'You are Here'

There is something about us humans and our affinity for maps, lodestones, landmarks and guides (both animate and inanimate). But even that does not seem enough! No, just a random map would not do, it would not serve any purpose. We just have to know where we are, and where we have to go, don't we?. We panic when we feel lost. We are too scared to die into insignificance.....to become a black speck in the inky darkness that we find ourselves in every now and then. And so we come back to holding on to ourselves over and over again....the 'You are Here' spot, which fills us with a balmy warmth, from where we can breathe again more freely. But where are we really? What is that spot where we think we are? Do we even know? Would we? If we were not followers but explorers?

After two weeks of intense yet relaxing traveling, I am back home.....to what I think and feel is home now....after finding and living in many homes over the last few weeks.....homes in beautiful countries, homes in beautiful hearts. As I stepped in, I felt a wave rise and wash over me, taking me along...to a space where there was only darkness - not a darkness that often presupposes 'a lack', but a darkness that exudes mystery....and I found myself in the very same space that I had been all along, for many years, and more ...that space of not knowing where I truly belong.....of feeling like I belong everywhere, and so nowhere,.... or belonging nowhere, and so everywhere. And suddenly, I feel no need for a map like I used to. Or maybe the map has changed. Or I am exploring uncharted territory and so drawing the map as I go along. And so, yes, I feel lost. But it's a happy kind of lost.

On the 27th of June, I was talking to a dear friend on the phone and shared how I was going through something...and feeling lost.....because I did not know where I belonged. I hung up and went to see my father who had been a little sick for the last few days. I don't know why, but when I saw him and he started speaking to me, I hugged him and broke down. I shared with him what I had been feeling deeply.....that I didn't know what 'family' meant anymore, that I didn't know where I belonged, that I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. And he hugged me tight and cried with me too, telling me how much he loved me. A few hours later, he took in his last breath and let go of that last breath in that human form. Perhaps we shared our angst of not knowing where we belonged, in those few moments. But I will never know. What became clear to me in that moment and later was this - that I was no longer as worried about where I was, where I belonged or did not belong.

Today, as I entered the house after being in so many different places, all those moments flashed past my eyes, and the inside of my throat lumped up. I missed you, appa. I remembered you, appa. For I am still there - lost.....not knowing where I belong. But there is no sadness about that this time. The sadness that is there is that you are not here. Otherwise, it's different. There is a peace and a freedom of simply being.....being me....happily walking that uncertain, intangible, fuzzy edge of not knowing where I am and where I belong.

And yet, I can also see how a part of me clings to a story....one tentacle grabbing onto something to survive, to thrive, for now....for as long as I need to. And so I hold on to the grief of losing you and the joy of receiving your blessing - the last blessing that we were graced with as you closed your eyes. Yes, you told us how much you loved us. You told me how special I was. You wished the best for us three, asking us to mark your words.....that we would go places. I believe it is a blessing we were so privileged to receive.

Yet, I missed you for being the only one I knew of, who was always a partaker in my joy, with no agenda, with no feeling of lack, and so being able to receive it fully and openly. Today, I am so happy. Happy with my life and where it has taken me. I am happy and grateful to all that has come my way in the form of opportunities, people, places, wealth, art, experiences and much much more. Yes, I am so happy appa. But you were not there physically present to feel this with me, like I knew you would have, if you were alive and in a body. I miss touching and feeling you. I miss your hug, your laughter, your presence. And yet, you are very much there in me. I can feel it, sense it, hear it, even though it is not the same. And so I imagined you calling me and asking about our trip. I heard the conversation so clearly.....the tone of your voice, the words, your smile through the phone....all pointing to the happiness you were feeling just knowing that I was happy and listening to the story of the magic and how it all unfolded. I yearn to share joy like that with people.

So yeah, that's where I am. In a space of ease and lightness.....of being happy with not belonging anywhere, and so belonging everywhere.....to be able to walk along the fringes when needed so I can jump into anything I want to that draws me in, whenever I feel like it. To respond to life. To wait to be invited to the party. And to simply invite myself by telling life that I am ready to be invited....that I am here!

And that changes the way I look at the 'You are here' spot on the map that is forming now. While I saw it earlier as a place on an already charted map, showing me where I could go, which direction I could head in, I am now seeing it very differently.....I see it as a beautiful spot in an unexplored land, where I can simply stand, marveling at the beauty of the landscape, and tell life loudly and clearly.....that I am ready and here for it to take me where it wants to take me, and where I need to go!

To just know that 'You are here'! Ah! What freedom!

Hungry

everywhere
every moment
in every leaf that falls,
in every dew drop
poised on edge,
in every blade of grass
brown or green,
in every seed
waiting to be spent,
I see hunger,
the universe gorging on itself,
driven by a raging fire
to thrive, to feed
everything alive,
dead or dying,
hungry for a taste
of anything called life;
the feast of a life
well-lived.

Heading Home

I wonder what it was
that drew me to you,
and away from you....
was it the sudden expanse
of stark wilderness,
of wind-sheared mountains
against bald brown,green and blue;
or was it the sheer uncertainty
and hard compassion
of fast-changing tides of wind and water;
or was it the simple innocence
of a black and white life,
where every dimple and blob
breathed fire and ice;
or was it the ever-growing mystery
of virgin depths and shrouded heights,
of limpid morns and surreal nights;
what was it I wonder,
that took me in,
that made me stand unfazed
against the slanting rain
and powdered ice,
or the blood-curdling winds
and the veiled wintry sun,
without a cover or name -
a faceless face in a paltry crowd,
where everything
felt warm and safe,
where suddenly an island
transformed into a continent,
that grew wings and feet and arms
from closing waters,
rising and falling
with the wisps of clouds,
singing the soulful song
of wild geese
heading home -
a place where I can return,
so I can leave and live,
another life, in another world,
just another place
to rest awhile,
where fire meets ice,
where days meet nights,
where black meets white,
where will meets longing,
where fear meets love, and
where life meets death,
so I can be born
all over again,
and again.

Kali

I came to you
with a head full of
stories, questions,
heroes, heroines,
soap operas, tragedies,
flippant comedies,
and gifts that I thought
I bring to this world;
and then, at the cusp
of a limping daylight
and the ravishing black
of a buxom moon,
I stood before you
completely undone;
one look at your
imposing form,
your thousand arms
piercing into eternity,
and the enticing pleats
of your bellowing skirt
drawing me into
a deathly trance,
and my heavy head
bowed down
at your still feet -
the altar of all things human,
pouring out nothing
but words of glory,
while you, through your
frozen white
outstretched tongue,
consume it all,
in one gulp,
mocking at my foolery -
to frill up the cracks
in each shard
with a new incomplete story,
a desperation for wholeness,
when everything that is,
is broken and breakable,
in your hands
of death and life,
O Black Goddess,
Kali!

dancing mountains of water
hungry beaks piercing
life blood flows through frozen veins.

prim firs pricked with crystal light
leaves in white coffins
She heals herself in silence.

Listen

listen to me
not with your thoughts,
not with your words,
not with your feelers,
trying to make sense
of what you are
or who I am;
listen to me
with the silence
that swallows it all,
where you don't know
where you begin
or end;
listen to me,
lie still, in me.

Broken Waters

and as I stepped out
from your womb,
my fears held safe
in your depths
all these years,
I felt the smelting
of heavy chains,
of unspoken terror
leaving me,
and I looked up
to the winter sun,
filled with a lightness
of a heart and body
that's finally learned
to feel and cherish
the wetness
and freshness
of broken waters,
given birth
to a sacred life,
waiting to be held
and worn.

Black Anger Rising

black anger
rising
from still ground,
no frills,
no flowers,
no camouflage,
no airs,
just an ashen skin,
white hot,
smooth and plain,
dusted
with the whiteness
of a heart
that knows
only one way
to love -
a ferocious love
that destroys
things with a shelf-life,
to recycle,
to create,
a timeless world
beyond life and love.

Black Mountain

and you drew me
with your steady,
one - pointed gaze,
into your spent bosom,
the blackness and stillness
of your stark eyes,
of your majestic form,
lit the pyre
of my wayward thoughts,
as I swallowed you
in one breath,
of fear and love,
with nowhere to hide
but in your barren folds,
now mine,
drinking in a love
that you do not give,
but help me find myself;
rising from the ashes
of long-dead logs
from other worlds,
the black goddess
comes alive
to kill with a love
for Black Mountain.

Prayag

and when she touched me,
I remembered
the longing,
the pilgrimage
I've been on,
looking for that something
without a name,
until I reached
the prayag
of pain and joy,
where I dipped
my weary soul,
cleansing the pores
of a body
clogged by the grime
of unlived lives
and moments
too stubborn
to be washed away
by mundanities,
as if waiting
over lifetimes even
for her to walk in
and bless me
with the stillness
and Grace
of the gushing river
in her soft hands;
and I rested
in the womb
of a mother
I never had.

Ruthless

once, long ago
a four-legged human
dragged himself up
to the terrace,
on his last mission,
his mouth frothing,
his hind legs limp,
terror and peace
swirling in his eyes
at once,
as he howled
a prayer
one last time
to the black heavens,
while I held him close -
trembling skin and fur,
rocked upon a raging sea,
who churned out
from her wildest depths,
the first sharp breath
of a morning sun,
and the ruthless violence
of dying and being alive,
as he fell against
my sinking heart
and feet.

Between Worlds

a butterfly
unfurls
her fairy wings,
waking up
forgotten flowers,
flitting between
two worlds -
encased
in the freedom
of what's real
and what's a dream.

In Hiding

and even the sun,
in all her brilliance,
slips into the stillness
of her dark womb
every day
at twilight,
hiding herself,
away from eyes
that cannot hold
her ravishing beauty
for long -
eyes that want to
devour her glory,
tossing and turning
through long, dark nights,
all for a glimpse of her;
and then she arrives quietly,
without fanfare,
while the world still dreams,
burning shadows
along her way,
and fanning the flames
of those hearts
that fear not to walk
in their own light
and shadow.

Half-Burnt Logs

and we sat under the stars,
skin to skin,
eye to eye,
heart to heart -
little points of light
growing
dark and heavy
with the descending
heavens,
coming to meet
the curling smoke
spiraling up
from the guts
of a sacred fire,
crying out the song
of half-burnt logs
and the tyranny
of being human.

Breath of Life

and I stood there
with my head
resting
upon my heart,
as you thundered
through my every pore;
you whipped me,
caressed me,
carved me,
hollowed me out,
and ground me
to insignificant dust,
to carry me upon
your mighty shoulders,
and hold me close,
so I could feel
and merge with
the breath and flow
of all of life.

Between Longing and Being

in the first brush
of orange on inky blue,
in the parted beak
of a koel setting a tune,
in the fading call
of crickets
lulled by the morning breeze,
in the cry of a heart
that wants to call
something it cannot own,
its own,
rests
the silent grave
and womb
between
longing
and being.

Falling Into Myself

and I fall
with the cherry blossoms
in their prime,
joining a dance
with the moist earth,
unfettered
by longings
or flattery,
crushed
by impervious feet
and stone hearts,
who know not yet,
the beauty and joy
of this quiet
impermanence.

In the Near Distance

why do you torment me?
why do you tease me?
stalk me, chase me,
as I run away from your duress,
that's always too much to bear?
and then,
when I find myself
rooted
in the stoned silence
between hushes,
you catch me unawares,
your waters breaking
all over me,
taking me to a reverie,
and yet sometimes,
just leaving
my orphaned toes,
yearning for that one brush
of elusive closeness,
still taunting me,
drawing me,
into your heaving bosom
in the distance;

and I remember how
the moon makes waves
all the time,
being herself
in the near distance.

Ground

and I must not forget
that I stand today,
not upon the shoulders
of those long left,
but upon their hearts -
who, though terrified
to look into the labyrinth
of light and dark,
led me into
the presence of things
that I can only add
to my growing years,
stitching up the ground
so I can stand
and peer into
my own roots
and wings,
of darkness
and light.

i

i am the one
who stands guard
on the fading edge
moving and changing
always a little more
than I would like it to;

i am the one
who paces up and down
the turrets of your being,
with eyes prying open
and scavenging
the faintest challenge;

i am the one
who holds the elements
and ravishing energies
washing over and flowing
inside you
as one mighty river;

i am the one
who leads you home
on that final stretch,
clinging to your burning skin,
leaping into that abyss
between humiliation and hubris.

Said the Canvas to the Artist...

said the canvas to the artist:
"sometimes, I wish
you'd just pick up
that resting brush
and stroke me
with your lingering eyes
and uncertain hands,
splashing colours
across my bosom;
isn't the emptiness
that you see,
inspiration enough?
to feel and create
depths in surfaces
longing to be met
in quiet serendipity?

Dancing Cells, Shimmering Stars

and then, Life said to me:
"why do you
first build walls,
and then carve
doors and windows
to open and see?
step out for a moment
in the still of the night
under the shimmering stars,
feel me in your
wild dancing cells,
and you will know
all that you are,
and all that you can
and will ever be."

The Wave

and I hold myself
in the depths of who I am,
choosing to stay
in the midst of the swell,
to be the wave
who never reached the shore.

Somewhere, Everywhere, Anywhere

somewhere
in a distant forest,
a leaf twirls on tip toe
to the yawning ground;
somewhere
up in a mountain,
the first raindrop smudges
the dust off a weary stone;
somewhere
in the haunting darkness,
a firefly lights up herself
to blaze a trail without a trace;
somewhere
up in a passing cloud,
a puff of air grows silently
into a thundering storm;
somewhere
which could be in the middle
of everywhere, anywhere,
silence becomes the swell
of a new wordless song
waiting to be sung.

The Embrace

and I didn't quite know,
until you raised your arms
as your being smiled,
and circled the walls
of a crumbling bastion
I had held on to
for perhaps too long,
that the waters from
the womb of our eyes,
breaking into a swell,
as they met for a moment
in a timeless embrace
of water and earth,
fire and breath,
gave birth to
and held close,
the kiss of a new
unlived life.