FIVE MORNINGS

By Wendo wa Manyondo

What compels the human mind to wake up to different mornings, pondering about life differently. Honestly, it’s a mystery I can’t fathom.

Take, for instance, this morning. I am somewhat lethargic. Sluggish. And I haven’t any expectations nor plans today. Such a transient and nitty state of mind imbues in me a wholesome perception about life. It sucks away all the colour from the painting, leaving an anemic view of life. Today, I can only meditate on the bluntness of living. Think about all the unexciting things we have been consigned into as humanity, willingly or unwillingly.

The second morning is even more bromidic. And now you’ll stretch the band further. You’re already thinking on the fringes of suicide or drugs. Your mind is imperviously blocked from accessing any spiceful fascination. You certainly love books, sex, wine, friends, vacations, adrenaline-spike…But they will never resonate with you in these frigid mornings. You would never be capable of reading two lines of a poem without scowling at its nonexistent blandness. Or sip some vintage wine without pointing out how overrated it is. The mind is looped within the ‘life is insipid – certainly useless’ conundrum.

The third morning perpetuates the cycle. The mind has already been trained into questioning the prismatic nature of existence. Life has been coagulated into one particle. An amorphous and repugnant mass of coal. The mind seeks new ways to push you further from the brink. It renews frozen sorrow, the despicable past, a burdensome present, and unearths the fears that loom in your future. It is so damning! Everything is crumbling. You cannot cease to wonder how impeccable a human being you have been. For sustaining this unbearable weight all these years. But now, everything seems to be a signpost to Vanity fair. A bitter scoffing; that despite surviving all these, don’t you think the end is pretty much the same? What is the difference between someone who dies today, and someone who dies tomorrow. And someone who dies beyond their century. Nothing. You’re now convinced it is hopeless. And you become numb, if not fascinated with death. And all the peace it luresomely offers.

The fourth morning; you want to die. But there is a problem. Death, despite being a sojourn for repose, is abstractly mysterious. You are not religious. You would love to imagine death is a mere shutdown of the human body. And not a curtain to usher you into another form of consciousness. But you can never be too sure. You certainly disagree with believers about their staunch doctrines on the afterlife. Some are too preposterous. Too surreal. And sometimes too achromatic. But these beliefs reinforce a conviction that strikes you. That you can never be too sure about something you only get to taste once. No one says, “Let me gaze into death’s chest once, discover all the arcane it holds, and run back to life as if nothing happened!” Death hacks you with surety. Once you step into her abode, the lock snaps and you’re never coming back. So, what if there is a parallel lifetime awaiting us? What if we are bound to reincarnated into this cycle of distress we are cursed with? Wouldn’t be any attempt to dissever ourselves from life, be ultimately hopeless? What if Leibniz was right. That this world, despite the bleak state it is in, is the best of all possible worlds we could exist in?

On the fifth morning, you still want to die. But now there is a lingering imagination that life could not be easily terminable as you think. Supposing you died and found yourself conscious in another world, or maybe this same world in another form, how would you live? What if that world is similarly unbearable, if not expressly worse. Will you opt for a second termination? Would it liberate you anyway? These are the questions that dart around your mind. And now the cycle gets broken. That loop that imprisoned your mind into a unilateral gaze, fades away slowly. Maybe life is hopelessly difficult, but maybe the panacea to its ephemeral redemption lies in life too. And you begin to think about all the good things life can offer. Books. Gaad! You love books. Those woven words send spindles into your soul and etch themselves wonderfully there. Music. It seems so unreal. Food. Nature. Sex! Oh, how fulfilling.

You’ll rise up now. Open the curtains. There is no sunrise. It’s frosty outside. And cloudy too. It wants to rain. The weather itself threatens your new resolve. Your desire to see beauty and vivacious life. But you’ll still smile and say, “The sun is so beautiful. But the rain, I would also want to see the raindrops, the puddles, and hear the sound of its pattering.”

#morningmusings #life