Hungry

grey clouds
over misty eyes,
looking for that
insipid line
where earth meets sky,
pandering rain
falls away
like old quills,
the icy wind
howls and bites
into broken skin,
a long-doused fire
rekindled
and stoked,
melts
vagrant thoughts,
like lemon drops
held for long
on a warm tongue;
while fuming rotis
and
baingan bhartha,
beckon
a cocooned soul,
now hungry
for more,
of life.

Imprisoned

locked in
by stone
walls
and iron
bars
that won't
give
dissolve
or bend;
trapped
in
straightjacket
reality,
fossilized
opinions,
choked
by eons
of toxic beliefs;
free spirits
screaming
to be let out,
to roam wild,
for they know
how to live
and die
free.

Waiting For Death

lack lustre eyes
soaked
in soap operas, and
white-washed reality,
Life's locked out
of her own home;
now peering into
fading fine print,
life crumbles
like old parchment
with every turn
of the page;
gnarled fingers
of an ageless spirit,
rest on frozen knees -
slowed down, numbed
by an endless struggle
with what is;
Fear -
your ever-faithful companion,
drives you
to padlock locked doors,
to lick your little wounds
that you don't want to heal
for fear of being cast away
like an upturned log,
to pop pills like treats
between meals -
to run away from life?
or death?
Yes, you settle into
the cozy rocking chair,
your eyes worn out
from being watchdogs
in daylight,
when will you truly rest?
when will you know
that the unwelcome guest
is not locked out
from your safe nest,
but sits beside you
in the chair -
next to you,
smiling and waiting
for you to open
your tired lovelorn eyes?

Listen

Space

a free spirit
trapped by
boundaries
walls
fences
rims
containers.

sometimes
bottomless
boundless
expanding
contracting
adjusting
folding
into myself.

sometimes
squeezed out
like the last dollop
of toothpaste
from an empty tube,
or a cockroach
scuttling away
into dark corners,
always on the move;

sometimes
lost in wild forests
hidden inside
a filigree leaf,
or swelling oceans
raging inside
dainty dewdrops,
in the unfolding
of a moment;

sometimes
caught in the hands
of the clock
turning
in the same way
day after day,
or choked under
a gentle shower
seeking to soothe
a steamy soul;

sometimes
I look for space
like that tiny
blade of grass
tunneling
its way out
towards the sun,
from under
a dull concrete slab;

sometimes
I long for that space -
a space
where I can
breathe free
through walls
and containers -
simply free
to be me.
always.

Listen

Waiting in the Rain

Coke Studio in the car,
weeping window panes
paint a ruptured heart,
young green leaves
shake off water
like frisky puppies
after a bath,
tireless wheels
chase each other
on sleepy wet tar,
hustling honks
drown slipper claps,
walking voices hush
to a bird's shrill call,
time drags her feet
into the dewy grey light,
stillness cloaks her,
silence and song
move her breath,
eyes gaze on
and merge
into the restless skies,
while she cradles
her wild heart,
yearning
to skip and dance,
now waiting
alone in the rain.

The Vortex

She drew me in,
She sucked out
my fullness,
my emptiness,
my voice,
my thoughts,
my dreams,
my loss;
now squeezed,
folding
into myself,
I drop
through
a pulsing vortex,
with no light
at the end,
a glowing orb
falling
falling
into
the encircling
arms
of Life,
where to become
everything
and nothing
is to meet her
exactly
where I am.
Now.

Listen

Trust

Trust is
an autumn tree tangled
in the sinewy gusts,
a wandering cloud resting
upon an arched red sky,
sunbeams dancing through
dark unopened pores;
waves breaking into themselves
upon unquestioning shores,
a flower exploding into
dollops of morning dew,
an egret taking flight
to undress ripples of blue;

Trust is
the gift of wings
upon an earthling's heart,
locked inside
a casket of musty darkness.

Trust is the passage
between yesterdays gone
and tomorrows unborn,
where you and I
walk each step
together
into the flickering
candlelight.

Listen

Swan Song

a lone Leaf
from an unseen tree 
twirls and wilts
into the rising Mist
from the dark hollow,
stretching into
his restful arms,
as he carries her
to unknown worlds -
where pain
becomes joy,
where stillness
becomes dance,
and
where silence
becomes song.

Listen

The Way to the Heart

I can see
the flame
flickering
dancing
seducing me
to leap
into the void
that separates
you and me.

But how can I leap,
how can I leave behind
a part of me
that's held me
in its own loving way?
That's built fortresses
and courtyards,
where thoughts
and beliefs
and dreams
can play freely
like little children
in the safety
of their home?

How can I leap
when I want to
teach myself -
that part of me,
to slow down
and dance
with Life,
for that is the way -
the way that I know
to that eternal flame,
that dancing heart?

When I Speak with You

When I speak with you,
my being stills
like the silent song
of a penny dropped
into a wishing well,
resting
in the warm
unknown folds
of eternity.

When I speak with you,
your words stay
like downy pollen
from a wholesome flower
on thought-dusted wings;
I carry them with me -
sacred songs
of worlds
inside worlds,
moments
inside moments,
an endless shower
of wild confetti.

When I speak with you
I hear and see
trails of thoughts
caught by an eye
that's learned
how to see
shades of clouds
in a grain of sand,
and a cactus smiling
with all its seeds.

When I speak with you,
I hear Life
speak with me.

Freedom

I rest
on the frame
of things,
where
it doesn't matter
if the door
is open
or closed,
where there is
no 'in'
or 'out',
no coming
or going;
where being
is a merging
of all breath.
 
I rest
on the edge
of things,
where
it doesn't matter
if a line
is a dot
or a circle,
that bends
and shifts,
expands
and shrinks,
where thoughts
are not caged
like gilded birds
looking for freedom;
where freedom
just simply is.

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.

Mirror to the Blind

of what use
is a mirror
to the blind,
who sees
the world
with her heart,
not with eyes
that linger upon
form and colour,
beginnings
and endings
flaws
and glories;

of what use
is a mirror
to the one
who wants to
run her hands
over your warm skin
sculpted by Life,
who wants to
fill her insides
with the fragrance
of your breath,
who wants to
listen and dance
to the song
of your soul;

so let's
scrape away
the silver
veil of fear
that keeps
you and me
apart;
for
of what use
is a mirror
to the blind
who know only
to look into
their hearts?

Inspiration

in the silver trail
of cursive thoughts,
left behind by a snail
inching along,
in no hurry as yet
to catch up with life;
in the silent exchange
of unspoken words,
where 'being-ness'
is the prized piece
of sustenance
carried by oft-busy ants;
in the uncertain promise
of survival and celebration,
sealed by the marathon flight
of a mother who doesn't flinch
to leave her chick
in the frozen wilderness;
in the quiet fragrance
of a still wildflower
who draws unto her
vagrant hearts,
blind to their own
quintessence;
in these fractals
that drive life to its hilt,
Inspiration,
she explodes
from within.

Renewal

to listen
to the forest
is my homecoming -
building bridges
to a forgotten place
within
that breathes
silence.
solitude.
stillness.

I come to take
a part of you
back with me,
and instead
you give me back
my whole self,
in one piece.

the forest
is where
furtive thoughts
quieten
like a tired child
hushed to sleep
by a silent lullaby;
it is where
a broken heart
gathers
its scattered shards,
coming together
as one mural;

it is where
trees sculpt
ancient stories
and whisper them
to the distant sky,
brushed by silence
dripping slowly
over their changing canvas;
a renewal
of faith -
the artist's way.
 

Rear Window

there are many windows
in the house;
but which one
do you look to open
on days when you want
to fill your soul
with a breath of fresh air?

will you open
the one in front
with its pretty facade
and charming tableau
of a life half-lived,
looking out into
a manicured garden
with dainty flowers,
dancing butterflies,
and a well-worn path
leading up to a door
that always opens
with a gentle push
or the sound of a bell?

or will you open
the one in the rear
with its termite-eaten frame
adorned with
sticky dark cobwebs
and well-settled dust,
undisturbed by
the constant chatter
and clutter
of frivolity,
looking out
into the untamed woods,
where there is space
for everything
both light and dark,
small and big,
ugly and beautiful;
where butterflies and moths
wander free,
where grass and clovers,
creepers and wildflowers,
burst open their hearts
with unbridled joy,
where you walk the path
forged by your eyes
up to the altar
where fear meets love
in a bitter-sweet union?

which window
will you open
today?

Solitude

a lone stone bench
by a gushing stream,
clumps of thorny bamboo
by slowly arching trees,
solitude rests
in herself -
not waiting
to be filled
by an emptiness
or a fullness,
a becoming
or a dying,
an ebbing
or a rising,
Solitude -
she simply is.

Holes

Life
pecks at me
often,
drumming
on the skin
of my spirit,
sucking
my sap,
boring holes
that cannot
be filled,
or hidden
from the
glare of day,
reminders
of what needs to die
so I can begin
to truly live.

Bookends

     we stop               |                                                                                     |        soul mates
     we meet              |                                                                                     |        hold between them
     we love               |                                                                                     |        silence and song,
     we share             |                                                                                     |        together yet apart,
     a moment           |                                                                                     |        like bookends
     upon a crest        |                                                                                     |        on the shelf
     or nadir               |                                                                                     |        of eternity.
     ______________|                                                                                     |__________________
     ______________|                                                                                     |__________________

Parenting

There are as many ways to raise children as there are parents.
There are as many ways to raise parents as there are children.

I felt a lot of sadness when I read this article (look below) that was shared on FB, about raising a generation of helpless kids....sadness because I feel we are not looking at the whole picture, and are swinging to an extreme....I feel we are somewhere not looking deep enough at ourselves and our children.

There are always two sides to any story and I wonder if we are only seeing one side, and therefore getting paranoid and showing a knee-jerk reaction to what we see as huge problems in kids today....
I for one believe that our children raise us, and that it is only our preparation that is important.....we are the soil that needs to be prepared and aired and tilled until it is 'ready' for the seed to use as its nourishment to grow...the seed holds everything that it needs for this lifetime within itself....it does not need any preparation...it waits patiently until the soil is ready, and then there is just no stopping it. But instead of preparing the soil, which is ourselves, we are so hell bent on preparing the seed, and finding fault with it, thereby even destroying it in the process.

The seed is not helpless. It is we who are helpless, because we are simply not listening to what it is asking us to do, and trying to find quick-fix solutions rather than digging deep.

There are more and more children today with marked sensitivities and other needs, who simply seem to be telling us to wake up, open our eyes wide and look at what and where we need to change. They are showing us in so many ways to wake up to our fears and face them head on. They are screaming out loud and clear that our old ways of thinking and being no longer hold stead. But are we going to stop and listen?

The answer I guess lies in whether we want to see it as them raising us, or us raising them.

When a child wants you to sort out a conflict he is having with a friend, can we try and trust him and just be there for him? He wouldn't call you unless he needs you would he? Have we ever bothered to wait long enough to see when he is ready to handle this on his own?

If he refuses to climb monkey bars or cycle without training wheels, can we just give him the space to be until he is ready?

Can we tell them every day how special they are to us, and enjoy the simple act of loving each other, instead of getting all anxious about how they are going to use their specialness to their advantage later on?

Can we respect the tiny plants that they are now and give them the space and freedom to enjoy being plants, instead of looking at them as 25 year old trees in the making?

What are the feelings that bubble up inside you when you read this article? What are the fears that get stirred up? Perhaps it would help all of us to sit with that.....

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/Mickey-goodman/are-we-raising-a-generati_b_1249706.html 

Notes To Myself - 13

There is a point in life when you come to realise that you need windows more than mirrors. Both are made of the same material - glass (which by nature is transparent and fragile). Yet one has a thin layer of silver (like a wall) which makes the light bounce off it, while the other lets in all the light. You see only yourself in one, while you can see the world through the other. Today I want to break the mirror, open the windows and let in the world.

***************

You see something as a problem when it does not fit into your template of how something should be.
'Problems' are rooted in beliefs that need airing and tilling.
They point you to the place where the 'problem' actually stems from

***************

It is only when I feel comfortable to say NO to certain things or people, will I even begin to learn to take NO for an answer to my requests, with equanimity.
When I say NO to things that don't inspire me, I show respect for myself and life. When I can take NO for an answer to my requests, I show respect for the other and death.
Everything begins with me.

**************

 You cannot 'hold' love or compassion for something or someone....for they are free-flowing, they cannot be controlled. If you feel that you are 'holding' compassion or love, then you can be sure that it is not really compassion or love.

***************


When we think of creating something sustainable, we often seem to have a feeling that it should live on, endure, and not die.....not that that is wrong.....but the way I see it, that is what is perhaps making our car get stuck in the sand and not move.....because we are doing it out of the fear of death.....fear that something will no longer be there for us or another to enjoy....fear of what will happen to us if we do what we are doing to ourselves and the earth today....fear of what will happen to this thing of beauty that we have created....
But when I look at what I want to create, knowing that it will die some day when its time comes, and be okay with that dying, then the way I live today and in this moment, changes exponentially even.....then I don't have this feeling of wanting to hold on to my beliefs and what I have created or want to create.....I am happy to let it all go and trust life to regenerate itself and what I create, in whatever way it deems fit.....
There is always enough.....there is always abundance.....but do we see it?
Or do we see lack and scarcity and get driven by those fears?
We have much to learn just by watching nature....all the answers that we are seeking are there...
I like the way this article distinguishes between what is 'sustainable' and what is 'regenerative'

http://arianeburgess.com/regenerative-community/choosing-consciously/sustainable-or-regenerative/ 

**************

 I am learning to be more conscious of this now:
A care that I feel which is actually cloaked so well in fear that unless I am really aware it slips out so easily in disguise, and a care that I feel which comes from a genuine, deep love, which needs no disguise or explanation.
Trying to say NO to someone with care, usually puts me in one of these two spaces and I am learning to watch myself and catch that fear which tries so hard to slither out 

*************

 I cannot heal the 'hurt child' inside me, who often longs for love, care and attention, by showering love on my own child, my son or someone else close to me. When I think that I can 'heal' by giving to someone else what I did not get 'enough' of, I am actually only feeding the wound that sits so deep inside me. I do it from a space of scarcity or lack.The only way I can begin to heal that wound is to be aware of it and sit with the excruciating pain of loneliness, fear of rejection and abandonment. Anything else that I do only fuels my own ego, trying to make myself needed, wanted and loved. My role as a parent and a human being, is not to use my role to cover up my own fears, but rather to become more and more aware of why I do what I do, and face my own fears head on, instead of passing them on to someone else. Then the love I have and give to my child or anyone else, takes on a whole new flavour and grows in new, freer ways, because it starts to get rooted in self-love.

************

When the heart is ripped open, the mind rushes in to stitch it up with thoughts.

*************

 Sometimes you 'think' you are listening to your own heart and following it, but still feel a slight discomfort in your body. That is the time to listen to your body.
What you 'think' is your inner voice or your heart speaking to you, could actually be the voices from outside telling you what to do.....they are so loud sometimes that you begin to 'think' that that is the voice of your heart.

************

 Detachment is what emerges when you start fearlessly loosening your grip over something or someone. All attachment is rooted in fear.

************

 Your needs - however few or simple they might be - are still the ways in which you seek to take control over yourself and life.

***********

In The Blind

I once crouched
in a corner
with my face
buried
in cupped hands,
terrified of
the tidal wave
of darkness
swirling around,
blind
and deaf
to the sight
and sound
of my own heart.

Today,
I am still
in the blind;
yet stand up
with my feet
planted on a
shifting ground;
I cannot see
where I am going,
but I can feel
and hear
my heart singing;
I can touch
darkness
and feel its warmth,
while I hold on
to that thin
thread of trust
in myself
and life,
which I know
will guide me
to where I need to go.

Contentment

Contentment is knowing that every experience of ours is like a different piece of Lego....the essence of life in different shapes, sizes, colours and combinations, that fit together perfectly to create our unique story, which we call Life.
Contentment is about knowing that we don't get to choose the blocks that we want.....but we get to choose how we look at and use the blocks that Life gives to us to create our own story, without discarding any.
Contentment is about seeing abundance in the choices we have, and to create something of meaning and value to us, knowing that there are infinite possibilities.

Metamorphosis

I am not
the tiny creature
that once crawled
the barren earth,
looking to
new leaves
for succor,
and a cocoon
to hide
from the glare
of a harsh world;

I am a butterfly -
angelic,
ephemeral,
perched
on the edge
of an imminent
tomorrow, with
love and freedom
tattooed on wings
that itch to
take on the sky;

the world is my home,
I don't need to hide.

Surrender

I want to know
if you feel despair
the way I feel -
to be laid down
on a bed of needles,
not knowing anymore
which one pricks
and where,
and yet to not look away
from the distant stars
that watch over you
through the dark cover
of a terrifying night;

not because
you are too scared
to open
your night-blind eyes,
but because
there is no other place
where your parched eyes
can wander to -

weary eyes
that don't know anymore
what to cry for and how,
for life has sucked out
their light
and your marrow;
because
there is no other place
where they can wander
to soak in hope
and fill up with joy,

they have nowhere to go
but to stare at and pierce
the growing darkness
that chokes you in its vise;
and in that swamp
of deep despair
and impending defeat,
with no place to go,
and nowhere to hide,
your eyes will find
at last,
those tiny pin-pricks
of flickering light -
distant yet near,
quivering yet bright.

for I have seen
and I have felt
and I have heard
a quiet rose of surrender
flower
only amidst
thorns
of despair.

Needs

needs
sit in me
like pins
and needles
stuck
in a
pincushion;
some prick -
to remind,
some numb -
left behind;
waiting
to be sorted,
pulled out, and
thrown away,
one by one;
sticking points
that hurt
only to heal,
to feel beauty
in the pain
of being human
is what I need.

Seeing

you cannot see the world
from where you stand,
for you've knotted yourself,
planted yourself
too firm, too deep,

and so you look out
into the emptiness
with reticent eyes,
spinning dreams, and
crocheting memories,

weaving patterns
that only fit
into your template
of how the world
should be,
snipping off loose
unseemly threads,
in disbelief. 

your patterns fill
but the emptiness
you fear,
the very space
which holds
warp and weft
in sweet conflict.

when you slip
into the intangible
formless emptiness,
you will see
the world
as it really is,
not the way
you want it to be.

The Vessel

If you come to me
with a little cup
to be filled,
you will
walk away
with only a cupful.

Come to me
with your
whole self,
empty
of everything
you believe
is you,
and you
will be filled
with the cosmos.

The Infinite Well

look in
to see
thoughts
and
emotions
trickle
down
into
the
caldera -
the source,
the end
of all
iridescent
orbs
seeking
completion
in an
infinite
well
of peace.

The Little Sailboat

the little sailboat
rides the swell
of a tipsy ocean
sprawled out
beneath
a sober neon sky.

its destiny
is written
not by the
parched white sails
of defiance
billowing and
cutting through
waves and wind,

but rather
in knowing that
when it is
absolutely still,
the breath
of the whole cosmos
fills its sails,
and guides it
towards
the distant horizon.

strength lies
in knowing
when to be still,
so you are moved.

From the Ashes

it is time
to rise
from the ashes
of things
that have
burned
themselves out,
things that
don't serve me
anymore,

it is time
to smear
the sacred ash
on my hermit form,
and move on
to find
the one line
written inside me,
my new hymn
my soul song.

Wanderlust

clouds
quilled upon
a lucid sky,
gather
and part
at will,

a wandering heart
flies out
into
the rolling emptiness,
pinning dreams
onto a fast-changing
canvas,

only a heart
that's empty
of itself
can hear
their song
of primordial silence,

the source
which blows
dream-laden clouds
towards
elusive
destinations.

Bloom

you smell
my sweet fragrance
today,
doors of thin skin
open to the wind,
turned inside out

I have no need
for capes
now,
only wings
to carry
a sweetness

born from
deep stirrings
in the ancient dust,
a quiet rush
of love
for life,
and a sun dance
upon
the altar
where
earth meets sky -

things
that remain
unseen
to forms
that seek
not the roots,
but only
the fragrance.

Revisiting old energies in a new way...

Two days ago, on my birthday, my husband got a call from the person who used to drive our car some years ago. It was a pleasant surprise as we have not been in touch at all ever since he quit about three years ago. He wanted to come and meet us with his family and kind of invited himself for our Golu :) There was no other intention other than that, and I was touched that he still remembered us, called and inquired after us.

He came with his family in the evening and we sat down with them to chat about old times and catch up on each others' lives. Their kids had grown so much and were fascinated with Raghav's creations.
"Are you still angry with us?", his wife asked me hesitatingly.
I smiled and said: " Why should I be angry?"
"No...is sir angry with us still?", she added.
"No....he was perhaps angry then. But with him the anger is only in the moment....he does not hold on to it after that....he forgets about it after the moment....so, he is not angry with you'll...we are not angry at all," I replied.
She looked relieved. As if a big burden was off her.

She then went on to share that they were very happy as a family now....that her husband had a good job, which was not very tiring and stressful, and he was doing well enough.....they were contented and in peace, in spite of their troubles. Yes, they looked happy. I could feel it. I could feel them flowing with their lives. I felt so happy.

"We think of you every night when we sit down to eat," she said.
"Why? I don't understand..." I added.
"The way you both are....sir and you....we have learned a lot from both of you...about how to be with each other....yes, we fight and argue and get really angry and sometimes don't even talk to each other for some time.....but we now know that we have to let each other be....we just go away and be by ourselves for a while until it all settles down....we know that we have only each other and that we like each other beyond all that....life is so much more peaceful than it was then," she softly said, fighting the tears that were welling up.
My heart skipped a beat too. I felt a lump in my throat.....grateful to life for having showed them the way.....and making us an instrument towards that.

I mentioned to him while we were talking that after he had quit, we had stopped doing puja for the vehicles on Ayudha Puja day. He immediately offered to come and do it for us this time. That spontaneous gesture touched me. And we agreed to wait for him this time. Today he came and happily did the puja for our cars with devotion and sincerity. For nothing but the affection and regard he has for us. That moved me to tears. I love these simple acts of love, for no other reason but love.

And then I remembered the old times - how her husband came to drive our car because Srinath (my husband) suddenly developed double vision one day, and just couldn't drive anymore. He came then to help us tide over those challenging times, when I was getting burnt out doing everything including driving, as my husband could not get out of the house and even walk on the road because of his severe double vision. Those were trying times for us. I had just come back from Bangalore after my mother's tryst with cancer, and a few weeks later I was down with chickenpox.  My husband had to travel every week to Madurai for his work and needed a driver desperately. He came as a saviour to us.

I remembered how he and his wife had a strange relationship with both of us. They had a lot of misunderstandings between themselves and with their extended family, and would reach out only to us. He would talk only to me and she would talk only to my husband! I recalled how I had shared with him on our many trips in the car, snippets from our life and how we dealt with our problems, with vulnerability and how he opened up too with his problems. He would ask for suggestions and I would share my thoughts. His wife would do the same with my husband on the phone :) It was funny....those conversations we had about life!

We treated him as a part of the family. He used to live very far away and would come at unearthly hours to drive for my husband. Often he would not have eaten anything. I would offer him food and ask him to sit down and eat with my husband. He hesitated in the beginning as I presumed he was not used to being treated that way, but soon felt at home. I would send stuff that I had cooked sometimes home with him for his wife and kid, and he would take it happily. He would bring his family home on special occasions and would not hesitate to do anything for us. I was being myself - open and kind, as I usually am with most people.

But soon the stress of driving back and forth every week got to him I guess and he started slipping up in his work. He would take off without informing us or call in sick very often. My husband would go off on his own and he would show up a day later for work. Both of us were angry with him and he would lie to us out of fear. We were getting tired of this.

Around the same time, I suddenly had a gut feeling that he was attracted towards me too....the way he spoke and looked at me....and I felt very uncomfortable and scared to go alone with him in the car. I also felt sad that he was misusing and perhaps misunderstanding my openness and kindness. I finally expressed how I was feeling to my husband and what I thought. Strangely, soon after I did that and we both decided that we should ask him to go, he himself came up to my husband one day in the office and told him that he wanted to quit. That made it easier for us. And that was the last we saw of him, until two days ago.

So then why did these old energies revisit me or all of us two days ago, after so many years? What was the message in it for me and for us? These are the questions I have been asking myself over the last two days. It is clear to me that this was not a chance incident. There was something in it for me. Maybe for all of us.

I feel now that we were all revisiting our old energies in a new way. Life was telling each of us how much we had grown and changed....what we had let go of....what we had forgiven ourselves for....what we had learned to face in ourselves through what had happened....and where each of us was in our journeys with ourselves now. It was clear that we had all found peace within....we were all at peace with ourselves and our lives....and the way it was unfolding now for each of us. We had moved on from fear, anger, distrust, discontentment and self-doubt into another space of peace and forgiveness which comes I think from being in the flow.

How much more beautiful can life get than this?... seamlessly merging four lives in one stitch in one instant! How much more interconnected can our lives be than this?

I am forever grateful to life for showing up at my door every moment, every day....for never giving up on me, even when I sometimes feel like giving up on it .....for showing me time and again how efficient it is in the way it works - achieving the maximum with minimum effort....yes, it is time to salute life and its never-say-die attitude! :)

How Do I Dance?

one 

song

one    heart

two       places

two         faces

two      feet

one life 

one dance;

how do 

 I dance?

in 

two places

at once?

but in

knowing

that one 

step         leads 

to            another,

and              to be 

here,      now

is  to 

dance.

Soul Whisperer

I hear you whisper
beneath my skin,
breath drawn
and freed,
within;
flying birds
follow the sun,
to return home
as the blinds
are drawn -
clarion calls
from the
soul whisperer
through the many
shades of dusk;
life's longing
to break free
from
this trapping
that we call
human.

Seed Burst

I feel
a gentle stirring,
a pushing
from within,
to break open
eroded walls
now ready
to give,
as the
hardened earth
readies itself
and crumbles
to a seed burst,
parting ways
to feed life
and death;
new fronds
new branches
new roots
explode
from an
unlit womb,
only to watch
sunbeams
return
to rustle
the quiet breath
of another tree
encased inside
a restful earth.

If you listen

If you listen
carefully
you can hear
the wind
whisper
to sleepy reeds
along a river front;
you can hear
it tease
wild-horse waves
or brush off
a fallen eyelash
upon your cheek;

If you listen
carefully
you can hear
the wind
resound
in the hollow
of your
weathered form -
a piece of driftwood
upon windblown shores,
where silence rests
in the dying throes
of emptiness
lost and found.

A Quiver of Arrows

questions
fly forth
from a
formless quiver
piercing
through parchment
and shallow breath,
arrows
sent forth
swift and far
towards
an unfathomable
mark, for
nothing less
than the Truth
will do.

A Prayer

let me light
the flame inside
to keep me warm
on a cold dark night,
let me hold
the flame within
to light a path
that is not in sight,
let me seek not
to light another lamp
whose flame flickers
now in the dying light,
let me walk today
towards the Light,
knowing
that a day will come
when they will
hold their flame
and shine their light.

Sacred Chalice

in the silent
spaces
between
breath
and skin,
in the wordless
conversations
between
form
and life,
grace
emerges -
an unnoticed
spring,
as a
formless form
brought to its knees
bows over
to drink
from cupped hands,
the offering
received
and flowing over
in one instant
from the
sacred chalice.

A Flower in a Vase

You don't speak
like
a wild flower
opening
her heart
to a clean blue sky,
you speak but
like
a flower in a vase -
cut off
from roots
that know
only how to
grope and grow
in the sunburnt soil.
There is no
rush of sap
from those
dark crevices
to colour
your pretty face;
only a pale copy
of what could be,
a little water
to keep you fresh
until you see
another day.
You are but
a flower in a vase.

Birth

I am no more your mother
than the dark soil
where you rest -
your womb, your coffin
until it's time;
I am no more your mother
than the flaming sun
that stokes your spirit -
reclaimed, rejoicing
at your arrival;
I am no more your mother
than the flannel clouds
that distill joy
filling your every cell
and breath;
I am no more your mother
than the agile wind
who carries you
to the moon and stars
every now and then;
I am no more your mother
than the dancing trees
under whose shade
you will sit some day,
where your eyes
will wander
to the sun and the earth,
to the clouds and the wind,
to the moon and the stars,
who called you
into this world
one fine day.

You See the Flame

you see
the flame
flickering
and
fanning
the mellow
darkness,
but
you see not
the yielding
body
which
in giving
of itself
to the hungry
darkness,
holds
the flame
you see
tonight.

Alone

I know
I have to go
where the ice
stays
and grows
more than
it melts,
where
there are no
flowing streams
where I can
catch
or see
my own face,
where
I'll have to find
my way
making friends
with the icy wind,
who'll gnaw
into my bones
to check
if I'm still alive,
I know
I have to go
where
light and dark
will take on
another form,
and I will learn
to live
with both;
I know
that is the place
that drives
me
and the world,
where
I will find
warmth
not in the
stark white cloak
of an
endless winter,
but under
my own skin.

Breathless

today
the world
lies upon
my chest -
a giant paperweight
paralyzes
a frail papyrus
looking to
take to the wind,
stories waiting
to be scattered
on distant sands,
now trapped
in a
breathless
tempered
pithy existence.

Notes to Myself - 12

When something that triggered you earlier or made you feel an urge to stand up and defend yourself or what you believed in, now only brings a quiet smile, you know that something has changed within.

*******************

Pain and ecstasy or joy are intertwined...inseparable.....it is hard to not be with one, while you are experiencing the other....one paves the way in a sense for the other....the key I feel is to stay with what emerges without thinking about or hoping for the other...that is the way home for me.

*******************

When I go to a medical practitioner, and share my symptoms, I go because I myself do not trust my body, and that is reflected in what they say....their response is that ok you have a problem, and here is what can help you, and they want to 'fix' me, simply because I think I need to be fixed or think that my body does not know what to do....the distrust stems from me.

*******************

I don't see any form of medicine that doesn't have a one-size-fits-all approach.....not that I know too much about each....but my intuition (and I trust that) says that each one is stuck up in their own discipline almost fanatically.....and my heart doesn't resonate with this somehow....whether you choose allopathy or ayurveda or siddha or naturopathy, each one seems to treat the human being as yet another factory-made product that has to conform to certain rules and uniform disciplines...aren't they ignoring what is so blatantly obvious - that each form is a unique blend of body, mind and soul with its own unique set of experiences? At some level there seems to be a complete distrust in that fact...at some level there seems to be a hard core belief that we all have to be the same and do the same things, eat the same food, keep away from the same food, sleep at the same times, wake at the same time and feel the same things in the same way....somewhere we are missing the whole point....I wish I hadn't forgotten how to listen to my body as deeply as I need to.

*******************

A course in self-awareness? :)
R tells me this morning: "I don't know what's happening to me....suddenly there are so many changes....I am not scared of the dark anymore, I just feel much stronger in my body, I am not so sensitive to pain - that plane which fell on my leg yesterday didn't hurt me so much, and you can cut my nails now instead of waiting for me to go to sleep at night....what's happening?!"
...sigh...I wish I knew :)

******************

 We need more confessions, not healing circles.

******************

Life is a game of hide and seek between fear and love.

******************

Let the masks of superficiality drop down.
They are too light to hold themselves for long against the weight of truth.
Let the uneasy cold silence fill the spaces between us.
And let us sit with this silence - yours and mine, for as long as it takes.
And from those hidden, deep cracks, where silence reigns, truth will rise one day.
Quietly. With no airs about it.
Like the tiny blade of grass that peeps out from the damp stone wall.
The first sign of life in a world that has forgotten how to live.

******************

Breaking free one strand at a time.....there is no hurry.....I have a whole lifetime!

*****************

'Inclusion' for me today, is not an end; it is not a paradise that we long for and dream of creating; it is not a community's journey. It is an individual journey that each of us has to walk. A journey where we look within deeply to find the barriers we have built around love...a love which is looking for so many ways to flow out freely.....a love which is held back by fear of all kinds.....fear is our greatest and only barrier to inclusion, and unless we face our fears, our darkness, and look them in the eye, inclusion will continue to be a far away, unreachable dream, or a neatly pruned, manicured garden in a concrete jungle, that hopes to speak of an effort to 'green the environment'.

******************

Grateful to the human spirit that made me see time and again, that every thought and feeling has a purpose....nothing goes to 'waste' in life......it is an honor and privilege to live life like that - as if every moment and everything that emerges in it is a joyous celebration of life itself. Thank you.

*****************

 Sometimes you need to break the illusion that everything is an illusion and open yourself completely
to yourself and life.

****************

However much we try to 'organize' our lives and make it run as smoothly as we want it to, we cannot run away from darkness.....because the darkness is not outside, it is inside....every one of us.....either we (even if unknowingly) repress it and pretend to be happy and 'all there' or react to it by finding ways to move on and away from it, too scared to be still and silent and face our demons......I love what a dear friend said....something we all must do I feel : "to switch off the lights (artificial illumination)...and bring the darkness... so we can finally see the light of the stars that we all are."

*****************

We move sometimes too quickly towards kindness and peace, because we want it so so badly...or the world around us makes us feel so....they are the great 'virtues' that we all 'ought' to have...but they are the ones that haunt us and make us hate ourselves even more....it is in the 'staying' just that little more in the shame and the guilt, that helps us love ourselves completely, and get out of that trap and make a clean break.

*****************

When we feel judged by someone, or the other feels judged by you, it is because we are both judging each other unconsciously. Judgement is a deep longing for completion....to see oneself as complete, enough. Looking outside at the other, is the way towards completion, because you cannot feel oneness and completion by yourself. It is only through a relationship with someone, or something in nature, that you can arrive at, feel and embody this. The key is to look outside, but at the same time to also look within deeply. To judge with your heart and not your mind. Then the line of separation between you and the other fades and you feel whole, complete.

*****************

To experience what it feels to be complete, or see yourself as completing yourself, you need a relationship with someone or something.....whether that is a person, or the hills or the ocean or the sky or a flower....you cannot see or feel oneness by being alone....we have to go through the tunnel to see the light, even if the tunnel is just an illusion....yet another paradox of life :)....at least this is how I feel now.

*****************

I look to nature when I think of vulnerability.....everything sits out there in the sun, the rain or whatever - all vulnerable and yet 'out there'......and so yes, learning to let go of all defenses with everyone consciously....I think when one feels complete is when one gets there... **************** It is so hard to hold something that is unresolved inside when you look to every relationship as a key to learning more about yourself.....especially when this has remained unresolved over many years....one always seeks a closure or an opening, as one then feels one can move on....it is much easier to just talk it all out and face everything head on for some people but not for some others perhaps....and I am realising now that some knots perhaps cannot be untangled.....one just has to live with these knots that are much like the seams of socks or dresses that a sensitive person is constantly aware of...and find a way to wear them anyway and move on... *************** There are so many times when you feel you are standing at a 'crossroad' or a 'fork' in your life.....and you feel that you have it all worked out for yourself....your mind starts listing out the choices you have - two, three, four.....but most often it limits itself to two - this or that :)...but Life has a way of throwing you into the wild and the unknown....so if you limit yourself to a few choices, you often find yourself caught in a rut, in the same grind...and so it is perhaps wiser to see yourself standing at a precipice wherever you are at any given point in time....living on the edge of infinite possibilities.....that brings a whole new dimension to living and life! *************** Why do we stress about making choices and decisions, even when we know that all paths lead home? When what we choose is so connected to what we don't choose, we still feel fearful of taking the next step....even when we know that there is only one 'home' and that we are certain of getting there some time, somehow! Again the funny interplay of the mind and the heart :).... It is just so hard with these two at play to simply 'rest' into life :) phew! **************