What would it be like to be a dead man? : Death is one of the things that captured my imagination a lot since my high school. I was always fascinated by death. When we are alive, we associate ourselves with our brain/body. But when we die, we no longer are thinking anything. There is nothing. I always wondered at this scenario: I died and the world goes on.... I am not there...There is no more me....It gives me goosebumps, if it is the right word I need to use. It also shows how trivial our life is in this vast universe.
soul : I think even our ancients also saw this inevitable thing called death and they cannot believe it. They were so much attached to worldly feelings and importantly they loved themselves so much that they created this concept of soul or existence of life after death to convince themselves that all we do in our life span has some effect in this universe. If really there is a soul in every living thing, how do you explain the increasing population of all living things(not necessarily human)?
Doubt : People say our brain works(neurons keep firing signals) for 20 minutes even after one dies. What do they mean by this? Doesn't dying imply brain stopped working? Maybe, they mean that our heart stopped beating. But I guess we can give electric shock and make the heart beat again even it stopped for a few seconds,right? You do not say the person is dead those seconds and then came back to life. Then shouldn't we declare the person dead only after the neurons stopped firing?
July 7, 2009
Two beautiful stories
Here are two stories which I recently came across and which made me think a lot...The first one is about accepting the possibility of defeat.I think this is very important in every aspect of life.If we are not prepared for loss, it can take a heavy toll on us. The second story is quite philosophical and effective in its presentation.I liked it a lot...Hope you enjoy the two....
My castle:
Hot sun. Salty air. Rhythmic waves. A little boy is on his knees scooping and packing the sand with plastic shovels into a bright blue bucket. Then he upends the bucket on the surface and lifts it. And, to the delight of the little architect, a castle tower is created. All afternoon he will work. Spooning out the moat. Packing the walls. Bottle tops will be sentries. Popsicle sticks will be bridges. A sandcastle will be built. Big city. Busy streets. Rumbling traffic. A man is in his office. At his desk he shuffles papers into stacks and delegates assignments. He cradles the phone on his shoulder and punches the keyboard with his fingers. Numbers are juggled and contracts are signed and much to the delight of the man, a profit is made. All his life he will work. Formulating the plans. Forecasting the future. Annuities will be sentries. Capital gains will be bridges. An empire will be built. Two builders of two castles. They have much in common. They shape granules into grandeurs. They see nothing and make something. They are diligent and determined. And for both the tide will rise and the end will come. Yet that is where the similarities cease. For the boy sees the end while the man ignores it. Watch the boy as the dusk approaches. As the waves near, the wise child jumps to his feet and begins to clap. There is no sorrow. No fear. No regret. He knew this would happen. He is not surprised. And when the great breaker crashes into his castle and his masterpiece is sucked into the sea, he smiles. He smiles, picks up his tools, takes his father's hand, and goes home. The grownup, however, is not so wise. As the wave of years collapses on his castle he is terrified. He hovers over the sandy monument to protect it. He blocks the waves from the walls he has made. Salt-water soaked and shivering he snarls at the incoming tide. "It's my castle," he defies. The ocean need not respond. Both know to whom the sand belongs... I don't know much about sandcastles. But children do. Watch them and learn. Go ahead and build, but build with a child's heart. When the sun sets and the tides take - applaud. Salute the process of life and go home.
I particularly liked the lines- "It's my castle," he defies. The ocean need not respond. Both know to whom the sand belongs...
Life of an ant:
One morning I wasted nearly an hour watching a tiny ant carry a huge
feather cross my back terrace. Several times it was confronted by
obstacles in its path and after a momentary pause it would make the
necessary detour.
At one point the ant had to negotiate a crack in the concrete about 10mm wide. After brief contemplation the ant laid the feather over the
crack, walked across it and picked up the feather on the other side
then continued on its way. I was fascinated by the ingenuity of this
ant, one of God's smallest creatures. It served to reinforce the
miracle of creation. Here was a minute insect, lacking in size yet
equipped with a brain to reason, explore, discover and overcome. But
this ant, like the two-legged co-residents of this planet, also share
human failings.
After some time the ant finally reached its destination - a flower bed
at the end of the terrace and a small hole that was the entrance to
its underground home. And it was here that the ant finally met its
match. How could that large feather possibly fit down small hole
Of course it couldn't. so the ant, after all this trouble and
exercising great ingenuity, overcoming problems all along the way,
just abandoned the feather and went home.
The ant had not thought the problem through before it began its epic
journey and in the end the feather was nothing more than a burden.
Isn't life like that!
We worry about our family, we worry about money or the lack of it, we
worry about work, about where we live, about all sorts of things.
These are all burdens - the things we pick up along life's path and
lug them around the obstacles and over the crevasses that life will
bring, only to find that at the destination they are useless and we
can't take them with us...
My castle:
Hot sun. Salty air. Rhythmic waves. A little boy is on his knees scooping and packing the sand with plastic shovels into a bright blue bucket. Then he upends the bucket on the surface and lifts it. And, to the delight of the little architect, a castle tower is created. All afternoon he will work. Spooning out the moat. Packing the walls. Bottle tops will be sentries. Popsicle sticks will be bridges. A sandcastle will be built. Big city. Busy streets. Rumbling traffic. A man is in his office. At his desk he shuffles papers into stacks and delegates assignments. He cradles the phone on his shoulder and punches the keyboard with his fingers. Numbers are juggled and contracts are signed and much to the delight of the man, a profit is made. All his life he will work. Formulating the plans. Forecasting the future. Annuities will be sentries. Capital gains will be bridges. An empire will be built. Two builders of two castles. They have much in common. They shape granules into grandeurs. They see nothing and make something. They are diligent and determined. And for both the tide will rise and the end will come. Yet that is where the similarities cease. For the boy sees the end while the man ignores it. Watch the boy as the dusk approaches. As the waves near, the wise child jumps to his feet and begins to clap. There is no sorrow. No fear. No regret. He knew this would happen. He is not surprised. And when the great breaker crashes into his castle and his masterpiece is sucked into the sea, he smiles. He smiles, picks up his tools, takes his father's hand, and goes home. The grownup, however, is not so wise. As the wave of years collapses on his castle he is terrified. He hovers over the sandy monument to protect it. He blocks the waves from the walls he has made. Salt-water soaked and shivering he snarls at the incoming tide. "It's my castle," he defies. The ocean need not respond. Both know to whom the sand belongs... I don't know much about sandcastles. But children do. Watch them and learn. Go ahead and build, but build with a child's heart. When the sun sets and the tides take - applaud. Salute the process of life and go home.
I particularly liked the lines- "It's my castle," he defies. The ocean need not respond. Both know to whom the sand belongs...
Life of an ant:
One morning I wasted nearly an hour watching a tiny ant carry a huge
feather cross my back terrace. Several times it was confronted by
obstacles in its path and after a momentary pause it would make the
necessary detour.
At one point the ant had to negotiate a crack in the concrete about 10mm wide. After brief contemplation the ant laid the feather over the
crack, walked across it and picked up the feather on the other side
then continued on its way. I was fascinated by the ingenuity of this
ant, one of God's smallest creatures. It served to reinforce the
miracle of creation. Here was a minute insect, lacking in size yet
equipped with a brain to reason, explore, discover and overcome. But
this ant, like the two-legged co-residents of this planet, also share
human failings.
After some time the ant finally reached its destination - a flower bed
at the end of the terrace and a small hole that was the entrance to
its underground home. And it was here that the ant finally met its
match. How could that large feather possibly fit down small hole
Of course it couldn't. so the ant, after all this trouble and
exercising great ingenuity, overcoming problems all along the way,
just abandoned the feather and went home.
The ant had not thought the problem through before it began its epic
journey and in the end the feather was nothing more than a burden.
Isn't life like that!
We worry about our family, we worry about money or the lack of it, we
worry about work, about where we live, about all sorts of things.
These are all burdens - the things we pick up along life's path and
lug them around the obstacles and over the crevasses that life will
bring, only to find that at the destination they are useless and we
can't take them with us...
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