My Secret

I, recently and finally, finished reading a book I had bought a year back. The Secret. The book begins with attempts to excite and entice. Right from the cover design with a wax seal, it looks like the reader is about to delve into something exclusive and forbidden. The first couple of pages arouse greed:

“The Secret gives you anything you want: happiness, health and wealth.”

But as the secret is finally revealed it sounds like an absurd fable.

“Everything that’s coming into your life you are attracting into your life.”

The whole book then goes on to establish this concept. It emphasizes wants instead of wishes or needs and ‘now’ in lue of ‘will’. The book states that the Universe is ruled by an impersonal and unbiased rule of attraction. What humans visualise, think of most, speak of most and act upon most, they shall have. The Universe does not judge good or bad, it just provides. Hence, if someone fears failure all the while then his predominant thoughts of failure shall materialise.

The Secret sounds like a guide book (something like ‘You Can Win’) which continuously tells you to be happy (even if you feel miserable), to belief (even if that word makes no sense to you and even if it means to stop questioning), to be grateful for everything in your life (because that way you attract more things to be grateful about). This book asks you to stop complaining or thinking against any structure all together. 

All this is nice. To be happy, to have faith and gratitude; all the book fails to explain is the forceful compulsion to feel these. The book and its author and the preachers of the secret, leave no stone unturned to make its readers totally conscious about every thought in their heads. I felt extremely aware of each thought I had for quite a while. I even tried to monitor my feelings according to my ambitions and desires. But the greed that ‘the secret’ inspired was stopping me from feeling emotions which make me human. It was queer and highly interesting to observe that the mind (or was it just me?) craves for thoughts of tragedy, those which invoke self-pity. It is lot easier to visualize ‘if-this-happens-then…’ than ‘this will be my perfect life’.

Life is b-e-a-utiful, I believe, because there are these numerous scopes of success, failures, dreams-come-true and sudden twists in the tale. The future is an enigma because we do not know. If we pretend to be omniscient as The Secret asks us to be, (“You must imagine, pretend, act as if, make-believe that” you already have what you want) then we might never again wait for those Sunday horoscopes in the newspapers. Life will always be happy and we will all look like Archana Puran Singh and talk like N. S. Sidhu.

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