We’re shattered stars in a splintered universe, and no this isn’t the best of all possible worlds. At a macro level we see genocide, crime, war and poverty, and at a micro level, jealousy, bitterness, anger and malice. Clotho weaves an individual and a collective web, and nobody escapes. The stars dance to the cadence of the abominable, the grey and the upright, and they’re indifferent, just like the sun, moon, nature or the rain. I’m only personifying things or abstractions. I’m giving them a personality and a color, but the truth is that they exist just like us, and they’re inanimate unlike we who’re animate, impulsive and rational. You cannot expect anything from fate or nature. You cannot even make them muses. You can describe them, coat them with a plethora of effervescence or melancholia, but you can never imbibe them. They’re either abstract or just there. Hell, you can’t even make life your muse, because despite the joy and hardship, the radiance and emptiness, it’s just life in the end. And you dare not make yourself a muse, because pride indeed goes before a fall, and most adages are stronger than proven mathematical equations. In the end, you can make another a muse, but most of the time, we end up venerating or worshiping that person: Seeing them in a bipolar sense. When they’re kind to us, we adore them, and when they aren’t we despise them. And that’s not love. It’ll never be love. It’s a masquerader called idolatry dressed like love. Love isn’t about empathy, lust or sympathy. Love is endurance, accepting and forgiving, sharing in both trial and happiness, and wishing that person well, and moving on if things don’t work out. In the end we cannot expect something celestial from a human being with limited knowledge, limited understanding, limited reason, and a limited lifespan: prone to make mistakes and never perfect. But you can expect a love that’s infinite and absolute from God, but how many people experience that? How many people lose it? How many go their entire lives never knowing it exists? My nihilism is not literal. It’s more of a Solomon’s, “I’ve seen enough,” nihilism. And the paradox in all this, is that despite my unbelief, I believe, despite not knowing whether I’m redeemed or will die unredeemed, I believe, and my statements like Dieu est mort are more of a where is God? Or a why is God silent? And even though I’m indifferent to God, I believe. And yes, I actually exist, and I’m growing comfortable in that state. Some think that I have a dual personality. That a part of me believes in evolution and another in creation; that I’m both atheistic and Christian, and so I’ll tell you. I’m not a Christian, but when I last had faith or at least a semblance of it, I believed in old earth creationism, and not in the twenty thousand years wrong assumption that many Christians have. I did not believe in the rapture, and I believed in a symbolic interpretation of the book of revelation without a thousand-year literal rule of Christ. I also believed in one judgment for both saint and sinner. Now, I’m not a good person, but I try because there isn’t any other way. I often have to force myself to love, but sometimes I feel it in me, and it’s more than just emotion. It’s deeper and beautiful. Fate has tried me with fire, and I’ll never be the finished article, I’ll never hit perfection, but I’ll gradually evolve, allowing the fire to shape my substance into something stronger. I’ll wrestle with my demons and fight. And I’ll take responsibility for who I am and who I become, and live each day like it’s my last, or try my best to.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)