Disability in the Air - When the World Cannot Bear One Man

Is this true. Of course it is. I lived past in times when people feel disabled by my aura. First things first. We need to live off danger and in safe environment. One may think I am in safe and sound environment worth laughing around and enjoying life. Then one may wonder where did this ‘unbearable insight’ come from. You may overlook it but it is the dangerous truth that has emerged. I can talk about everything positive but if people are unnerved by disability of the aura, you are living in a dangerous time. Positives doesn’t matter, only safety matters. My bad, even this safety wasn’t taken care of. I don’t know what kind of passive movie the world is watching with little good intentions. I am plainly ashamed to live in these times by giving away my basic safeguards. If people cannot simply bear me and my life, what use is my living. If the net outcome is negative with little to less positive what use is my living. If people are stunned, shocked and cry profusely beacuse of the aura of one man, then what use is such a living. If the world outside and inside of US feel disabled by one life as it happened, it does more bad than any good that can emerge. It is better to end such a life than prolong it. I don’t simply see it as some fear-mongering or wild imagination but a shocking and careful truth one cannot stop talking about. 

In the past few months, my mother-in-law had a bad accidental fall which fractured her hip and a sister-in-law broken her leg badly due to some accident. Both are limping and yet to fully recover. I accidentally came to work in a project called DAP – Disability Advocacy Program for the past 5 months. The entire work revolved around the disability advocacy member enablement and working on the business needs of such an application. This is one of the best projects I had worked on in recent times as a Test Lead overlooking a team from onsite. Never before did I work in a project as great as it can get. It was recently concluded, and the hope is my problems are also numbered. The talk around disability is loud and clear since more than a year and you are playing with fire all the while. Coping with these accidents to near family is extremely tough as it disorients life in many ways. You suddenly feel about the lack of safe working environment and everything else feel secondary. 

Is this imposition of unbearable weight on one and all intentional? I bet it wasn’t the case 100%. I was only working towards inspiring one and all, growing one and all, serving one and all and making the land a much better place. If that is the end goal I strived with my tremendous hard work, where does the lesser evil of disability come into picture. I don’t conceive it as an emanating problem in first place leave alone working with intention to imposing it which no one does. If I couldn’t imagine it as a problem how does it grow so big to consume me so badly. These accidents are kind of getting back what you give. Is there no good done from my side to receive only bad. Is the net outcome only negative. How come a seemingly good life intended to inspire one and all in a great nation drifted so badly without checks and balances.  

There are times when a person’s very presence feels too powerful for the world. Not because he is cruel or arrogant, but because his energy burns too brightly — his focus too sharp, his words too truthful, his drive too relentless. The air around him hums with intensity, and people who stand near him for long begin to feel exhausted, uneasy, even disabled in a strange, invisible way. 

This is the story of one such man. 

He was not famous or loud. He was an immigrant — a hardworking, deeply driven man who had moved to the United States in search of a better life. Like many before him, he had come chasing the American Dream. But unlike many, he carried an unusual force — a fire within that never rested. 

He didn’t mean harm — he was sincere, deeply so. But his energy was like lightning: pure, honest, and too bright for the naked eye. The more truth he spoke, the more resistance he seemed to meet. 

It was not the world’s rejection of his ideals; it was the world’s way of saying, “We cannot bear so much fire at once.” 

Spiritual traditions across the world speak of a mysterious law — that what you radiate is mirrored back to you. If you emit warmth, you attract it. If you project fire, you meet it. 

Over time, he began to understand this. Every accident, every silence from friends, every strained encounter was not punishment — it was reflection. The world was showing him his own excess. 

His intensity was pure, but it was unbalanced. He was like a powerful current without proper grounding — capable of lighting cities or short-circuiting them. 

He began to see that the accidents around him — literal and metaphorical — were signals. Life was whispering: “Be softer. The world needs your light, not your heat.” 

In his personal life, his very energy had become a form of disability — not for himself, but for those around him. 

His drive disabled others’ comfort. 
His precision disabled others’ spontaneity. 
His sharp truth disabled others’ peace. 

He was, in a way, too able — too capable, too dominant. And that excess ability created imbalance. 

It was then he realized something profound: unbalanced ability becomes its own form of disability. 

When one person’s energy overwhelms others, harmony breaks down — just as surely as when a physical limb fails to cooperate with the rest of the body. 

At first, the lesson felt unfair. Why should he tone down his truth or dim his fire when the world needed more passion, not less? 

But slowly, he saw that the world didn’t need less truth — it needed truth delivered with compassion. It didn’t need less intelligence — it needed intelligence that left space for others. 

Energy, he realized, behaves like electricity. It must flow and be grounded. When bottled up or projected without care, it shocks those who touch it. 

He came to see that the true purpose of power — whether it’s physical strength, mental brilliance, or moral conviction — is to serve, not to dominate. 

His fire was not meant to scorch but to warm. His words were not meant to wound but to awaken. 

He realized that what made the world “unable to bear him” was not his worth or wisdom — it was the imbalance of his expression. Once he softened, his energy became bearable, even healing. 

He was finally walking in the middle path — intense yet gentle, ambitious yet humble, able yet aware. 

In many ways, his story mirrors the age we live in. The modern world, too, has become like that man — brilliant, capable, and impossibly intense. 

Technology, politics, media, business — all operate at breakneck speed. We value disruption over stability, speed over depth, and results over relationships. We have built a world that’s perpetually “on,” and now, like the man in the story, the world itself seems to limp under the weight of its own energy. 

Climate anxiety, burnout, polarization, and digital overload — these are not random accidents. They are the world’s way of saying: “Slow down. You’re too much for your own good.” 

Our global “disability,” so to speak, is not physical but energetic. We’ve become so productive, so connected, so efficient, that we’ve lost our natural rhythm. 

Just as the man needed grounding, the world now needs its own form of grounding — empathy, pause, reflection, and a return to balance. 

The same pattern plays out in modern workplaces. Organizations chase growth, innovation, and performance metrics with unrelenting speed. Employees push harder, stay later, respond faster. 

Companies celebrate “high performers,” much like the man who was admired for his intensity. But soon, they discover the hidden cost — burnout, turnover, anxiety, and disconnection. 

A team cannot thrive under constant brilliance; it thrives under balanced energy. 

The lesson his life offered is equally true for organizations: power without pause becomes toxic. 

A workplace that prioritizes reflection and emotional safety, not just productivity, builds resilience. When leaders, like the man, learn to be bearable — to create psychological space for others — the organization breathes easier. Creativity flows. Trust deepens. 

Balance becomes the new productivity. 

Even nations, especially those racing toward technological supremacy, face this same dilemma. The pursuit of dominance — in economy, AI, or defense — brings achievement, yes, but also imbalance. 

Societies that move too fast fracture internally. Growth outpaces ethics. Innovation outpaces empathy. 

The world’s most powerful countries often mirror the man in this story: brilliant, restless, and, at times, unbearable to others. The global order, too, needs grounding — a collective understanding that the true power of humanity lies not just in intelligence but in equilibrium. 

He began to see that disability is not only a medical or social condition — it is also a metaphor for imbalance. When one part of a system overpowers another, the whole becomes disabled. 

In that sense, the man’s earlier life had been a form of disability — too much ability, too little balance. And so is our modern civilization — brilliant yet brittle, connected yet lonely, advanced yet anxious. 

Disability, in its deepest meaning, asks for integration, not perfection. It asks that we learn to balance power with empathy, speed with patience, brilliance with humility. 

His story ends not with triumph but with understanding — a realization that the most powerful energy in the world is balanced energy. 

Whether it is a person, a company, or a nation, when one burns too brightly, the world dims in response. But when power meets humility, when ability meets gentleness, the entire world finds its balance again. 

The truest success, he learned, is not to be unstoppable — it is to be bearable. 
To shine so that others can stand beside you, not shrink before you. 
To be powerful, yet kind. 
To live with fire — and still let the world breathe. 

So how can someone like him — or anyone who burns too brightly — return to a realm where the world can bear them again? 

The path is not mystical. It is made of small, practical steps: 

1. Recognize your weight. 
   Acknowledge that your presence affects others. Awareness is the first act of kindness. 

2. Practice humility, not in words, but in energy. 
   Speak less, listen more. Allow others to complete their thoughts. Don’t always lead the room. 

3. Ground yourself daily. 
   Through stillness, silence, nature, prayer, or meditation — anything that brings your energy back to the earth. 

4. Balance fire with compassion. 
   Passion inspires; compassion heals. Let both coexist. 

5. Redefine strength. 
   The strongest person is not the one who wins every argument, but the one who can carry others without crushing them. 

Perhaps the world does not need to resist his intensity, nor does he need to dim it — both sides simply need to learn how to breathe in the same air without fear. Healing, then, is not about lessening the light, but widening the eyes of those who must see it — so that what once felt unbearable may instead become a new way to feel alive. Because “Coping is not about shrinking from what overwhelms us, but growing the strength to stand beside it. Bearability begins the moment we stop fighting the weight — and start learning how to breathe beneath it.” Hope the world drifts towards these tides.