2160th BLOG POST
I
was reading a book where melancholy was given a positive perspective. It spoke
about how, in the modern world, people suppress the feeling of melancholy
through medication, terming it an illness. There are moments in life when you
don’t understand what’s happening with your mind, and the automatic way of
handling it brings out tears for no particular reason. People around you get
confused about why you are acting depressed and throw every kind of
motivational talk at you. How do you ever explain to them that there is nothing
making us sad, but that it is a phase where the mind seems unable to calculate
what it is being overpowered by — null moments of happiness and a trace of
sorrow, or a complete silence of emotions, which makes it difficult for the mind
to comprehend what exactly scares it enough to respond with tears?
Maybe
these are those moments when we are not controlling our mind, but the mind
itself is controlling our senses. Hence, it processes emotions in a particular
manner that makes it even more difficult for us to understand the whole
phenomenon. These melancholic moments appear rarely, and often when we least
expect them. It can happen on a fine evening when your day has been wonderful,
perhaps while driving back after one of the most happening parties where you
have danced your heart out. Perhaps the mind balances its emotions; rather than
allowing itself to be overwhelmed by happiness and joy, it makes you shed a few
tears so that you realize there is more at work within you than you consciously
understand. Your mind may be trying to tell you that, ultimately, it is the
boss and not you.
I
remember going to the very first satsang organized by the Isha Yoga Foundation
after completing my Inner Engineering program with them. Through a guided
meditation by Sadhguru, all of us were practicing a new meditative process with
our eyes closed, following all kinds of visualizations the voice on the audio
asked us to imagine. After a few minutes, I found many people crying with loud
outbursts, which scared me for a moment. But, as instructed by the hosts before
beginning — not to open our eyes and to concentrate on our own practice — I
continued with my meditation.
After
we opened our eyes, I found all of them wiping their tears and smiling. That
smile which emerges from nothingness — where it feels as if you were given a
blank canvas and could paint anything on it: a Full Moon radiating brightness
or a New Moon painting the entire canvas black, revealing the deepest darkness
imaginable. It was evident that people had found their minds blank after
shedding tears and releasing excess pain. They had a choice to begin afresh,
and they did — with a smile so powerful and soothing that even a spectator like
me could feel its energy, though I hadn’t experienced the same thing myself.
Sometimes,
we should respect the inevitable and accept it as life — or as a part of it. We
shouldn’t judge every aspect of our actions, reactions, responses, and
emotions. Some things happen because we are part of this vast universe and are
deeply connected to it. We can’t disassociate ourselves from nature. You must
have heard about the Butterfly Effect, and perhaps we have become the effect of
nature’s cause somewhere in this world. We should feel acknowledged by this
planet and the universe for allowing us, among billions of lives, to experience
melancholy rather than feeling bad, sad, or depressive about it. Let life be
the way it is, without constantly trying to change it.
Thanks!
WRITING BUDDHA


