Irreparable Ruins

A disaster is now taking place. Although the reasons why it is taking place are not related to any crime committed by humanity, although it might seem as a natural one, the worldly test we are going through in the aftermath of that disaster has made it possible for us to face some unexpected facts.

In fact, earthquakes are events that are as natural as the wind or the rain. However, what is left behind is not natural at all. A common emotional state is shared by those who have been there during that terrible event, and who have actually survived. And this emotional state leads to different reactions depending on how badly it hurt. 

        
Earthquake is a living thing. It may even be viewed as a creature. He is fast asleep under the depths of the earth, and if he ever decides to come onto the surface, he does that rather cruelly. He has neither mercy nor sensibility. He only destroys, oppresses, leaves you helpless, leaves you desperate, makes you await in darkness and thirst with little hope. And once you see the sunshine once more hours or maybe days later, he lets you face resurrection. 

       
The Earthquake does not permit those who are left behind to mourn for the lost ones right after. An injured man is not allowed to mourn for his lost wife, while waiting for his children to be saved from under the ruins. Either death or the breath: the man desires to find one. And once he finds it, he is either tied to his own life with tighter bonds, or is completely ruined.

As he tries hard to lift the bricks and stones with his fingers covered with blood, he has this one prayer echoing inside, repeatedly, even unconsciously: 'God, please bless my loved ones. Bless my loved ones, give them back to me. Give them back to me.”  Yes. A blessing.

What kind of crime has a man committed, to ask for a blessing at that very moment? Although the earthquake has never been a punishment given for a crime, it usually gives the survivors a bizarre feeling of guilt.

How dramatic are those first hours right after the disaster. As the hours go by, the tension rises more and more, making it unbearable to wait. As the hours pass, there comes a moment when the tension seems to lessen with a hand, a breath, rising from beneath the ruins. 

You are asleep. He is coming. First, you feel his breath, his inhaling and exhaling sound with cruelty and violence.  He is hungry, and he is coming. If he really is, there is no turning back. He would not give up. He comes to you like a nightmare in the middle of your sleep. You try to find consolation in waking up and finding that it has all ended, but your bed has begun to tremble.

Once your child in the next room cries out loud, asking for help, you realize this is not a nightmare. And that is the moment when your conscience fades out with extreme fear and panic.  

The building both trembles and bounces, with each coup coming from below. The earthquake seems to be talking to you in each and every hit; ''Haven’t you torn down yet? Haven’t you? Haven’t you? Fall apart! Tear down! Divide!”

Despair turns into surrender, and you end up expecting to confront your sound of destiny. In the meantime, you hear the sound of the buildings tearing and people screaming.

This long period of waiting, although lasting only a few seconds, will end up with the answer whether your life will be blessed or you will die like everybody else. Until that very moment, there is still hope; but once the collapse begins, the nightmare turns into doomsday.

This is the day, you begin to think. Anxieties appear on your mind, and sure of your own death, you fear what will come next. That anxiety shifts to one for your children, one for your wife, one for your parents in tiniest seconds. It even ends up in your thinking whether you will come across the formerly deceased once you die.

And once a person finds oneself stuck among concrete ruins, and once he/she begins to hear panic screams asking for help, this is the moment one realizes this is not the doomsday. This is a complete tragedy. Without the knowledge whether his/her family’s safe, one cannot find any relief, seeing that this is not the end of the world. He/she is about to say, “I wish it were the doomsday.” That is because right after the doomsday, there would be no pain, and no injuries at all. There would be no life. Now, however, the life that has been “blessed”, will live on with all the ruins that are irreparable. 

IF YOU ARE ANGRY INSIDE

For one reason or another, in the aftermath of my angry moments, my body gets tired as much as my soul does. Getting tired or wearing itself out: name it as you like it. We need to wear ourselves out, let ourselves grow old, so that new ones come along.

How high is the number of living creatures in the form of humans, disguised as humans, who are eager to be in this spotlight. They are unaware of the fact that being on stage makes you lose your human virtues and turns you into a monkey existing solely to amuse humans. Still, all the creatures who have been unable to analyze their essential nature, are sacrificed under that very spotlight.

Anger does not derive from our nature or existence, but from our eagerness to exist. What leads to anger is the deficiencies that result from the desire to realize oneself, being not happy with one’s present existence. It is a feeling produced by those who have not yet reached themselves, or who felt scared when faced with the self they have reached. If you have anger inside, you have your reasons to let yourself go. But you should know that you cannot be the one who will let yourself go, not in this life, or in any life to come.

Through the layers of the soul, the path of discovery has no end. When your sins, which you have formerly considered to be saplings, appear on your path in the form of huge plane trees, you will see that not even a small ant may find space on their shade.

How painful it is, to face the smallness of the enormous.  Cruelty does not only address the others. In fact, we are the ones who become the greatest victims of our own cruelty. Could we have lied to a single other person in the universe, as much as we have lied to our own selves? 

Writing means vomiting

In fact, I am not one of those who make great effort to sit down and write. The only thing is, maybe my perfectionism is what keeps me away from writing continuously. When the muses are finally here, they inspire a total of three or four statements to make.

Honestly speaking, I am one of those who regard writing as some sort of vomiting. One may need to vomit if and only if he/she has overeaten or in the case of actual physical sickness. If viewed as a form of spiritual vomiting, for one person to indulge in the act of writing in the actual sense of the term, that person needs to have had a higher level of experience than it is necessary or ordinary, or that very person needs to have some kind of emotional schizophrenia .

You must be leading the lives you are not actually leading, in order to let your pen pour them down on the paper.  You must be able to be in everyone’s shoes, take hold of everyone’s spirit, with a really fast pace, even crosswise.

Writing is the time of your life when you have the chance to come face to face with and talk to the other personalities inside you. These are the only real moments when you get rid of your masks.