Rite of Passage

you ask me
to carry you
to the pyre,
to burn
bury
or leave you
unspurned,
to be devoured
by the elements
that design
both life
and death.

but how do I
perform
the last rites
of a seed,
which
in its falling
to its deathbed,
explodes into life?

when a hush
between seasons
is breached by
a noiseless seed-burst,
holding within
its failed shell,
forests and deserts of yore,
cracked dust still warm
upon a moistened shore,
springs and winters
yet unborn,
and all of life's
stardust confetti?

and so when you ask,
I stand frozen
upon my trembling feet,
eyes welling up
in disbelief,
for I know
all I can do
is hold this
unfathomable space,
where you and I
are but motifs
on a shimmering shroud,
walking together
in every step
of this rite of passage.

Down the Alley

every once in a while
I walk down that alley
where walls grow in
to touch each other,
where shadows lurk
without a form,
where there's no space
to walk for two;
yes, there are moonbeams
and foggy streetlights
down the block,
but here in the alley
there's only inky black
stitched into every crack
on the cold stone walls;
yes, every once in a while
I walk down that alley
where my body grows eyes,
and prickly spines
of wicked laughter
choke a heart
that bleeds red wine;
where the eerie claws
of deathly silence
dig into the hollows
as I grope,
and a heavy cloak
upon the chest
is where
a raucous breath is caught;
yes, there's a fire in that alley
that's been seething there for long,
there's hatred and there's kindness,
and lost souls waiting to be found;
there's sadness and misery,
and poverty of thoughts,
where shadows laugh together,
where there's adventure to go around;
so if some day you miss me,
you'll know just where to look,
I'll be there down in that alley,
where you don't really want to look.

Thoughts and Words

sometimes
thoughts
and words
stick
in my head
like drops of glue;

sometimes
they dart
across
like starlings
from an
unsettled tree;

sometimes
they slip into
a dark void
like pennies
falling
to their
soundless end;

sometimes
they melt
like popsicles
rolling along
a sleepy
warm tongue;

oh! how I wish
I could catch them,
and hold them
for just a moment,
a little longer,
so I could listen
to what they
have to say;

but they
come and go
like happy travellers
exploring
a shifting landscape,
where
to rest a while
is a trespass
on silence's shore.

There is no hurry

there is no hurry-
listen
to the wheels turn
even when they are
still
as they move.

there is no hurry -
listen
to them converse
with a pliant earth
who holds, then
releases them
from their bondage
and self-imposed
oppression.

there is no hurry -
listen
to the silent drumbeat
of the cosmos,
tune into
the void
where song
and dance
meet and die
and are reborn
endlessly
as the whirling dervish.

stop.
listen.
there is no hurry -
to get somewhere,
to find yourself
anywhere,
but here.

Bottleneck

the world
trickles through
the bottleneck
of self-limiting
beliefs,
to savour
each sip,
to open up
to all of life
in a wondrous
slow dance.

Canvas

dip into
the silent palette
where
all colours
are born;
dream of
the exquisite
emptiness
of magic
and serendipity;
and then
with a swish
and a nonchalant twirl
of your steady breath,
let your hands speak
the strokes
that dance
in your veins,
your cells,
your marrow;
when words
sketch the dreams
of a dancing
singing heart
who's learned
at last
to listen
to the call
of a changing cosmos.

I Want to Make Love

I want to make love
to you  - dear Life,
as you peel open petals
of a livid rose,
with the opulent light
of your fingertips.

I want to melt into
the slanting rain
in its slow free fall,
finding its way
into the dark bosom
of a restful earth.

I want to kiss
the ink-stained worlds
of unrequited tears,
darkening over
the restless ripples
of a long-forgotten moon.

I want to caress
the lingering space
where wild geese glide
in an enticing foreplay
between breath
and water.

I want to touch the flame
of your secret longing
to keep me aroused,
on the razor's edge
of insignificant,
yet infinite possibilities.

I want to lose myself
to the quiet immensity
of your timeless presence,
and hover in the scent
of simple nothingness,
seeping out through your pores.

And so here I am
an upturned rock
on a drained out river,
clasped between the palms
of parting winds,
waiting to make love, to you.

It Wasn't Enough

it wasn't enough
you thought,
one hole
in the flesh
cannot hold up
a mural
with frames
of a distant past,
still close
to a faint heart;

it wasn't enough
you thought,
one spark
on a wild
forgotten path
cannot light
a fire
to singe
and burst open
the ripe cones
of a giant sequoia;

it wasn't enough
you thought,
and so
you drilled
many holes,
and gorged out
the taut flesh,
only so I could
hold up
a mural
for others to see
the tears of things
that touch
the mortal heart;

it wasn't enough
you thought,
and so
you set fire
to the whole path,
only so I could
walk through
the rising flames
to become
the fire
that warms
frost-bitten feet
and trembling fingers
too scared to touch
the warmth
of their own hearts.

it wasn't enough
you thought,
but it was.


~ I dedicate this poem to a dear friend who held my hand and made me see that the fire that I thought burned me, was the spark that lit me up to light up my own life and perhaps that of many others.~

Freedom

 

a lone bird

etches its story

in the blue wilderness,

held by the wings

of a boundless sky

and a devoted earth.

Forgiveness

~ A Conversation with Myself ~

My Beloved,

Today I long to talk to you....to explore the deepest recesses of my being with you.....to bare it all....for I know that with you I can be naked and vulnerable and you will not judge me for who I have been or who I am now in this moment....for you are and have been the intimate friend that I never had....I know that you will listen to me in that silent well of togetherness that we share, that goes back to our sacred womb....when we took seed like triplets waiting to be birthed - mind, body and spirit, in a strange and perhaps necessary splitting......which I am still trying to make sense of....

Who are you - the one I talk to? Which of the three? I don't seem to know the difference sometimes, like now, when my heart is wide open....and yet there are times when I can see three distinct forms, trying so hard to join hands and cohabit the space that reminds them of that moment when the cosmic egg split. So then is this life of suffering and grace, the path to forgiveness and feeling gratitude for that divine birthing?

What is this forgiveness? Is it a cutting off of ties, in a bid to move on quickly, for there is no time to 'waste' in our manic pursuit of happiness and self-obsession? Is it the band-aid that we quickly stick over our gash to save ourselves from being hurt in the same place and in the same way again? Or is it that safe space of a mother's womb, where we feel whole, where we can love and be loved for who we truly are? Vulnerability allows us to be hurt and also to be loved! Is this forgiveness then an expression of our vulnerability?

'Forgiveness' - how many times I have heard this word.....and tried to make sense of what it means to me...and so many times it has eluded me like that distant horizon that looks reachable, but yet never arrives, however much I go after it....I know in my cells that I can get there where my heart meets my eyes, but I am unable to....a heart that yearns to reach that place where there is no difference between a sunset and a sunrise, or water and sky, where light and dark merge and mate into a sweet union where one cannot tell the difference between the two....where do I go to find that point, that place where I can finally rest into myself in a blissful self-forgetting? How do I get there through all these buttresses that I have lavishly created and built, only to inflict myself with the misery of separation from what I think is 'whole'? Will I ever get there? I wonder....

Is forgiveness a reminder of sorts?....like that one thing on a 'things to do' list that never gets ticked off, and simply and quietly slips into the next list and the next? Is it like that stain on my favourite dress that doesn't go away, but rather keeps reminding me of that someone, that place, those words that were uttered, the words that I so longed to hear trickle into my whole being, and that hole which never seems to get filled? When I think of forgiveness, I always think of wounds. I feel a deep pain in the deepest parts of my being, radiating outwards from my gut. I feel a self-feeding hole, an emptiness, that tries so hard to feed itself and fill itself, like an insatiable black hole that sucks everything into it, and is born again and again.

Forgiveness reminds me of my brokenness and the others'. It is the song that my heart sings - "I was broken and so were you.....now let us mend our brokenness, not by hiding away the cracks and wounds that we inflicted each other with, but rather by pouring gold (love) into those cracks, so that they are celebrated for adding value to the broken whole. Forgiveness then is the unconditional love that gilds our broken beings.
And this life, this path into myself is my journey into forgiveness, into that elusive place where both a sunset and sunrise are born. Is that it?

But what a struggle it is to get there! Sometimes, it is so easy to move to forgiveness.....because the wound is not that deep. The most difficult ones to forgive are the ones that reflect my deepest fears. I know that. I know and feel it in my guts. I know it when I get that sinking feeling of dropping down into that blackhole of nothingness. And that is when I stop. Because I am terrified....terrified of that hole and the threat to my whole existence. And yet, I long to get in there. I long to know how it feels. I long to go in and find out whether I will really disappear or die. But I cannot jump in. I will wait it out. I will wait for anger and rejection to sting me and scathe me with their acrid fumes. I will wait to let the poison fill up my whole being, so I know what it is to hate and to scorn. And then, from that venom that threatens the opening of my heart, maybe some day the heart will rupture and I will drink a sip of that nectar that everyone yearns to taste. Or maybe not. But I want to wait without a hopeful melancholy. I want to dream of that sinking....that free fall....where I hurtle down into a black void, not knowing where I came from or where I am going.....but knowing that I will be held through it all with love and that I will fly...for Life loves me. She is my mother, my father. She will give me the wings to take me into that wondrous white space of forgiveness someday.

But for now all I have are questions.....to myself.
Why am I unable to forgive?
Why do I get stuck in the place from where I actually want to get 'unstuck'?
What is it that stops me from reaching a space of forgiveness? Can I actually forgive everyone for everything, which to me means this: 'Can I forgive myself for everything that I feel I should not have done or done differently?'
I am not sure yet. Should I have to forgive at all? Why yearn for something that is not there now?

When I remember an old wound sometimes, it is anger that comes up first, and then a sharp prick of pain, and sometimes the thought of gratitude. A voice inside tells me softly and firmly :"You must be grateful. Think of what he / she did for you." And then I feel stuck. Stuck because that thought does not allow me to move into a new space. It holds me down like a wall, shutting off avenues to explore....Gratitude and anger in a tug of war!

Yes, I would love to feel gratitude in my being.....watch it buoy up like that upturned container in a tub of water, that keeps bobbing up, but never goes down however much you try to push it down.Yes, I have been in that space before so many times, but not when there is a wound that's smarting, almost like new. I have noticed that I don't get stuck with gratitude when I feel it in the moment and let it go....like when I see a beautiful rainbow at the end of a blue day, or a gorgeous sun that peeps from behind dark clouds after a challenging day or a precious flower blossoming. But with people, I get stuck. I get stuck with the thought and feeling of gratitude that I feel for them, for something that they have done for me in the past. Why can't I let it go like a dandelion blown into the wind? Why do I want to hold on to this feeling of gratitude? Is that what actually stops me from experiencing forgiveness and moving on? Perhaps.

The people I need to forgive or want to forgive are the parts of me that I want to hug and love. Is that it? But I am unable to do that fully yet. When I remember my mother telling me this in a moment of brokenness and helplessness - that I was killing my father, by what I was choosing to do (i.e. wanting to marry the person of my choice), when he was sick in the hospital, I still breakdown choked with emotions. There is a lot of sadness inside. I want to tell her how much I love my father. I want to tell her that I understand how helpless she felt, how worried and terrified she was perhaps, but something stops me. And I think it is this thought of gratitude. I feel that I owe her something for giving me my happiness and guilt for taking away hers. I start owning that thought and that leads to the stuck-ness that I feel. I wonder if I can call it gratitude then....maybe it is indebtedness.....a wanting to give back, which is stuck in feelings of guilt.

On my wedding day, when my in-laws insisted that I had to leave to get to their house by a particular time, blind to the anxiety and heartbreak I was experiencing as my father collapsed in front of me when I hugged him and bid him goodbye (he had suffered a heart attack), I can still feel the rage inside. The rage for not being able to stand up for myself, for not being able to break out of tradition and do what my heart told me to do, for not being able to make myself understood. I have not been able to forgive them for that. Or is it myself? This stands like a wall between us, which I am still not quite ready to break. And yet the very same voice tells me of all those times when they (my in-laws) took care of me when my mother was not around. Again, I get stuck with this 'karmic indebtedness' that I am so conditioned to feel and embody. That cannot be gratitude, because it does not set me free. It does not make me feel light and joyous. It makes me feel weighed down, bound by thick iron chains. It still binds me to those parts of me that I have not been able to love.

So then my beloved, shouldn't gratitude and forgiveness emerge on their own?.... shouldn't they rise and fall into the space between interactions and in the moment?.....For it is when I want to 'hold on' to gratitude that I am unable to forgive and let go....then that very gratitude becomes a wall too difficult to climb over......if only I can let everything happen or emerge and then fall back into the space, and not think that it is because of the other or me, and not want to hold on to it.....life would be much easier....I will then be free every moment...

Today, I want to tell myself that it is okay that I did what I did, that I could not have done any better then, that I genuinely wanted to care for them. I want to tell myself that it is okay to forgive....that by doing that, I am not going to lose myself and my freedom again or be unable to stand up for myself. I want to hug myself today for enduring that pain and separation from my father. I want to love myself for perhaps not being brave enough to speak up and say what I was feeling, but for being courageous enough to stay with all that pain and go through life with grace and trust. Perhaps this will be my first baby step towards forgiveness? I don't know.

But will I ever reach that magical space where all boundaries are blurred, where the drains that have been choked for eons will be unclogged and the vibrant, trans-formative energy of love will be released? Will I forgive myself for all my trespassing? Will I be able to love myself enough to see that I am not responsible for the way someone else feels but only for the way I feel? Will I be able to love myself enough to see and hold my beloved when he cannot fulfill all my desires, not because he doesn't want to, but because he is as broken and as helpless as I am? Will I be able to become that waterfall, that cloudburst, that seed burst, that are just waiting for that perfect moment to pour forth their incredibly powerful energy of vitality and unconditional love? Will I become the waves and the shore that forgive each other over and over again for their life and death? Will I?

The Water Wheel in the Desert

like an inexhaustible well
in a dessicated desert,
the wheel of desire
now turns endlessly
unto itself,
refreshing
a parched heart
rooted, and
devoted,
to the shifting sands
and the fickle wind,
with dreams
in every dried up vein,
who knows
that a time will come
when the wheels
will turn again,
and she will
receive and give
without holding back,
the water
from the heavens
that flow down,
to create an oasis
of love and forgiveness,
even in the silence
of a Sahara sensibility.

Paper Boats

my dreams are tied
like gossamer sails
to tiny paper boats
setting sail
upon rivulets of joy
that catch
the fleeting gaze
of a child
lost in the magic
of an orphaned sunbeam
upon her upturned palm.

When I Went Looking for Joy

there was a time
when I went looking for joy -
in the forests,
in the mountains,
in the flowers,
in the sky,
in the ocean,
in the moonlight,
in the music,
in the whys,
a joy that was elusive
like a mirage on a long drive,
or raindrops that vanished
in the steam of the sky,
she was never there
where I looked,
and always there
before she was found -
like a one year old
playing hide and seek
never hidden, and so
never found!
and then I found her
right here,
watching me grope around,
what a fool I had been
to look for her
in the 'Lost and Found';
and so I learned
to play her game,
without questioning
or taking sides,
to dive into the space
between knowing
and not knowing,
for that's where she hides!

 

I had a dream...

I had a dream
a long time ago,
born from a poem
called Dover Beach....

I was standing upon
the white cliffs of Dover,
on the broken edge,
on a full moon night -
a white rose kissed
by a white ribbon spray
tied the primordial knot
of uncertainty;
and the grains of salt
thrown up by the waves
who renewed their vows
to a moon-dusted shore,
sanded my taut skin
like silver stardust
blown through eons,
to wake me up to
a self-forgetting score;
and then I heard
the wind coax the waves
to rise and wash over me
with their melancholy,
was there an escape?
I wondered too,
from the slow cadence
of our human misery;
but the moon still shines,
and the waves part and meet,
as I stood upon
the lonely cliffs of Dover,
where a seagull called
as it learned to fly,
held by the wings
of a virgin earth
and a pregnant sky.

That dream
came true
last night.

Wounds

some wounds
they bleed
like pearly sap
from tender wood,
drying out,
hardened
over time;
leaving scars
that blend into
the knotted bark
of a nubile tree,
looking out
to the blue sun.

some wounds
are not
stick-it notes
ready
to be peeled off
at will;
some wounds
they stick
like leeches
to warm skin,
drawing out
dark gold
from within;

some wounds
are holes
that thread us
with a remembrance
of a shared moment
of being fragile
and
utterly human.

some wounds
still smart,
sanded by time
or an earnest
forgetting,
for they
are branded
not on an
unforgiving soul,
but etched
on the soul
of our shared
humanity.

Loss and Love

the fire
has burnt
itself out,
woodsmoke
chokes
the spaces
between
dying embers,
their glow
muted,
like tears of rain
on damp clay.

the fire
once aroused
by the space
between
presence
and absence,
breath
and death,
lies buried
like a coffin
wrapped
in glory,
lowered
too soon.

for what is loss
to a heart
set off
by the sun
and flaming stars,
beating to
the pause
and turn
of wheels
on windswept ash,
blazing new paths?

this dying fire
is not enough now
to warm a heart
that trembles,
learning anew
to dip herself
in unbecoming
icy waters,
for she's been
too warm,
too long.

and with the
smouldering remains
of what once seemed
like the tremulous glow
of dancing twilight,
darkness
wraps me up quick,
the only warm blanket
on a cold black night,
when fire meets ice.

but the fire
will be lit again
tomorrow,
the spent wood ash
will be cleared
and used
in the garden,
the logs will be
rearranged
and laid lightly,
and a heart
that's grown cold
will be warmed
again,
to sing
by the fire
of a new sun.

Stillness Sits By the River

Stillness -
she sits
by the river,
her eyes
they flow
across ripples
stretched
into eternity;
they cavort upon
brusque rapids,
and pebbles
sanded
by serendipity;
her eyes
they dance
with river weeds
that airbrush
wind and water,
while thoughts
unfurl
to rest upon
the magic
in a drop
of rainbow water.

Business from the Heart

My husband's company currently runs a shop in Madurai, where they source vegetables, millets, grains, pottery and some other stuff, largely direct from farmers and local communities. It is an attempt to do a trial run, for the kind of logistics that would be involved when they start a huge project (a terminal market) for and with the government. In an attempt to also provide employment to the local people, they are trying to get people from surrounding villages to work in the shop.

One of them, a young man of twenty and recently married, attempted suicide by hanging himself last week. He was an honest and hard-working young lad, who had married a girl against his parents wishes, and moved from the village to live in Madurai. Both husband and wife were working in the shop. It seems they were having a lot of financial issues with their families. One morning, this man locked up his wife in the bathroom, in the house where the shop functions, and attempted to hang himself from the fan. His wife somehow managed to break open the door and bring him down in time. After many days of being unconscious and on the ventilator, in the ICU, he opened his eyes and slowly regained consciousness. He survived. Their families came to be with them and then took them back to the village.

Last week, while overhearing the conversation my husband was having with one of his colleagues there on the phone, I realised what had happened and what they wanted to do. They wanted to send this man away to his village, when he came out from the hospital. My heart broke! "That's not what he needs really!", I thought to myself. But I did not want to interfere. I did not want to do anything from a space of wanting to correct what is. I wanted my action to stem from a space of love....love for both sides. And that I knew would come only with understanding....understanding both sides from my heart. And so I stayed with my feelings.

Perhaps they were scared of the consequences. Perhaps they were fearful and apprehensive of what would happen to the business and the shop if they got involved in a police case like this one. Perhaps they felt that they had enough problems already on hand and didn't want to take on more unnecessarily. Perhaps they also felt a sense of betrayal as they had done so much for this couple - they had promised to look out for a separate place for them to stay in, an increase in their salaries etc. soon. Yes I could understand how they must have felt to hear this news.

But what about that young man? Can we stop for a moment and see what could have driven him to the edge? Can we understand his utter helplessness, his sense of loss? Can we listen to the cry of his lonely heart? As I thought of all this, I suddenly realised that I was crying. Tears streaming down inside....I wanted to give him a big hug, hold his hand and sit down and hear him speak....pour his heart out. But I could not possibly do that. And so I imagined doing that...connected with him through my breath....that is all I could do for the moment.

A few minutes later, my husband came out from the bedroom. He was agitated. I asked him what had happened and he shared the story. What I had guessed about the way they were feeling was right. I quietly shared with him what I was feeling - "What would he do if you sent him away now when he perhaps really needs you all? How would he feel? Do you think you can still keep him?", I asked gently. My husband fumed, insisting that that was definitely not possible, and that he did not like their attitude. "Remember me?", I whispered to him, swallowing my emotions. And left it at that. We did not speak about this much after that. Every morning he would get a call from the hospital about the situation, and I would gently inquire about that young man.

Today, my husband got back and on his own came up to me and said this - that he had decided to keep that man at work when he became well. He told me how the couple had come to meet him and that he had told them what I had shared with him. "I could not bear to tell him to go away. And so I told him to stay....I spoke to both of them...I asked him if he could see how brave his wife had been to do what she had done to save him in that moment...she had broken open the door on her own to come out and get him down....and how much that spoke about her love for him", he said. My heart was wide open and so was his. And we stood there in the kitchen hugging and kissing each other, tears streaming down our faces. United. In love. What more is really needed to live this life?

The Anchor

I drop down
to the very bottom
of myself,
the space
where breath
is born
and rises
to break over
and fill
every cell
with the blazing fire
of passion
for all of life,
and the virgin stillness
of unbroken waters,
reborn
again, and yet again.