In touch with our mortality

Under lockdown, each of us has coped differently. Some haven’t, waiting for this ordeal to end, somehow. The one common thread, scarce broached or admitted to, is the realisation of one’s mortality.

The continuing view of life, indicated by grand retirement options, systematic investment plans, planned foreign vacations, universities for kids essentially ascribed a degree of immortality to ourselves. There is a narrative each of us has been building in our own ways, our stories marked by distinct milestones and achievements. The script has been about making tomorrow better than today- in how I look, how I live, how healthy I am, how much I have tapped into my talents, how I have provided for my family etc. Even the search for something grander called a life purpose, assumes life first and then calls for a purpose. This fundamental assumption seems flawed right now.

What we fear possibly is not death per se but the finiteness of ourselves, the end of this grand story, the regret of a life lived too short, all the things that we hoped we would do and get. We fear oblivion, imagining a lonely isolated death.

But, as someone said, when life throws lemons at you, make lemonade.

It might be a good time to call the bluff on grand plans and re-examine our choices and priorities. Make life a daily mediation on who we are and who are we being. Instead of what that beautiful oasis that am walking towards will look like, focus on what i am walking through today. Smell the roses, feel the thorns, bask in the sunshine, drench in the rain. The reality of this present moment is far more valuable than the promise of the future. This breath is yours, your next breath is a premium offering that might or might not come. Make this breath count, and then the next one and the one after that.

In the timeline of the cosmos, the earth is an infant and we are mere blips. In the expanse of the universe we are infinitesimal specks. Our insignificance doesn’t matter if we see ourselves as whole beings right now, here, in this moment. The rest is still a breath away.

(would like to thank my 10 year old daughter for the amazing pic that accompanies this post)