NYEPI - The Day of Silence

Yesterday, March 25th, was Nyepi, The Day of Silence, celebrated in Bali. A day where you engage in silence, in pure self-contemplation, fasting, no phone, no internet, no entertainment. I read about a friend doing this the day before night. And was inspired to follow the same. No intentions, no plan. Just pure inspiration. So yesterday, I took a day off from here and from some other things. Silence. Speaking only when absolutely necessary, and only to my family. Being with myself wholly. Self contemplation. Phone switched off for the entire day from 12midnight the previous day, until almost 12 midnight yesterday. No internet. No laptop. No TV. No reading. No music. A water fast. No food from the previous night, until late last night. How was it? Absolutely effortless. And liberating. No withdrawal symptoms AT ALL for disengaging from FB or my phone or the internet. Was not tempted even once to go to any of those. And there was no tug or resistance inside that made me feel like I was exercising my willpower. I simply flowed with my simple everyday life, with absolute ease. This surprised me, as I did think I was addicted to these things. It was a revelation. And a celebration of me and the journey I have made and all that I invested in to get here. Here is what my day looked like.... I woke up and chose to connect with my body, where I was at, feeling into every part and how each was positioned. Woke up only when I felt absolutely ready. Went up to the terrace to sit and greet the morning sun, soaking it in, feeling its warmth and touch in every pore of my skin. Stayed in the stillness and silence of the morning, soaking in the vastness of the sky, the sounds of birds, the ocean in the distance, the fresh breeze, pausing with a butterfly dancing and then resting on a leaf in the distance, noticing things that I didn't notice before around me. Drank only water every time I felt a thirst pang or a hunger pang, or when I felt a tinge of dizziness. Wholesome, energy filled KANGEN water. Felt high on energy all day. Napped for about half an hour at the most. Lived on about 4-5 litres of water the whole day. And absolutely didn't feel tired at all the entire day. In fact, I achieved much much more in terms of work yesterday than I have in all these months. Spent time with my family - cuddled with my son, talked to him, shared what I was upto, tallked about the current state of affairs with the virus and its impact with Srinath, cuddled with some of the cats, talked with my mother about my fast. Did my chores around the house - cooking, feeding the cats and dogs, sweeping, washing up, dusting

• Cleaned up my work desk and set up, created my altar anew.
• Created a mandala, felt no desire to share it with the world, meditated twice in the morning and evening, sat with myself doing absolutely nothing, napped for a bit, lay down and felt into my body.
• Soaked in smells, textures and sounds even more intensely and felt them very close. Watched how sensing them triggered temptation and desire in me to eat, click pictures, record things to share.
• Watched every temptation and desire rise, and how I so wanted to act on each, or most; what they evoked in me; how a part of me wanted to just give up my fast and eat or atleast taste the food, how my eyes wandered to the snacks around, imagining the taste in my mouth, so desiring each and satiating my hunger, and how I was able to simply stay with it all and not succumb to temptation even once. It was a huge revelation.
• Then, in an explosion of creativity and flow, I sat down and created mindmaps on everything that I had been planning loosely in my head over many months. I just churned out one after another effortlessly with so much clarity! The silence and fasting sure helped immensely! And I have been in that kind of flow ever since. This simple act of coming home to myself, my home, and this cocoon of silence, balanced out everything for me, after all the intense stuckness I have been experiencing for so long now. Today, I feel like a dragonfly out of its old home...the water...and stepping out into the vast mysterious depths of an endless sky, with newly formed wings, still learning how to use them in every moment, in every breath of what feels like a new lease of life. ~ Silence. The primordial womb. Of creation. Of protection. And destruction. Where every ending transforms into a fresh new beginning. The smell, taste and feel of home forever here and always arriving.

Fish Out of Water

between
sky
and
water
is a place
I like to be

fringes
are spaces
between
impending struggle
and tarried freedom,

a tight-rope dance,
where a fish
learns to be
not a fish
out of water,
but a bird with gills
who can surf and dive
into sky and sea.

Born Free

today,
I want to talk about
my pain mother,
not yours;
the world sees
and extols
your pain,
but what about mine?
is it any less?
or more?
who would know?

did you know
I thought I was dying
as I slipped out
of the safe,
nourishing void?
squeezed,
pressed,
pulled,
pushed,
and wrung out,
my frail lungs
crushed
between walls
without an end,
daggers plunging
into tender skin,
I struggled
and gasped
through
the darkness,
a terrified ball
stretched thin and flat -
perhaps my
first painful lessons
of how to fit
into the trappings
of a fitted world
I had to make my home;

yet,
the song of my heart
exploded
into the sleepy silence
of an alien world,
with the rush of blood
from incessant stabs;
my heart throbbed
and expanded
with that first gulp
of blessed air
I swallowed
without your help;
and my insides
they came alive,
announcing
to the universe,
that I had
indeed arrived.

and the world
looked at me
with ignorance
and awe,
smothering me
with pitiful eyes,
they only saw
a helpless child
swaddled in fear,
they didn't know
I was born free,
held by life.

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.

Freedom

wings flutter,
talons retract,
eyes focus, and
passion storms
through every cell,
as I yearn for flight,
but cannot leave
the home
where I grew wings,
for what I have
does not belong
to me,
it made me,
free.

black ribbon rising
eyes trapped between boundless blues
explode into wings

Dreaming of Home

I am sick of this world
where lines are drawn
before hearts can open
to breathe and listen
to the song
of our trespassed humanity;
I am sick of this world
where you have to tell me
where I can go,
where I belong,
where I can take my place
in the family of things
large and small;
I am sick of this world
where fervent knocks
are slammed shut
with indifference
and misplaced indignation
to hold one life,
one voice
more valuable
than all others drowned;
I am sick of this world
where after eons of searching
and countless rites of passage,
I am still not home,
but lie face down
on a faceless shore,
amid broken shells
and unlived dreams,
too scared to even dream
of my true home.

Planted

There are cracks in walls of stone,
There are pores in stiffened clay,
There are sunbeams streaming
through the darkest depths,
There is starlight kissing
the night queen awake;
Often,
you learn to breathe
when you are stifled,
You learn to bloom
where you're planted.
Space.
Freedom.
Growth.
Love.
It's all inside you.
It's all you.

A Little Bird Once Told Me

and the world looks at me
for inspiration -
how I trust myself
and my skillful wings,
never afraid of sitting
on the branch
that could break
my nest and bones;

I want to tell them
to look beyond
what they see
and think they know;
I want to tell them
how I trust
my friend, the tree,
when I rest my tired wings,
upon her uncertain branches;
and my muse, the sky,
who draws me into
her blue mysteries
at the stroke of every new dawn;
and the wind, my co-traveller,
who holds and lifts me
into nothingness and love,
with his undying arms;

I want you to tell them this -
how a little bird
once told you
her story of freedom,
of trusting
not only her wings,
but all the things
that make her want to fly.

Where I Want To Be

and when I reached
the mountain top
to smell the air
so crisp, rare and free,
I stepped down
back to the middle
with that pure breath
in my heart,
to feel the hearts
of those who were
still on their way up,
with a song on my lips,
the soft touch of a gentle word,
and a heart set free;
for that's where I want to be.

The Umbrella

I stepped out into the world
with an umbrella tucked
firmly under my arm,
eyes squinting strangely
at the glaring sun,
and shying away from
the black clouds
now on the prowl -
a cadaver wading
through sticky roads
with other sardines
jostling in prying hordes;
until I happened
upon that little sparrow
who darted across to thaw
those long-frozen eyes,
and the yellow butterfly
with moist paper wings
who drew me into
her pretty dance;
and then, suddenly,
my skins, they crumbled,
strides moved to skips,
eyes became water,
hands paper ships,
roads turned to rivers,
and corpses to blips,
and well, the umbrella
was carried home that night,
with some flowers,
stones, fireflies and twigs.

A Turtle with Wings

and a turtle in her safe shell,
grew wings one summer's day,
to surf the ocean
and the vast sky,
and take in the whole world
in one deep, radiant breath;
she made a choice
to walk away that day,
from a place
she couldn't call her own,
to feel her wings,
to drop her shell,
and soar into the place
that's always home.

The Seed

I once held
a little seed tight
in my line-crossed palm,
waiting for the perfect time,
the perfect place
to set him free;

I watched the seasons
being born and die,
I watched the sun beat down
upon the burning earth,
I watched the flickering lights
upon a blackened sky,
I watched the storms
rage on and swivel by,
and held on tightly
to the tiny seed -
he couldn't go,
just yet, I thought;

until I saw a bird
drop a seed
while he whistled by -
where the sun and the stars,
the dark and the storms,
and the warm earth
where she tumbled
and giggled,
and cried and rested,
played with her,
shaped her,
and opened her,
so she could share
her gifts with them
and the world;

and I dropped
my little seed
quietly to the ground,
to set him free,
as I set myself free
from a tethered world.

Awakening

and I opened my eyes
one day
to see the world
wake up with me
to another glorious morn,
stretching
her eyes and limbs
to hold the sun
and the moon
and the countless stars
in her unfolding whorls,
kissed by the magic
of a thousand splendid suns
basking in the grace
of their splintered existence
in her ever-faithful arms.

 

Freedom

and when I looked 

to the endless blue,

pinned up over

an exploding palette

and a place 

that smells of home,

my spirit took off

from its safe perch,

splashing
colours and sounds

across the emptiness

with its untiring wings;

freedom is 

what I already am,

not what I want to claim

or dare to be.

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.

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

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.

Freedom

 

a lone bird

etches its story

in the blue wilderness,

held by the wings

of a boundless sky

and a devoted earth.

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.