Love in the Time of Bird Flu

There is a positive co-relation between the world around me marching off on it's way to Hell, and me simply experiencing a tremendous sense of love and clam at that very mad instance.

Let me begin with a more impersonal anecdote: Just a week before the biggest likely disaster to happen, i.e. the Pakistani Elections, I burst into frustrated tears at what I felt then was a positive moment of impending doom. I seriously thought Pakistan was dead.

Come next morning, though, and I was ready to be happily dead or alive - but cast my vote! Devil of Distraction be damned! I am going to love this bl**dy country of mine and do what I can!

Pakistan can decide to go to hell, but I am in love with the risk of being alive, with the risk of participating in my own microscopic way in the task of building this back.

There ought to be a reason my spirit animal is the planner/ constructor Beaver. That, though, is another story better told in some place life Africa, where ears are trained to animal mystery.

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Here, again, after what seemed to be the whole Universe visibly conspiring for me, is another time of mad chaos.

What's been going on in the past 3 weeks is an astounding (apparent) reversal of fate... My poking the Universe's order is like an attempt to slap one's image in the mirror: futile, bizarre, and with some truly imaginative lessons in the aftermath.

When, with difficulty, I have finally managed to step back a moment ago and watch-watch all this, I am amazed.

After a full two weeks of insanity, here is the conclusion I reach - behold!:

"Everything Happens For a Reason."

I am like a palace under construction that is opening its eyes, becoming gradually conscious... and is astounded and awed at once to observe at what's going on: The massive work at hand, the design, the beauty, the gestalt of the whole process of construction overwhelms my awakening consciousness. Here I see a beautiful window, and I am captured by the beauty of what I am looking like and at. There I see a loose pile of bricks, and am horrified at what seems to be a disorderly incompletion.

My being swerves between a love and fear of myself - and by extension, for the Architect. I have moments of absolute certainty about my beauty, and instances of utter doubts of the project.

The benevolence of the Universe that was so clearly visible to me had suddenly hidden, leaving my heart with an inexplicable feeling of contraction. I was wondering what happened? What wrong have I done - for, thanks to my culture, I indulge in the self blame-game more often than I'd like?

Then occurred to me a new analogy, a word: Nebulous.

Come, sit, I will tell you its story.

It came by when I was explaining to someone their state, and it just became crystal clear to me that my own state is no different. I am nebulous. A vast cloud where elements spin, collide, and stars form or fail to be. Such is the ongoing madness inside. Sometimes the things are creating, and sometimes they are destroying - but most often they are completely random.

It is all a Design, and nothing is at fault except our perception unable to hold the Entirety.

I don't think the Benevolence, the Universe's Grand Conspiracy which I so clearly saw until about three weeks ago has gone away. I think I was actually being indulged at that time, being allowed to see the Blue Print of my own creation. Being allowed to read The Code. It's there, only I see no more.

It's not a misery that I see no longer the Beauty. It is a privilege that I saw the plan before I was put in the midst of this chaotic construction, and as ever, my task is to remember the origin. Look at this word again!

Re-member:
Re: Again
Member: Part
Remember: Join the parts again.

Become Whole again.
Return to the Original One!

I don't have a clue as to what grand palace I will form into... what stars will form within the nebula that I am; what futile experiences with design will the Designer carry out just for the fun of testing things out. What do I know? May be I am created just to be smashed to bits? Oh, wait, actually The Event eventually will happen.

I only know that I am condemned to love.

Come heaven - which I have no wish to enter - or come hell - which I have no wish to avoid - I love being created! I love being the work of the Creator! I love being put through the uncertainty of my essential being! I love - I love - and yes, despite this cruel architecture, this complex chemical reaction - I love the act of Being.

I am so madly uncertain, and afraid. But continue to love I do in the most uncertain of times. Fearing the process is foolish of me, eh, because didn't I just say I *have* seen the Architect's Design?

The point of love is: to aid us into the vast Unknown! The point of that is The Point.

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