It is midnight, yet I can’t sleep well. The silence and the darkness of the night are setting the stage for my greatest fear. It is neither a ghost nor a demon. It is not an outsider but an insider. No door, no wall can stop it from torturing me every day and night. Every conscious being shares my fear and many of them couldn’t survive. Our only hope to overcome this fear is “creation”. Creation is possible in countless ways but many of us choose the easy path. The path of creating a new family and transcend the meaning of the present life genetically to the future through their children. Plants, insects, animals and humans tend to move towards this aspect of creation. However, I belong to the elite class of creators.
The elite class of creators carry the massive burden of a priceless aspiration in their hearts. An aspiration that inspires its members to create something immortal; something that never loses its glory or its relevance by the passage of time. The undying aspiration that glows like an eternal flame, which illuminates our dark lives, is unaffected by the opposition of family and society. We, the elite class of creators, know our children and material possessions can never become the embodiment of our aspiration. So we discover arts, music, dance, literature as our mediums of creating what we always wished for. A man who renounces worldly distractions and pleasures and immures himself to a room to write a novel/ compose a musical masterpiece belongs to this elite class. Leonardo da Vinci didn’t quit painting Monalisa when it took many years to complete. Charlie Chaplin didn’t stop his act despite getting injured. Beethoven didn’t stop creating symphonies despite being deaf. Anne Frank didn’t always waste her time to lament and instead used her pen and personal diary to inspire future generations. All of them endured dreadful pain because they could foresee the magnificence of their creation. They could hear their inner voice.
I haven’t reached the level where I am able to create something that spans across a distant future. I am not pursuing a golden grave filled with a myriad of money, but a sanctum inside the hearts of future generations. Time has been generous to me but one day it will change its mind. I can’t take it for granted and must repay my gratitude to time for allowing me all these years. I must prove myself as a worthy member of the elite class. I must transform myself before I become a scrummy meal for the worms. I hope the time won’t change its mind tonight.
(closing my eyes while thinking of Dylan Thomas’s poem)
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light
(Hopefully waiting for the sun to herald some good news…)