Ever since some sense got instilled into my mind, I have always believed that there is a greater purpose to our existence. Something larger than what we are able to see through the fog of everyday mundane, hustle-bustle, stress, anticipation, eagerness, highs and lows. A greater meaning to life—something that has remained unchanged like a ghost code in the machine of civilization. An underlying purpose to things, a pull towards a greater consciousness. That often we live our life without paying attention to the patterns we draw through our activities, thoughts, feelings—that in its own mystical ways tells us all about who we are and where we are headed. Like a forecasting model that feeds on the base data, as well as on the exponential formulae that resides in the cells of life—hidden, encrypted, and password protected.
We meet people in our life for certain reasons, we go through our experiences, we fall, we pick ourselves up, and carry on and learn and unlearn a lot of things. When the jamboree is happening around us, to us, from us—suddenly there emerges a realization of a grand design. A definitive definition! We humans have limited and finite set of emotions and emotional responses. But what we do with these, how we respond to life basis these emotions are infinite. We fall in love, we care, we fight, we agree and disagree, we leap, we fall, we fly, we believe, we surrender, we conquer, we institutionalize, we rebel, we demand, we command, we do all these and much more.
But once in a long while, I get this sharp shooting thought. What if there is no grand design, no higher truth, no deeper consciousness, no rising or evolution of the spirit? What if this belief of a greater force in our life is merely an interplay of the super-ego and human insecurity? What if our life is what it is on the face of it? Just nothing more to it. A fabric of weaved through the strands of action, reaction, inaction, choices and situations. Is life nothing more than a mega-structure of randomness? Events and episodes just random occurrences with nothing more connecting them than cause and effect.
We are born, live, and then eventually die. And after that, there is no more to be. Just millions of tissues wrapped around a calcium bone structure that will one day decay and be consumed. Then why do we fret so much about happiness, enjoyment, achievements, disappointments, rights and wrongs, social order, or for that matter that much fabled feeling that we call “love”? What is there to truly feel? The mere sensory signals of touch, smell, taste and sight. Then why worry so much all our life? If the only purpose of existence is procreation. We humans seem to be extremely good at it, and we produce off-springs at a rate. And surprisingly the only specie to work out a way to limit the growth of our own specie.
Well to this random thought and dilemma, I have a simple remedy for myself. Even if there is no great design awaiting us or a greater truth beheld, let the randomness be more meaningful. Let the randomness be a means and not an end, at least in my own life. Let me live out this random existence with a openness, simplicity and compassion. So that when I am done, and it is time for me to die I can shut down knowing that it was fun.