The Passionate Do Not Go To Heaven
In all the religions, philosophies and codes of business conduct, displays of passion is discouraged. Not feeling too much is mature/formal/decent. And it’s for good reasons too.
Buddha started with blaming want as the source of all suffering. Jesus and Muhammad said, “Don’t love something too much, lest they be harmful to you, and vice a versa.” And Yoga, as one of the practices of Hinduism, presses on letting go of ordinary self to achieve the higher self. And atheists would go as far as letting go of God, forcrissake.
In formal and spiritual societies, the lesser you feel towards something is the better. Detachment seems to be God’s idea of a heaven on earth. The less you want, is the less you feel, is the closer you are to God/Self-Actualization/Spiritual kind of Awesome.
AND ALL OF THAT IS GOOD, IF IT’S NOT KINDA WHACK.
Something doesn’t seem right with religions and daily practice. The best things we create come from passion. The best love we make are passionate. The most hurtful words are said in passion. The saddest moment in life are in loss of the fruit of our passions.
Putting it simply, you can’t live on a numb emotional slate.
So was the evolution of passion a mere spiritual mistake?
Isn’t there a passion that is approved by both prophets and corporate bureaucrats?
Living on passion is like a sick emotional roller coaster ride. Because sadness sucks the life out of you. Anger burns you out of focus. Pride numbs your awareness. Shame stops learning, and subsequently halts all productivity.
So I guess the only thing left is love.
Don’t roll your eyes. I’m not talking about hormonal love.
I’m talking about a simple and undeniable kind of love. The kind that trickles in daily worship and steadfastness. The kind that is not expressed in things or words or romantic getaways, but with gentle submission to its demands.
I’m talking about the love that started all this. The kind of love that makes you want to keep writing everyday, whether or not anybody reads. The kind of love that stopped you midsentence when you were about to say something hurtful to someone beneath you. The kind of love that reaches beyond life and daily living.
The kind of love, dare I say, that trumps every other kind of emotion and want and suffering.
And if I’m angry, or sad, or lonely because of this love, this simmering passion, then the fault is not in the love, but my own. Because we’re loved as much as we are willing to give, right?
Don’t take me word for it. Try it yourself.
