We Are All Flawed

December 23, 2017

In this long and yet short running of life so far, it is the disproportionate mix of intentions and endeavors that had meandered me to my present situation. It is not sunny every day, rather it is hardly sunny anymore but the gloom has its own eerie beauty that is fathomable only to the conspicuously comprehending and broken. Real pain is tough to deal with but one can always entertain an idea of pain. One could always compete for tragedy (remember the last time you were in pain but someone was in deeper pain and then you felt lighter). The meager question, of course, is should one actually? I am bound to think, unlike in my stories, that everything will turn out well at the end. Call me fatalistic. Sure it is not understood what my grounds for such a faith is. Probably it is springing from the very existence and endurance of the human world despite all the odds. But sometimes I feel it is so viciously laden upon me that life to me seems scripted and I am only having revelations as I progress like the ideas of Plato. And then I think, what about endeavors? If it is to happen and if it will, then what is the point of this constant struggle with the emotional conundrums in my head and if it is not meant to be then also what is the point of this struggle? How far can you go and that too this heavy? I am probably the lightest right now without obviously appreciating it but I am quite certain that from here onwards there will only be an addition of weights to my existence. Either I will grow a muscle or break one. But I am certain I will not have a choice in the matter of embracing it. 
                       Conflicts of interest is another concern and my sensitivity and gravitas towards both the conditions of “want & want not” is a rather remorseful disposition. It angsts me to know that in doing all, I am doing nothing and in being all, I am being nobody. I am much younger in my head and that deludes me that like a newly born river gushing out of the mountains I can cut through the earth and make gorges so deep that I will touch the universe below it. But then when one sheepishly questions me seeing engrossed in zillion things, “Aren’t you serious about this pursuit?” I forge a gamut of theories, untested thesis, as to why it might just work for me only to put to silence their bothering questions, but for how long? How long before I turn into the mob myself and question self about the rationality of the decisions made and the enslavement of self to the swings of situations-of-the-mind?
                       Denying to be a mediocre, fostering the highest dreams, I am better introduced to my insecurities and flaws as a human than ever before. I probably am a weak human. Flawed. Broken and powerless. But as I write this, I realize that there are more dimensions to my inabilities than I thought. There rose more incumbent ripples when I threw a stone in the rather placid pool of ego-waters. The ripples that have now grabbed my soul by its identity and questioned its very existence. But then everything is not so chaotic. When in the midst of this gruesome drama, I turned to my identity with questioning eyes, I was silenced by the answers. I quietly listened to my inner-self whisper to those ruthless ripples, should I be perfect? Should I be flawless? Should I not have any aberrations? And when I hear myself say this, I realize I am always going to stay light. No weight can ever daunt me now. No pursuit is greater than the pursuit of self. I don’t have to be flawless. I don’t have to be perfect. Perfection is a myth. I just need to pick up the pieces of my cracked self and probably mend it together with gold and flaunt the preciousness of experience and understanding and acceptance like the “Wabi-Sabi” philosophers of East did practicing “Kintsugi”. I have to realize that it is completely okay to be flawed, broken, powerless and all those things and still go in a pursuit of this noble nature. Hiding these aberrations was making me believe that I was invincible and destined to victory. But after this inner conflict, I realized that I am equally destined to fail as I am to succeed. I am equally destined to be happy as I am to be remorseful. It is all about choices and acceptance. Accepting that I am flawed helps me to understand that I can be worked upon. That I can grow. You can never fill water in an already full bowl. So growing beyond the insecurities requires you to accept and embrace the fact that you have few. No one is free of them and today, in a manner disposed ardently to this theory, I can assure you that only they who understand that the world is flawed and everyone is as incomplete as you are will ever endure it and have the courage to pursue their dreams and be just a little less flawed than before. Not perfect but only a little less flawed. 

Pic Source: Google (Francis Bacon, Three Studies for a Portrait of George Dyer, 1963)

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