DAY XXX IN QUARANTINE
How does a mind full of chaos sit down with it’s thoughts? How does a stagnant lake turn into an enraged ocean? Have you ever noticed how your mind drifts off to wonderlands and thought amusing parks, the moment you start devoting your time and energy into something which requires all of your attention but doesn’t necessarily demand a huge amount of concentration? Lately, I’ve been consuming a lot of caffeine in the morning. I like my coffee bitter and whipped. So as I sit down to stir the ingredients in my cup, I choose a fine place for myself where I can sit and keep stirring constantly without getting disturbed or interrupted. My mind is weird. It likes getting lost in it’s own subconscious thoughts. As I stir my coffee, my brain sinks into thinking mode.
Sometimes you find yourself wondering about things which hold no value in this world which is basking in ‘Truth’ and ‘Reality’. I suddenly recall my therapist saying how hectic the past weeks had been for her. She’s a nice woman, wholly filled with optimism and hope. I remember her saying that everyone, at the end of the day, needs an ear to be listened to. I worry. Who’s her ear? Who does she run to for comfort at the times of despair and tiredness? I recall her saying that since I’ve chosen the colour grey, I’m willing to fight my battles. There’s an unconscious child laying somewhere inside me. I need to find her and awaken her. I need to breathe oxygen into her and wake her up. But I counter her by saying that I’m too tired for the hunt.
You see, people get tired. They don’t get tired of participating in the process, but of willing to participate. They get tired of continuous wiping of the clouds of aloofness that has kept their sight blurred. They get tired of pushing their minds into deriving and seeking comfort from mundaneness. They get tired of addressing their own vehemence. They get tired of shutting their ears to haunting cacophonies every night. Because no matter how generous your inputs and efforts are, the output keeps disappointing you always. No matter how tight you shut your ears, the hungry monstrous noises are still audible to you. At the end of the day it all comes back. The clouds of aloofness, the ballads of fear, the disappointment, everything. You feel nothing but crushed by the weights of another heavy cloud of misery. The alarming noises make your ears bleed. At the end of the day, no matter how much you get to hear that you’re not alone, you’re all alone. Like you’ve been. Always. Lonely.
As I voluntarily involuntarily keep fathoming my subconsciousness, I wonder how the last 30 seconds must have been for Sushant. While the body would be struggling to grasp onto breathes, the mind, having given up on existence, would have been resisting the thought continuously, feeding the body with attractive baits of the beauty of non-existence. And how just one more battle would call off the war for the body will triumph over restlessness and the soul would be deprived of exhaustion. Imagine how intriguing the idea of having to fight no more wars is. The last 30 seconds of your life is when you fight the actual battle. It has never been a war. It has always been your subconscious mind projecting bleakness and apathy directly on the conscious part, pushing it into the world of bangarang. It’s your own subconscious mind instilling fear into your soul and subjugating it. As I drift back to reality, I notice the shade of brown has changed from dark to the desired lighter one. I pour milk into it and sit back on the couch to savor it. While I accidentally burn my tongue due to the hotness of the coffee, I think. My mind never puts a halt on this thinking process. While I keep manufacturing and breeding these thoughts in the back of my mind without acknowledging them or making my conscious self aware of them, I wonder what if bubbles had wings? Would they fly higher than usual and spare themselves from the touch of death or just keep floating around until death greets and pops them? You see, the mechanism is weirdly odd. It’s involuntarily voluntary or voluntarily involuntary.