Its been so long since I have written that, once again, I find myself stranger to words. Last time I wrote, I was angry with God. In a four line poem, I denounced Him, challenged Him, questioned Him and at the same time, begged Him to be kind.
He listened, kindly. Even though he had better things to do than to pay attention to the mindless ranting of a nameless, faceless woman, who probably has no better role in the scheme of things than a mote of dust has in a sandstorm. The mote plays its part in the destruction of the old landscape and re-creation of the dunes, but by itself, it has no identity. Perhaps, it shouldn't have any. For if every spec of dust had a mind of its own, the sandstorm as a whole would have no meaning.
But a mind of my own I have. Although, I don't understand he scheme of things. Yet, I find myself being dragged in the whirlwind of this life, thrown this way and that, all the while demanding to understand, demanding to change the direction in which I would be hurled next time.
Funny thing is, occasionally, God listens and I find myself thrown in the direction I asked to go. But once I get there, I never know what to do. Then I am as lost as I was before. The worst thing, perhaps, is that either I have to grapple with the fear of losing the place where I have arrived or that place is not what I had imagined it to be. I try to control my destiny, but only to find that destiny controls me. And she is a veteran at the game.
Does every blade of grass, every leaf on the tree, every spec of dust have a destiny of its own? And how do they deal with something as "bad" as annihilation of their being? If one leaf falls earlier than the others, if one blade is trampled upon, if one spec is smothered, do they just accept it as it is or do they complain in their own language to the God who created them? Isn't it the nature of the universe to accept what is, as is? Then why should we human beings be any different? Why do we challenge, question and judge everything, all the time?
I wonder if, with all our talks of freedom, human beings are the most fettered creatures of all. We are, and since time memorial have been, in the clutches of our own desires and fears.
So what is it that would set us free? Acceptance or judgment? Surrender or fight? An ability to die when asked to die or an ability to struggle to live?
Many questions these are. But then, am I really free to question?