take
care of themselves. They use their instinctive sense of observation, selfishness
and prudence to endure almost any situation. Hence there may be hope for the
homo sapiens, if only we were to be more calculating, insightful and instinctive
then we may, just may, be able to run along the treadmill of life and achieve
some good at the end of it.
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