The visual crutch that I use in everyday life broke and rendered me into a handicap. Well, it did not break in the true sense of the world. The crutch is not really a crutch and I am not really a handicap. Logic gets mired into a convoluted mess when left in my restive hands. The fact is simply this; the tiny cylindrical entity of silicone that I so trustingly place in my eye fell out from its moist enclosure. It fell into the unforgiving expanse of this world and into the harshness of all that lay under it. It fell through the sky, travelling a distance far greater than its entire existence. It travelled not by its own accord but got yanked out by the mysterious force of the gravitational pull. It was a victim.
The world has lost the semblance that I had in antiquity. The images that form on my cornea are now confused and chaotic. Figures twitch in absent surrender, themselves victims of a fate beyond their control or comprehension. The figures themselves have no comprehension of their perception. They are not aware of the insanity of their appearance in my vision. They do not know how manically their entire visage dances in my existence. This got me thinking. If our existence is so mired in our own reality, why do we care about how others perceive us? None of what they say about us, or think about us should matter, right? But how often do we concern ourselves with lives whose reality has no bearing on ours. How often do we descend into the tired depths of despair when we get an understanding of the ulterior intentions of the other? The answers ring a shuttering truth about the fundamentals of our lives. We live, not in a bubble but in a communion of bubbles. We live not as one but a conjoined unit that lives with others, breathes with others and effectively bases itself on others perception.
But is that the best way? I wonder fleetingly as I stick a scratch paper over my eye to blot out its power of vision. Vision, a power that is irreplaceable but it can be quite a grievance when not at its peak of function. Is the best option in life, to base our existence on others expectation? I do not think so. Too often do we concern ourselves with an enduring struggle to flow into a mannequin of others expectation that we tend to forget about our own? Our existence, our precious definition of our lives becomes a convoluted mockery. We stand not as a mute witness but more as involuntary participants in a strange game, the significance of it lost on our infant minds. We allow others to mold us but in a larger system, allow ourselves to lose our significance.
Who are we, what is our purpose, what is this grand plan that we are seemingly part of. Are we bricks of a larger monument, tiny blocks all collected together leading to a larger purpose, or are we like a grain of sand, in an expanse of a desert, miles of nothingness, purposeless and comfortless. Who are we, are our lives with a purpose, do we live it with a purpose that we chose and whose existence is defined by our carefully crafted attempts at redemption. Or does Chaos reign? Chaos in our ways, chaos in our lives, a mish mash cluster of events which we so innocently are trying to fathom, Chaos….