['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is 197th article in the new series that began in December 2022. Links to previous articles are given below]
After
a hard fought political battle in an institution was lost, a soldier
noticing the crestfallen faces of his comrades-at-arms smiled: ‘I always
sleep well after a good fight, regardless of victory or defeat, because
I know I have done my best.’
That’s a good ‘sleeping tablet,’ then, isn’t it? Do your best, sleep well. A nice rule of thumb, a good mantra to remember.
On
the other hand, consider this: around thirty years ago an observant
young man said that no one in this world ever does anything wrong; they
believe they are right! Therefore all battles are self-righteous and
everyone can get a good night’s sleep on account of having fought the
good fight well, to the best of ability and knowledge.
Here’s
the problem: it is not everyday that we do battle. Sure, life’s a
struggle and there are things to contend with every single day. There
are knots to untie and knots to tie, some ropes are greasy and sometimes
there’s too much sweat in the fingers and the hand can tremble. If one
really wants, anything and everything can be defined as ‘a battle,’
except we don’t usually see it that way. The satisfaction of fighting
the good fight as a precursor to a good night’s sleep is not obtained
simply because we don’t think of things in fighting terms.
So
how do we get a good night’s sleep on non-fighting days? I think the
‘I’ve done the best I could’ line might work. It doesn’t have to be a
fight. It’s about surviving. Living. Being. Engagement.
How we
make choices and how we act upon the choices made are informed by
notions of right and wrong, good and bad, efficiency and inefficiency,
profitability and the possibility of loss. The mind is a weighing
machine that never rests. When we decide and act, let us not forget, we
are not thinking ‘this should earn me a good night’s rest.’ That comes
later. However, if good, efficiency, right, profitability etc are
obtained by honest effort ‘feel good’ is likely to be an outcome. Feel
good and sleep good, one could follow the other.
We fall though. We slip. We trip. We don’t get to the finishing line. Then what?
Then
we have our soldier’s fallback option; we can ask ‘did I do my best?’
We can ask ‘was I honest?’ We can ask ‘is my conscience clear?’ If we
get ‘yes,’ ‘yes’ and ‘yes’ then we can sleep easy.
It also
depends on not being confused by those two fascinating creatures,
‘What’s within my control’ and ‘What’s beyond my control.’ Get either
wrong and you might find that the peace of mind necessary for peaceful
sleep is quite elusive.
Of course the ‘what I can do’ may not
take you too far. You might stop quite a ways short of ‘far enough.’
That can be disappointing. It’s possible that you just miscalculated
potential. You might set out knowing well that the odds were not in your
favour and still take on a challenge. We can’t always get it right. We
miscalculate the possible. We miscalculate ‘control.’ Disappointment
could be the bitter harvest. It stays, stays upon the tongue, corrodes
the mind. End result: sleep deprivation.
It is also about
correct identification. For example, we could focus on victory (and be
disappointed) or simply think of engagement as nothing more and nothing
less than the affirmation of a principle. A point needs to be made.
Securing objective or not, this is something eminently within our
control. Unlike victory, which is not always assured.
This is
why we have the phrase, ‘pick your battles.’ And so we let things pass
sometimes. Sometimes we make a stand, even if it is likely that we would
be swept away by the waves rushing towards us.
We may fall. We
get back on our feet. We go to bed. We can still fall asleep and sleep
well too, simply because we were not delusional about what was possible,
what needed to be done and the importance of protecting conscience.
We
are fallible because we aren’t all-knowing and all-seeing. We
miscalculate, we get sequences wrong, we slip. We carry aches, pains and
bruises to bed. The redeeming factor is what that ‘soldier’ said, more
often than not: ‘did my best, now it is time to rest.’
Sapan and voices that erase borders
Problem elephants and problem humans
The 'inhuman' elephant in a human zoo
Ivan Art: Ivanthi Fernando's efforts to align meaning
Let's help Jagana Krishnakumar rebuild our ancestral home
Do you have a friend in Pennsylvania (or anywhere?)
A gateway to illumination in West Virginia
Through strange fissures into magical orchards
There's sea glass love few will see
Re-residencing Lakdasa Wikkramasinha
Poisoning poets and shredding books of verse
The responsible will not be broken
Ownership and tenuriality of the Wissahickon
Did you notice the 'tiny, tiny wayside flowers'?
Gifts, gifting and their rubbishing
Journalism inadvertently learned
Reflections on the young poetic heart
Wordaholic, trynasty and other portmanteaus
The 'Loku Aiya' of all 'Paththara Mallis'
Subverting the indecency of the mind
Character theft and the perennial question 'who am I?'
Saji Coomaraswamy and rewards that matter
Seeing, unseeing and seeing again
Alex Carey and the (small) matter of legacy
The insomnial dreams of Kapila Kumara Kalinga
The clothes we wear and the clothes that wear us (down)
Every mountain, every rock, is sacred
Manufacturing passivity and obedience
Sanjeew Lonliyes: rawness unplugged, unlimited
In praise of courage, determination and insanity
The relative values of life and death
Poetry and poets will not be buried
Reunion Peradeniya (1980-1990)
Sorrowing and delighting the world
Encounters with Liyanage Amarakeerthi
Letters that cut and heal the heart
A forgotten dawn song from Embilipitiya
The soft rain of neighbourliness
Reflections on waves and markings
Respond to insults in line with the Akkosa Sutra
The right time, the right person
The silent equivalent of a thousand words
Crazy cousins are besties for life
The lost lyrics of Premakeerthi de Alwis
Consolation prizes in competitions no one ever wins
Blackness, whiteness and black-whiteness
Inscriptions: stubborn and erasable
Deveni: a priceless one-word koan
Recovering run-on lines and lost punctuation
'Wetness' is not the preserve of the Dry Zone
On sweeping close to one's feet
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
To be an island like the Roberts...
Debts that can never be repaid in full
An island which no flood can overwhelm
A melody faint and yet not beyond hearing
Heart dances that cannot be choreographed
Remembering to forget and forgetting to remember
Authors are assassinated, readers are immortal
It is good to be conscious of nudities
Saturday slides in after Monday and Sunday somersaults into Friday
There's a one in a million and a one in ten
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
Hemantha Gunawardena's signature
Architectures of the demolished
The exotic lunacy of parting gifts
Who the heck do you think I am?
Those fascinating 'Chitra Katha'
So how are things in Sri Lanka?
The sweetest three-letter poem
Teams, team-thinking, team-spirit and leadership
The songs we could sing in lifeboats when we are shipwrecked
Jekhan Aruliah set a ball rolling in Jaffna
Awaiting arrivals unlike any other
Teachers and students sometimes reverse roles
Colombo, Colombo, Colombo and so forth
The slowest road to Kumarigama, Ampara
Some play music, others listen
Mind and hearts, loquacious and taciturn
I am at Jaga Food, where are you?
On separating the missing from the disappeared
And intangible republics will save the day (as they always have)
The circuitous logic of Tony Muller
Rohana Kalyanaratne, an unforgettable 'Loku Aiya'
Mowgli, the Greatest Archaeologist
Figures and disfigurement, rocks and roses
Sujith Rathnayake and incarcerations imposed and embraced
Some stories are written on the covers themselves
A poetic enclave in the Republic of Literature
Landcapes of gone-time and going-time
The best insurance against the loud and repeated lie
So what if the best flutes will not go to the best flautists?
There's dust and words awaiting us at crossroads and crosswords
A song of terraced paddy fields
Of ants, bridges and possibilities
From A through Aardvark to Zyzzyva
Words, their potency, appropriation and abuse
Who did not listen, who's not listening still?
If you remember Kobe, visit GOAT Mountain
The world is made for re-colouring
No 27, Dickman's Road, Colombo 5
Visual cartographers and cartography
Ithaca from a long ago and right now
Lessons written in invisible ink
The amazing quality of 'equal-kindness'
The interchangeability of light and darkness
Sisterhood: moments, just moments
Chess is my life and perhaps your too
Reflections on ownership and belonging
The integrity of Nadeesha Rajapaksha
Signatures in the seasons of love
To Maceo Martinet as he flies over rainbows
Fragrances that will not be bottled
Colours and textures of living heritage
Countries of the past, present and future
Books launched and not-yet-launched
The sunrise as viewed from sacred mountains
Isaiah 58: 12-16 and the true meaning of grace
The age of Frederick Algernon Trotteville
Live and tell the tale as you will
Between struggle and cooperation
Neruda, Sekara and literary dimensions
Paul Christopher's heart of many chambers
Calmness gracefully cascades in the Dumbara Hills
Serendipitous amber rules the world
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