Tuesday, December 7, 2010


Spirituality is a dying process in so many levels. It is initially the death of the ego. I say initially because in my view, after the ego has been recognized, observed and understood, it has to be integrated back instead of denied. The tricky thing is to be aware of when it is activating and not to completely and blindly identify with it. Egoless existence, in my view, would make it futile to hold a job, have friends, to ever sustain a non-ascetic life. If your destiny is to be egoless, it would be immensely difficult if not impossible to traverse in this worldly existence, thus those who choose or are called to such a life retreat to either monastic life or that of a renunciate in the caves of Himalayas.

Spirituality also grounds on you on the impermanent nature of reality and this world. It (ideally) frees you from your attachments – desires, money, possessions, relationships – to a degree that you are prepared to die and leave this plane at any given moment. This is one facet of moksha, liberation: to truly live each day from a place of carpe diem free of stickiness and complications.

Every once in a while, I ponder on how I feel about death. I will not claim this to be an original idea of mine, because Vedanta (and other Eastern philosophies) is very heavy on this. The thought of death puts a lot of things in perspective. Things appear miniscule and inconsequential when the bottom line is advanced to the forefront of our compulsions, intentions and actions. It gives a whole dimension of awareness to our daily machinations and takes us out of autopilot. Everything is done with more deliberation. We taste and feel more. We are present and live more.

Last night, I was woken up by heavy footsteps in the living room at 2AM. My first thought was that there is an intruder in my house. I paused for a second to make sure I wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. F*ck. I wasn’t dreaming. There was somebody in the kitchen. The interesting thing was, I didn’t panic. I just laid there calmly. I could have reached for the heavy flashlight or the pepper spray in one of the drawers, or one of the sharp objects within reach that I had prepared for exactly a moment like this, but I felt resigned, almost ready, to, well, die.

Then I remembered I had a roommate. She lets out her dog to pee sometimes at ungodly hours.

I crack myself up so hard sometimes.

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