It was like a serious form of meditation where I thought about the horrible bitchy colleagues I had, about where I am headed and about how hollow my life seemed without a life partner. I was in a mental turmoil —lost in the cyclone of speedy thoughts. The feeling was not good. I felt weak. The world seemed a horrible place suddenly.
And as I usually do, I started questioning the meaning of my existence, my purpose, everyone’s purpose to exist in my life and in this world. These existentialist feelings were not a novel phenomenon for me. They have been striking me since I was 8. I come up with new solutions every time. After a point, it stared being fun. I used to lie down and stare at the ceiling fan or the wall, or just any damned stuff that I could lay my listless eyes on and then think into hollow.
But as I matured and grew old, I got bored of this zombie phase and decided to call a truce. So, now I have tread upon a permanent solution. An answer that is healing. An answer that is enlightening and peaceful to my prying mind. It is ‘A picture of dead bodies!’ Yes true! A picture of dead bodies!
I had chanced upon a newspaper picture of dead bodies recovered from debris during a natural calamity, during my reflection. And that answered everything. I had that Buddha moment with the question —What if I was one amongst them? What if I was dead now? Would this hatred matter? Would this anger matter? Would this petty office politics matter? Would these emotions emanating from being lonely matter? Would my search for a good life partner matter? Would a good position matter? Would money matter? Would anything matter?
I’m just a mortal trying to be strong in this delusional, mortal world. I’m born to die. I can earn a lot of money, I can find the best partner, I can win the stupid office politics, I can be the most powerful person in this world. But what if tomorrow, my airplane crashes down? What if I’m stuck in the terrace of my million dollar mansion due to floods? What if I’m living with the rest of the survivors in a deplorable condition due to an earthquake? What if I die and my body mixes with the mud —the same mud in which the body of a billionaire mixed up and the same mud in which the body of a street beggar mixed up? Would any of my fights, struggles, emotions, attachment matter?
Isn’t my life so petty and short? Am I not just a mortal like numerous other mortals? Then why run behind this illusion?
Yes, this is my enlightening answer. It’s in the form of a simple question —Would any of this matter when I die?