She keeps typing

Therefore, practice yoga, the art, and science of working without attachments. Only that can free you from the good and bad reactions.

***

How does one recognize a person with a steady intellect and divine consciousness? 

One is neither overjoyed nor agitated in happiness or suffering. Free from desires, cravings for pleasure, fear, and anger, one’s mind is tranquil. 

That person would not be recognized in Dušanka. 

She stared at the writing prompt on her laptop screen. She got home from school an hour ago.

She used that hour to circle around her apartment in guilt-filled walks and to create a plan on how to best approach the task, a task whose deadline was in less than 24 hours.

The task was tolerable if the preparations were done on time, but grueling once it was to be done in a span of a single night. The task presented itself in a form of a paper.   

It is of course way better to dwell exhaustingly on how to work, rather than to work. 

If she sat down to work, she felt guilty for not working on it earlier.

If she sat down to rest, she felt as if she did not work hard enough, and she was not worthy of that rest. The severity of her delusion was such that each step towards deeper self-deception was disguised as a solution. 

This was not the first time that she got herself into this situation.

Life was procrastination, right? We are naturally lazy, so it is completely justified to procrastinate to the point where your sleeping has been disrupted, and anything that you do is followed by guilt or crippling anxiety. 

When there was time, the perception was that the deadline is far away, thus the threat levels are low. Therefore, she would hardly find herself inspired or motivated to do the task, for which she also believed suffocated her creativity.

Instead, in order to enter peaceful oblivion from neglect of her responsibilities, she indulged in various sorts of temporary pleasures, but with the price of creating long-term bad habits as a consequence of not knowing how to cope with insecurity, fear, and failure. 

She thought by procrastinating she would get all that time for fun and creative writing. But, when she procrastinated, she did not write. She was an aspiring writer, but there were more stories in her head than there were on her computer. She did not do anything to profit from that sacrifice, like having fun, or building skills. Instead, it was filled with self-loathing, also known as a waste of time, and that was no fun was it now?

Before she started writing, she knew that each sentence had to be absolutely perfect. With that type of mentality, in the next hour or so, the page remained blank, and her self-loathing grew. 

She somehow manages to break away from the exhaustive overthinking and starts typing. She badly wanted to get up, but it was a luxury she could not afford. 

As hours passed, her pages started increasing. She also gathered the strength to search for some articles to support her claims. The garbage of writing was now turning into paper.  

The clock behind her went from showing 7 pm to 6 am. 

This is the last time that I do this, she thought to herself. Each time it was a painful lesson, but her body and mind learned to tolerate the pain each time the promise was broken.

The sun was rising, and the paper was close to being completed.

She got up to make herself coffee, and her body produced a few loud cracks. 

Entering the kitchen, she startled. Dirty dishes everywhere, along with stale food. It made her not want to be there, nor want to make coffee there ever again. 

With a headache and a sore back, she washed one coffee cup, along with a spoon, and the coffee maker. 

Sipping the coffee brought back some of her focus, and in a few hours, the paper was completed. It looked like a disaster. She wished she had one more day for a review and the paper would be readable. How insignificantly challenging the tasks seem to be when they are worked on, and how undefeatable they seem even before one knows what they are.  

She opens the email, attaches the paper, and with great hesitancy – which was due to the shame she experiences whenever she imagines anyone reading the attached paper – she clicks the send button. 

She closes her laptop by slamming it and falls back into her chair. In a matter of minutes, she falls asleep, with her eyes pulsating from being glued to the screen. 

Upon waking up, her neck and back were even more stiff. Yoga.

Her apartment was a mess, and there was no space to put her mat from all the crap that lay on the floor. 

She thought of her mother, who would say to her that an organized space contributes to an organized mind. She got up and opened the window. One by one, she started cleaning up. 

When the room was breathable and liveable, she went to her kitchen. It took her almost an hour to clean it up, washing around twenty coffee cups, and filling up two large trash bags. 

Now that she acquired a clean space, she wanted to acquire a clean mind as well. At her favorite spot in the room, the bookshelf, she spreads out her mat. The whip sound that it would make once it was in the air, always brought a smile to her face. 

As she flows through therapeutic poses, the verses from the Bhagavad Gita flow through her mind. Overcome by anxiety and weakness, I am confused about my duties. In this story of hers, she was the frightened Arjuna. In these glimpses of enlightenment, she would become aware of her transgressions. The practice of yoga would remind her that without a steady mind she would not be effective in action. 

Having acquired a steady state of mind, and a sweaty body free from stiffness and pain, she takes a shower.  

Upon leaving the shower with a clean scalp, her apartment is a sight to behold. She wished her apartment would always be this clean, and not only as an outcome of all-nighters. All-nighters ultimately produced rejuvenation therapies. The mind would acquire tranquility and freedom from sensual cravings, creating space for guilt-free rest and meditation. 

She prepared her favorite meal. She ate it with pleasure, and slowly. The yogi experiences ultimate bliss when his mind is still, his passions are under control, and he is free of sinful reactions. 

Inspired by these few hours of inner joy and calm, she takes Bhagavad Gita from the shelf. Massaging her brain with ancient wisdom and divine remembrance, she is lulled into sleep. 

She wakes up twelve hours later in the refreshing sheets she changed last night, looking up at the ceiling. The clock shows 9:28. 

The inner peace that she feels is addicting, healing, and therapeutic.

The loud ringing of the phone brings her back to a mood of high alertness. 

“Yes” She answers. Her heart was beating fast. 

“Good morning Dušanka”

The voice of her professor. The one to whom she sent her assignment. 

Without managing to steady the beating of her heart, she replies “Good morning, how are you?”

“I am good thank you. I am sorry for waking you up” 

Dušanka desperately wanted to stop with lies and excuses, but her mind wanted to postpone with the tiring practice of self-control, therefore once again, her tongue danced to the melody of her afraid-of-discomfort mind. 

“You did not wake me up professor, I have already been awake for two hours now” Her rasp morning voice affirmed her words as truthful to professor Cvjetković. Being aware of that, Dušanka swallows and closes her eyes. One more wave of self-loathing, and another cringe memory to keep her awake at night. 

“Sure thing. It is about your paper. Can you come to my office today, at around 11 am?”

With her voice shaking, she replies “Yes, of course. I will be there at 11 o’clock”

“Great. I look forward to talking to you”

She hangs up. 

She called because her work was Nobel Prize worthy. She laughed to herself. But, it was the first time Cvjetković called her. Deep down, she knew the reason for it.  

*** 

Professor Cvjetković’s door was half open. She knocks.

“Come in” 

She finds her sitting in her chair, reading something from her desktop. 

Cvjetković raises her gaze to Dušanka and smiles upon seeing her. 

“Sit down Dušanka. Please give me a second, I will be done soon”

Hundreds of thoughts race through her mind. Suddenly, Gita comes back to her. You break free from the effects of your actions and you reach Me. She takes a deep breath in. Help Dušanka forgive Dušanka, she thinks to herself. Because if she did not, it would yet again give birth to self-loathing, which would preclude her from taking action, and she would fall back into the abyss of overthinking. She manages to control her breathing and the beating of her heart. 

After a few minutes, Cvjetković looks at her. 

“Alright, let’s get to the point” 

The professor opens her drawer, and drops in front of Dušanka the copy of THE PAPER. 

She leans back in her chair and waits for Dušanka’s reaction. As she expected, Dušanka’s face gave away emotions of pure fear and terror.

“You know how I prefer paper over screens. It gives me a feeling that I can grasp the material better once I can hold it with my hands”

The cover of the paper was marked with red, and Dušanka knew Cvjetković had already reviewed the paper. 

“You reviewed the paper, huh?” She feels sick from having to face her like this, she feels her stomach cramping up. One keeps his senses under one’s control. The verses encircle her mind, trying to take hold of her weaknesses, and the expectations tied to the outcome of her work. The wise decline the fruits of action which bind them to the cycle of life and death. Liberated, they find peace and freedom from suffering. 

She did not want to be there and had the urge to run away. She feels her mouth drying, and her cheeks flaming up. 

Cvjetković pours a glass of water for her, and Dušanka gulps it. Cvjetković can notice her hands shaking. 

Dušanka looks down.

“Dušanka… As soon as I got the paper last night, I started reading it. All that has been on my mind since last night is you” 

Cvjetković takes her glasses off. Dušanka does not possess the courage to look into her eyes. 

“I have reviewed many papers, and I have worked with a lot of students who are aspiring writers. I know you belong in this programme, and your work is proof of that, but it seems that your work ethic is lagging. 

This is not a readable paper, and this is coming from someone who can read anything, but I struggle with this one” 

Dušanka keeps looking down. She cannot raise her head, because at this moment she feels nothing but shame and regret. 

What is going on with her? Such a potential, such an original thinker, and here she is, struggling to organize herself, and deliver a readable paper, Cvjetković thinks in confusion. 

Dušanka wanted to tell her how embarrassed she was, how much she hated herself, and how much she wanted to work on herself, but it was fear that stopped her. Fear of everything. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of opening up. Fear of failing. Fear of not delivering to her expectations. Fear. To avoid action from fear of difficulty… there is no reward in such renunciation.  

She wanted to speak, but she was paralyzed.

“Dušo, it is not only this paper but the last ones as well. Can I help you in any way?”

Help was what she needed the most, but she will figure out it by herself. That has surely helped these past two years! She struggled to control this other train of thought that paralyzed her, which bred pain, guilt, and shame.

“Give me a second. I…” One who shirks from the action cannot attain freedom. It was the freedom of mind she was after, freedom from all of these emotions which strangled her day by day.

The verses were molesting her. 

Another talent will go to waste because they blame the lack of inspiration on themselves. If they only knew that the inspiration did not come from them, but from another source. Their responsibility was to take action, and through it, inspiration will come to them. Cvjetković thinks in disappointment. 

She manages to untangle her tongue.  

“I am…struggling. But, I want to continue working. Just give me another chance” 

You break free from the effects of your actions and you reach Me.

“Of course. Dušanka… I know it is hard to get back on track, but I want you to be okay. It is fine if you do not feel that you can do your best, but do not allow that to stop you from writing completely. If you want someone to talk to, I am here ” 

“I see, thank you” 

She somehow manages to raise her gaze to Cvjetković. 

“If that is all, can I go now?” To go back to her apartment and face the terror of action by herself. She might get eaten alive. 

Not letting Cvjetković give her approval, Dušanka storms out of the office. 

For the first time in two years, someone saw through her. Cvjetković understood that what she did was out of inner discontent, rather than wanting to have fun or out of sheer irresponsibility. She had to change herself. 

Going down the stairs, her whole body is craving food, drink, and smoke. It creates these appealing images in her head of her laying on the couch and pigging herself out. Control one’s cravings for pleasure.  

***

Writing for Dušanka was something that made her not question her existence. She was deeply convinced she was born to write.

Writing for her, in moments of inspiration, when her fingers continue tapping the keyboard, where she stops paying attention to where each key is placed, and words form into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into pages, and finally pages into stories, it was as if she found God. As if she borrowed from an unknown divine source. When she stopped receiving ideas from this mysterious well of inspiration, she started punishing herself. She started neglecting her coursework, her friends, and most importantly, herself. It felt as if she had lost her purpose. A skill that bred self-respect and inner contentment now turned into a source of self-loathing, doubt, and insecurities. 

Thus indulgence in sleeping, eating, and drinking was a way of escaping pain and reality. A life of sensual pleasures is a life wasted, Gita tells us. 

She was rebelling against all lessons of Gita, and being attached to the outcome of her work was probably the greatest one.  

***

Each vibration of the alarm makes her whole body tremble and speeds up the beating of her heart. In a panic, she wakes up, and rushes to grab the phone. She put the phone far away from her bed on purpose, so she would have to get up, and not just roll back into bed. She knew from her work ethic – that she lost grasp of a while ago – waking up early helped her take advantage of her days, and not procrastinate.

Standing there, with her body half awake, she looked at the phone screen that said good morning. At that moment, she was to choose between moving or going back to bed. 

O Arjuna, those who eat or sleep too much or too little, cannot be successful in yoga. 

Another verse flew into her mind, and she had to smile. She moves to open the curtains. 

With her coffee on her clean work desk, she takes a look at all the deadlines, and exams. 

“Shit” 

There was a lot to write. 

“I fucked up hard, did I not?”

Some words flowed, but when the moment came to wrap up, the feeling came back. She gets up and goes to the kitchen. How to face the blunt pain at once? Was she strong enough to go through it? 

Opening the fridge, she grabs the wine bottle. Wanting to chug it, she stops. This was not the way, this was only making sure that she was going to end her life by her own hands. 

Takes a deep breath in. 

Sits back by the desk. 

That which is temporary is not the ultimate reality because the ultimate reality is unchangeable and indestructible… The struggle is temporary, and the reality is that she was a writer. 

She goes back and sits down. Starts writing. Keep on writing, no matter the pain, and struggle, and keep on taking action. She was motivated to breathe, eat, and sleep without guilt. Whereas even a little advancement will save you from many dangers. The speed of her typing increases. Stories and characters are created. Remember you are not the cause of that result and you still cannot shy away from work. 

When Dušanka finally lets it go, and does not think about how each sentence will affect the previous or the next one, she continues typing, but the movement of her fingers was guided by something else. The words kept flowing…