Ernest
Hemingway, Nobel laureate in literature, loved life passionately. He loved adventure and relished the big game safaris
in Africa as much as sailing through the dangers in the ocean or even punching
the opponent in amateur boxing. More so, he trusted people just to know if they
were trustworthy. Many of the adventures
he embraced had the potential to kill him.
He survived two plane crashes during his last safari in Africa and read
with considerable amusement the obituaries that appeared in the morning’s
newspapers which had presumed his death.
The Yogi, on
the other hand, has no passions by profession.
He is supposed to be dispassionate.
He has conquered emotions and passions.
Rig Veda says that the whole spectrum of human passions ranging from
enthusiasm and creativity to depression and agony, from the heights of
spiritual bliss to the heaviness of earth-bound labour, belongs to the rank and
file. The Yogi has transcended these
contrary forces.
Between the
extreme passion of Hemingway and the equally extreme dispassion of the Yogi,
there exist an infinite variety of possibilities which we the ordinary mortals
embrace. A bit of adventure here and a
bit of spirituality there is good enough for us. We can extend the bits occasionally to
protracted entertainments too, maybe in the mountains or in the temples. We can be both passionate and dispassionate,
as demanded by the occasion. We can be
secular and religious at the same time.
That’s why we are normal human beings.
Albert Einstein wondered many times, looking at people like us, whether
he was crazy or the other people (that is, we) were.
Hemingway was
crazy anyway and his passions took his life in the end. The Yogi may live a hundred years though I
will never understand for what. What’s
the use of living like a vegetable even if you can exist for a hundred
years? I’d rather have much shorter life
filled with joys and passions. That’s my
personal view: one of the infinite varieties of possibilities that lie between
Hemingway and the Yogi. But I love those
Yogis who go around entertaining the world with passionately undulating bellies
and selling us everything from fairness creams to Ayurvedic Soanpapdi. They entertain us with a difference.
Hihihi, last line amused me.. Interesting post.
ReplyDeleteThough the Yogi is supposed to be dispassionate, today's yogis are just the opposite: very passionate, even more so than us ordinary mortals :)
DeleteHemingway was not crazy. I'm quite a big fan of his writing, if not of his lifestyle - his extreme sexism towards women and his desire to hunt. Can't say I agree with yogis either - bleached of feeling. What I'm curious about is your desire to juxtapose the two.
ReplyDeleteHemingway's insanity led him to commit suicide. I mentioned Einstein's view on sanity precisely to imply that sanity is a relative thing: by conventional standards Hemingway was not normal.
DeleteIt is the Rig Veda and other such scriptures that bleach the yogi, not me. It's not my personal view. My personal view is that our yogis are worse than us when it comes to greed, jealousy, craftiness, political chicanery, sensuality, deception... an endless list.
I didn't juxtapose the two: I contrasted them, put them at the two ends of the passion-dispassion continuum.
I am practicing meditation offlate and also reading some books on spirituality and power of subconscious mind. You may have a look at Lost and found in Ranthambore, available in Amazon kindle version, you may like it
ReplyDeleteThanks for the suggestion.
DeleteWhat’s the use of living like a vegetable even if you can exist for a hundred years?
ReplyDeleteThis has raised a million questions within me.. Great article
Thanks Allwyn.
Delete