Lady Macbeth syndrome in continuum

Lady Macbeth washed her hands and rubbed so hard to get rid of her guilt. This washing of hands to get rid of guilt was christened 'Lady Macbeth Syndrome' by clever psychologists. Now this syndrome, I figured could be applied to many other facets in life. Take cutlery and china for example. When I feel quite angry about something, I would like to break cutlery to rid my anger. I picture the object of anger in the innocent cutlery and have this urge to break them into smithereens. But alas! I cannot do that.

But washing of hands is the act that is done more often to rid of something within us. I have seen friends who have done something they should not, take a bath two or three times. A symbolic cleansing of the within through the outside.

Playing football and handling the ball to rid of some pent-up emotion is not new to us. Imagining the ball to be the impossible opponent, one hits the ball so hard that if the ball had a voice, it would have used the foulest expletives.

Now how much relief or succour does this kind of behaviour give us? It helps us vent for some time but does not guarantee the complete wiping of the guilt, anger or thoughts of failure. But in those small actions of ridding ourselves of a particular emotion, we demonstrate that we would indeed like to get rid of something that lies within us but is not good for our well-being. Just that thought will enable us to take further steps in finding a way out. Maybe Lady Macbeth's guilt was so much that she found her own doom. I wish she had waited for the guilt to melt away.

This post is another ramble. I would love to know your thoughts on this expression of the inner mind on external objects.

Layers and folds

Analysing
Scrutinising
Reading between lines

The common things that most women do so well. Certain traits are acquired, certain cultivated but there are those eternal ones which one is born with. Let us take the emotion of feeling pain. Even when I utter the word 'pain,' I can think of atleast three references to what caused me pain. Effortlessly it flows. No initiation. No forcing. It just flows. And how . . .

I remember whenever I am so pained that I start crying, I cry not only for the present pain but for all the pains that have passed by me. And that happens in chronological order. That's magic. How can one be coherent in pain? Well, it happens.

After the order, comes the detail. I think no one else can be a sucker for details as me. Gradually the scene unfolds (of the past pains). The dialogues. The exact words. The pain that was there then. The days of wallowing in self-pity. The end which strengthened and made me spur on.

The place and the time: Well, I tend to take it a bit further and think of the songs that reminded me of that pain.

This does not happen when I am happy. Happiness captures only the present moment. No flashbacks. No details. Probably that is why happiness is lovely to be in as it completely wraps up your senses to the present. And that's why I like to be happy happy. Sometimes one forgets that and raises tragedy to greater heights calling it the high point of emotion. Nah.

Let me leave you with a poem by Hopkins. It talks of pain.

'No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief.'

~ by Gerard Manley Hopkins

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,

More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.

Comforter, where, where is your comforting?

Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?

My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief

Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old anvil wince and sing —

Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling-

ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief."'

    O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall

Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap

May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small

Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,

Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all

Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

Poem courtesy: Internet

When someone else’s fear becomes yours

“Don’t get into the train from there; it will not stop for long.” “Don’t wash your hair after seven in the evening; you might contract a cold which will never leave you.” Well, well, well, how many times we internalise someone else’s fear and allow it to play on our waking hours. It’s strange to think that the thoughts that have not even remotely crossed our minds suddenly become prominent and affect our thinking patterns.

Fear has the remarkable ability to control our decisions and hold sway over us. Allowing fear to overpower our thoughts often give rise to a string of fears which attach themselves to the main fear. For example, taking the train instance from the first line, the fear of losing the train followed by the fear of losing money and then not getting to the stipulated place at the right time and etc, etc.

Observing this pattern of fear getting a grip on our psyche is a slightly difficult thing to do when we are wallowing in that emotion. At that particular instance, stepping away from the situation puts things in perspective. But somehow one cannot philosophise while undergoing the twin tensions of fear and its various effects.

I try to remain calm and try to have an objective perspective to the pressure of fear BUT my purpose gets defeated when an external force like x, y or z kindle the fire of fear and leave me all fuelled up.

I realise my inadequacies as a human and allow fear to take over me and challenge my ‘trying-to-be-calm’ attitude. The fear that was previously unknown to me slowly becomes MINE own. I don’t leave it at that. I pass on this fear to various scapegoats that cross my path. The fear is passed on . . .

As I write this post, I wonder how many innocent relatives/friends who were oblivious of any fear have contracted it from me. The fear continues . . .

I think it’s high time I stop giving in to someone else’s fear and internalising it.

Wondering about the nuances and intricacies of the mind . . .

Today while having a telephonic conversation with a friend made me wonder and ponder on various aspects of the mind. Well, the friend told me about a bizarre practice in Jharkand. In one of the villages, as a sacrifice, a man is tied to a cross and how - his body is held by a hook and hung on a cross. The incident sounds quite bizarre in this given day and age but to imagine that these kinds of self mutilation as a sacrifice still takes place and people doing it are many in the tribal belts of India and other parts of the world. Well, the reason for this blog is not to discuss about the sacrifice itself but the thoughts going on in the mind of the person who is subject to these rituals and practices. What would have been going on in his mind while the hook was pinned to his back. Would the pain have numbed the thoughts to the act or would he be happy to give himself as a sacrifice with the ardent hope of a better future for him as well as the community.

Parallel to this, I would also like to think of a similar incident two and a half thousand years ago. Well, what would have Jesus thought while he was being crucified. That he was guiltless and without any blemish would have crossed his mind but then he also had the responsibility of carrying the sins of the world, as the Bible tells us. But he was a man and as a man, he would have had thoughts of agony, pain and sorrow. What would have been the thoughts and emotions of the two thieves who were crucified by his side. The Bible tells us that the three had a sort of a conversation and that one thief was also convinced of his guilty life and accepted Jesus.

Pain, sorrow and agony have always been part of the human race but to alleviate that there is hope, love and joy. That is the key to our marching forward.

Treading on to December and the last month of 2008

Sitting few hours away from the next month, I wonder at the passing November. I must say that the month did not take very kindly to me. Or is it the other way round? Did I not take November in the right spirit . . . Well, I can ruminate and introspect. Reading the Big B's blog was truly connecting to him in several spheres. He may be the ruling man in Bollywood but his blog connects one to the man - the real man who is great, vulnerable, sad, angry, tired, sleepy, grumpy and many other things. I resisted writing comments on his blog, maybe I wanted to be a secret reader of his everyday travails. It unfolded like a page of the book of his life. He is like any of us and is humble enough to show it and bare it all. My admiration for him has moved in degrees. Nice and neat blog. Well, coming back to a review of the passing November, all I can see is that I am not what I had assumed I was. When bared of high talk and emotional strappings, I was a vulnerable woman standing and waiting for something nice to happen. Well, that is me and was. maybe at this instant I am changing and growing. November will be etched (I say this as of now) in my mind or maybe in later years it will become a faint and faded page of history that exists but does not seem as alluring. History interests me now but earlier it did not. maybe things might change like that. Sweet November you are passing by . . . I cannot thank you less for you unfolded many things that were unnerving and moving at the same time - The floods in Chennai, The Mumbai episode and certain aspects that involved yours truly. I shall wait to enter december with hope and grit for that will lead me on the new year with promising horizons - Sometimes unknown melodies do seem sweeter than heard ones (Thanks to Mr. Keats for this).

Reader, never lose hope. Always keep sight of joy for sometimes it likes playing hide-and-seek.