The opaque mirror

Today in the office, I take a break from work, close my eyes and sink into my myself. An image of a mirror with a beautiful wrought iron border surfaces. I look at it fascinated, admire the oval shape, the sheen of the glass, the fine working of the metal. And yet, in spite of all my looking I cannot see myself in the mirror. And then the realisation dawns that I am that mirror.

Over the years, a layer of experiences, thoughts, impressions, opinions have collected over the gleaming surface to such an extent that the mirror no longer reflects anything. All I am seeing all the time is the grime that has accumulated on top. Only if I peel away the layers one by one, throw away the scum of dead thought and clean it all up with the laser beam of mindful awareness will I be able to get to the gleaming mirror that is me. My true self. The pure light of consciousness. The unblemished manifestation of divinity. Pure love. It is all there, always there, waiting to be discovered, to be reclaimed, to be brought to light again.

That is the highest purpose of my life.

Chrysalis

The other day I was walking in my front yard, where the grass had grown tall and was interspersed with tiny yellow wildflowers. I noticed a tiny little butterfly alight on one of these flowers. It sat there, light and airy, probing around for nectar when the wind began to blow. Hard. So hard that the flower stalks bent down and the flowers almost touched the ground. I expected the butterfly to get blown off, such a light-looking creature it was. But to my great astonishment, the butterfly stayed on the flower, clinging tightly, even as the flower swayed madly in the wind, tossed here and there. Even as the wind beat on my face and flapped my clothes. I wondered about the strength of the butterfly then, such strong legs it must have to hold fast to that dainty flower in the force of what might have been a strong breeze to me, but which was evidently quite forceful for the grass and the flowers.

I wondered then where this strength came from. Until I remembered the chrysalis. Inside the chrysalis the young butterfly goes through a period of growth. But when the time comes for it to emerge, it has to struggle to break open the walls of the chrysalis. What has been a protective cocoon so far is now restrictive. So it struggles, its efforts pushing the fluid into the wing veins so that they can open up. Its legs and mouth probably straining against the chrysalis walls, tearing them open. Until the butterfly emerges, light and strong.

It seems to me that my struggles have also been like that. Maybe this struggle and pain was necessary for me to break open the walls of my chrysalis and to emerge as a butterfly. Maybe it will give my wings lightness and my legs strength. Maybe it will also give my heart the wisdom to learn to let go of the past, just as the butterfly discards and forgets the chrysalis as it flies away into freedom.


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A violet vision in a dying day

As I go on my walk I see many flowering bushes, pink roses, spotted tiger lilies, delicately pretty pohutukawas, but today I see a vision that takes my breath away. A bush full of violet flowers, large velvet-petaled and stamens that bend into forks at right angles. The flowers hover like a violet cloud over the bush and even the ground underneath is made beautiful by the fallen violet petals among the autumn leaves.

The autumnal leaves look lovely everywhere, yellow-orange and crinkled, sprinkling the green grass in a violent contrast, on footpaths and huddling on the edges of gutters where the water gleams pink from the clouds above. I walk to the river where the heavy rain has transformed it into a rushing current. The blue waters speckled pink rush merrily along, rippled and foaming, carrying logs and leaves. But for the sound of the river everything else is still as the day dies.

The sun has set in the distant sea but its rays still linger in the sky in a reluctant farewell. The pink in the sky turns deeper into peach and then into a vivid rose as the interspersed clouds turn a deep shade of grey. The trees silhouetted on the horizon turn a dark shade of green. I wonder if we can be like a sunlit day, spread light and warmth while alive and be so gloriously alive in our dying moments that even they sparkle with joy and beauty.

As I walk alongside the stream the song of the flow mingles with the muted music of the birds in the trees. Dusk approaches rapidly and lights come on on the hills among the tiled roofs and the treetops. This is my favourite part of the day. It is as if the day is parting but with the promise that it will be back soon. Somehow there is always hope in the departing light.

As I near the house, night has fallen and the trees appear mysterious among the shadows. If the clouds clear away, soon the stars will be out and hopefully a laughing crescent moon. Everything is so perfect in nature, so effortless, so simple and so beautiful. If only we could learn to live like that.

The silence of night

I was standing outside on the balcony yesterday, in the dark of the night and it occurred to me that the night has a different kind of silence. It is the silence of the stars and the horizon lit up with pale moonlight and the quiet stillness of trees ruffled by the faintest of breezes, and into this silence falls the faint sound of an insect buzzing, and the soft occasional tinkle of the wind chime like a gentle pluck on a sitar string and this dark silence accentuated by the coolness of the night laden with the promise of rain. How can I help but lose myself ?

Before I go to bed I go and stand in the balcony once more. This time the breeze wasn't blowing, so the trees were still and the wind chime was quiet. So the silence was deeper. But there was another beautiful sound. A lone owl was calling in the hills. 'Koo-koo' it called lustily. I read somewhere that the owl calls for a mate, therefore the sound was at once melancholy and hopeful. Hope must spring eternal in the owl's breast for sometimes I do hear an answering owl call. When two owls call in unison, the sound is so beautiful I stop still and listen. 'Koo-koo' one calls and 'koo-koo' another answers in a slightly different pitch. I wonder then that owls must pack a lot of meaning into those two syllables, they must be saying all that they have to say in varying pitches and tones. Who knows, maybe they even make themselves understood. And look at us humans, so many syllables in so many languages and so little understanding of each other, so little understanding even of ourselves. The moon is high in the sky now and so the starlight is a bit dimmed. I stand in the moonlight and bask in it and feel blessed.

Later on in the dead of night, I wake up. The silence is deepest now, even though the darkness is not. There is a tiny sliver of moonlight that escapes through a parting in the curtain and gives the room a tiny glow. And in the deep silence only a humming is heard, which could be the journey of blood in my ears. I feel tempted to remain awake and listen to the silence, but sleep overtakes me.

Zzzzzzz...............

The cycle of life

One moment an insect is sitting on a branch and the next instant a bird eats it up. The insect’s life force is dramatically and instantly transformed into the bird’s. An earthworm crawls on the footpath and is trodden by a foot. This time the transformation is slower and subtler, as it turns into dust and seeps into the earth to be transformed into grass, trees, and fruits. In nature, every instant is one of transformation, of creation-destruction-creation. Only the form changes, but the essence remains the same. Watching this we accept it calmly and tranquilly as the cycle of life.

Yet when it is the turn of someone loved and close to us to die, we put up the greatest resistance to this fundamental truth, we react dramatically with grief, we withdraw into denial, so strongly do we hold on to the illusion of life. The same also happens with relationships to people, places, and jobs. Even if we know that it is time to move on, that the purpose of a relationship is over, even if it brings more pain than comfort, so attached are we to the familiar, so unwilling are we of getting out of our comfort zone, so afraid are we of facing the unknown that we cling on. Letting go is the hardest thing to do and yet it is the one thing that can truly liberate us, free us to be ourselves, help us find out true selves.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. - Mark Twain

It's Good Friday everyday

Today is Good Friday and instead of going to church I am sitting at home blogging. If someone asks me now why I am not in church mourning the death of Christ, I would say that Christ died once 2000 years ago and that was enough, I don't have any plans to finish him off every year, year after year. Besides, I feel him alive within me, so what is there to mourn? Shouldn't I be jubilant and celebrate?

Come to think of it, I haven't even understood why his death is being remembered. It is said that Christ died to save us from damnation. Really? What damnation? At whose hands? Surely not at the hands of an all-loving, benevolent Divine Being who has nothing but love for us. Would any parent send their child to eternal damnation? If we as humans can be accomodating of our children's misdeeds, would not God be too?

It is also said that Christ took all our sins on Himself. But how? How is it possible that we sin and he gets punished? Does that mean then we can merrily go on sinning since he has already paid the price in a one-time horrifying instalment? Somehow this sin-transference theory does not hold much water with me.

Then it is said that he died and was resurrected on the third day. Cool. I don't have any problems with that. But if that's the case, he is still alive, right? Having conquered death. Then why are we putting him up on the Cross in elaborate ceremonies and mummifying him in black robes and burying him in vaults? Hmmm....

Jesus was a human being just like any one of us, but what took him out of the ordinary into the realm of the sublime was that he was able to realise his divine nature. For me the purpose of Jesus' life was to show to us that we too are capable of that. He walked on Earth to show us that we are all Christs-in-the-making. Every instant in which I am aware of my divine nature and connected to the divine being, I am being Christ. But all those moments where I lose that connection and wallow in darkness, I am being merely human, that is my sin. And so in my life Jesus dies and is born again every day. Every day is a Good Friday and Christ is resurrected and Easter comes as soon as I realise that I have forgotten my soul and it has gone into mourning. The only evil is to be in that state of darkness, disconnected from the divine source and the only good is getting back into Christ-consciousness. We do not honour Christ by remembering Him on Good Friday or Easter or during Sunday services, we honour Him by being Him.

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dancing stars and lunchtime ramblings

Last night on TV on 'Dancing with the Stars' I watched Cory the boxer dancing the fox-trot with Nerida the dancer after being coached by her for a week. After the dance one of the judges made a comment that made me think. She said 'Cory, you need to bring out your feminine side especially in a dance like the foxtrot. There can never be any doubt in our mind that you are a man, so don't hold on to that image so firmly, give expression to your feminine side as well, your soft, elegant side'. Hmmmm… that made me think. How true! How we all struggle so valiantly to put on a brave masculine front, including us women. 'Be brave, be a man', growing, little boys are told as tears well up in their eyes, as if giving vent to their feelings is some crime. And look at us modern women, staunchly and stoically we march, mistakenly thinking that by doing so we are being as strong as men and will somehow be considered equal. Why is giving expression to one's feminine side considered weak? How can softness, gentleness, compassion, giving, expressing one's feelings be a flaw?

While I was going to get lunch today, I happened to run into John, an old friend. When he saw me his face lit up, and I suspect mine lit up too. Some spark was lit, a smile came to my face and if he wasn't rushing to a meeting I would probably have got a hug. And walking down the road under the drab, dreary autumn sky feeling lit up from within, I cannot help thinking how we touch people's lives. Even in the smallest most inconsequential meetings, lives are touched and we are transformed in an instant, if only by a fraction, but transformed we most definitely are.

As I continue walking, I see glimpses of beauty in the commonplace -

Slanting hazel eyes, soft with love.

Naughty, laughing youngsters with not a care in the world, the world at their feet.

Trees happily waving their green-turning-to-yellow branches at the autumn sky.

The sun surprising us with a split-second visit.

Liquid elegance in a Swarovski shop window, crystal tamed into the most astonishingly beautiful shapes.

Elegant curlicues on the facades of old buildings.

And under it all the heart of the city, softly beating, beneath the apparent chaos, in understated harmony.

The black, sequinned veil

One night I was sitting in my backyard looking up at the night sky which had obligingly decked herself up very liberally with stars. The Milky Way cut a hazy swathe through these bright glittering jewels and it seemed as though the night was a black, sequined veil spread across the sky.

But as I kept looking up at this fabulous fabric, a shift started taking place in my mind. The tapestry on the sky started to get hazy and dissolve and each star stood out in solitary splendour as I realised that even though stars appear next to each other, they might be millions of light years away in actual space, and so the sky which seemed two-dimensional until then now seemed to stretch out to infinity, and all of a sudden in a flash of insight and a rush of joy, I realised that I was looking up at the universe.

The whole universe was out there, swirling galaxies and twirling supernovas, stars dying and collapsing and new ones being born, hurtling meteors and slow-moving planets. Suddenly the placid, calm night sky became a crackling cauldron of movement, creation and destruction. And then all thoughts dissolved in my mind and I was left gaping in a state of awe and wonder. After that the sky was no longer the limit because there is no sky and no limit, just the limitless Universe.

Who am I?

The other day it occurred to me that whatever the circumstances of my life, poor / rich, healthy / sick, full social life / solitary, happy / sad, the only and greatest treasure in my life is myself. All these other circumstances are external, they pass away or change but I, I remain. Then I began to wonder what that 'I' is. Who am I? I realised that this self-conception changes from day to day or even from hour to hour. Then who is the real I?

Then a flash of insight told me that I am pure potential. What I see of myself is the manifested form. That which I choose to express of my potentiality. In unmanifested form I can be anything and everything, but what I have become is the result of my choices from moment to moment. At any given moment I chose to be sad, joyous, envious, forgiving, fearful and that is what I become. Some of our choices become habit. In the past, unknowingly some kind of situation must have triggered fear in our minds and slowly over time we become habituated to choosing fear in similar situations. What is also unknown to us is that we have a choice every time. Out of our pure potential we have the ability to chose courage, we have the strength to confront our fears.

I have also realised that if I remain aware of my potentiality it gives me power, because now I know that I have choices and I have the power to choose, instead of succumbing powerlessly and choicelessly. Now when I am beginning to feel fear, I can choose courage instead, instead of pain I can choose joy, instead of hate I can choose love. All of them exist in me as what I potentially am , but what I become is the result of my choices.

The light of insight does dispel darkness :)

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Musings on a rain drenched walk

It is late evening and I am taking a walk when it starts to rain suddenly. First in a light smitter-smatter and then in a heavy drizzle. I have no raincoat or umbrella so I let myself get drenched. The raindrops caress my face in gentle strokes and slither down my nose and chin in large drops. And when I look up, in the bowl of the valley among the backdrop of the hills, there it is, a rainbow, a perfect arc, stretching from base of hill to base of another hill. Stark in the vividness of its colour and radiant in its beauty. As I walk, it fades slowly and disappears altogether. Then just as suddenly the rain stops, as if its only purpose had been to paint a rainbow in the sky.

Then it strikes me how effortlessly Nature does things. Without seeming to put in any effort it conjures up a rainbow from thin air. No stress, no striving, no deadlines, no bottomlines, just effortless ease. Just the intention and then the manifestation.

After the rain, the asphalt road has turned a shiny shade of black and the foliage, ah! they have turned a cleaner, crisper shade of green. Moisture hangs in the air like a secret and as I pass by trees, they give off a woody fragrance that mingles with the smell of the damp earth as shadows gather among the leaves and the sun bids a smiling farewell.

My dear Chirrikkuduka :D

Dearest Rajam,

Do you realise it is exactly twenty years since we first met in the corridors of NITIE. I don't know what you gained from that course but I not only did I gain a diploma and a fresh start to a new career but I also met you and you have remained one of my most cherished friends throughout these years. It must have been our individual pain at that time that brought us together and our determination to overcome it that took us to all sorts of unusual places. Do you remember the fair we went to in Matunga and how we tried our hands at almost all the games there. We were like two teenage girls, giggling all the time and eating pink candy floss. I hadn't done that since I was a kid. I don't giggle so much these days my dear, but I'm sure you still do.

I have come a long way since then, geographically at least :))) I'm not sure about my mental and spiritual development but I like to think that suffering and joy have both contributed to my growth. However, I must admit there are still some days on which I feel like a lonely, insecure teenager.

I remember we used to talk for hours, you did all the talking and I did the listening and even though you still complain about my lack of words, I think we should do what we are best at doing. So I will continue to listen, my dear, because it gives me immense pleasure to hear you talk and even more to hear you laugh. I don't know at what point of time you took up residence in my heart but you have lived there ever since. Even though when you went away to Belgium I had thought that our friendship was over.

You probably think that I have reached some high state of spiritual development, but, my dear, my days are as normal as yours. I stumble often and fall just like everyone does. But it is true there are times when I can reach the stillness within and then the dross falls away and only pure light of consciousness remains. Once you have experienced that joy then the pleasures of the world are not worth desiring even, but the senses are so clever they insidiously draw you back and so like everyone else I wallow in the world.

My dear Rajam, as you go about your life please know that my love is with you from moment to moment. And if in a moment of quiet, my thought brings a smile on your face, just think that I have been richly rewarded :) And, my dear, also know that your love for me has been like a golden shimmering thread that runs through the tapestry of my life.

With deepest affection,

:D

A River Soliloquy

I sit by the riverbank watching the river flow. It has a tempo of its own, it flows to the rhythm of nature, the beat of the earth and slowly I relax to match its tempo. My breathing slows down, my body loses its rigidly-held tensions and it feels as though the weight of my burdens fall off and flow away with the waters.

There are fallen logs rotting in the water on the edge, green with moss and coming apart slowly. Looking at them I realize how things come full circle, the cycle of life and death as things return unresistingly to the source. How different is man, how we cling to this transitory life, this false permanence.

Sometimes ducks come out to feed, foraging in the shallow waters. Also black swans, gliding like black clouds over the blue surface, their gait unhurried, their necks graceful. A duck with ducklings joins in sometimes, the babies, balls of fluff frantically following their mother around. Love wells up inside me, and breaking the barriers of my heart it flows towards the little family, embracing them in protection. But occasionally, the duckling number dwindles and I guess the mother learns to let go without attachment.

The river is mostly flowing, the current creating a dancing, rippling surface and a quiet music, but after a heavy rain, the river is muddy and full-bodied and rushing towards the sea. But even in the speed there is calmness beneath. And on some days, the waters are totally unmoving, or seems to be. Then the surface is like a glass lake. The trees on the banks peer at their own reflection even as I do, white clouds glide on the still surface and birds flap their wings and swoop without creating even a ripple. Things are not as they seem, the river seems to say. Be aware of the illusion of things.

a workplace litany

beneath the hum of the air-conditioning
i hear a lone cicada singing.
a strange out-of-place voice
among the honey-comb-office noise.
then just as quickly it fades
as bustle and clamour pervades.

then, in a moment of quiet,
arching, it rises to a height,
a simple, soul-stirring symphony,
a lilting, light-hearted litany.
the most precious things of all,
they speak silently to the soul.

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Truth ?

A dear friend and I were having this discussion about Truth, and he kept saying, ‘I want to find out the truth, go deep into things and find it’. And I was wondering, what truth? where is he going to find it? Is truth so limited that it can be grasped by the mind?

When I am in deep meditation, I dissolve into nothingness. There is nothing left, not even the presence of spirit. Even the word ‘nothingness’ is inadequate to describe that state. That is the closest I have got to Truth.

In my opinion, everything else are beliefs, concepts, ideas, that we hold individually or together consensually. They are signposts, illuminations, guidelines, maps to help us navigate through the mine-filled labyrinth of life. But sometimes we espouse them so passionately, make them so inextricably our own that we are sometimes willing to even kill or die for our truths. We condemn and hate and live in fear on account of these truths. We allow these to blind us so completely that we seldom realize or are even aware of the luminous light that is our natural state.

But I guess my friend was looking for answers to questions, for light on issues that needed illumination. I hope he finds them.

An old Tamil song plays....

A haunting Malayalam number from the movie 'Manichitratazhu'


Get Your Own Hindi Songs Player at Music Plugin

Come fly with me...

When I was on my luchtime walk today, I saw a little boy about three dressed in a Superman costume, complete with boots and even a red cape, but sitting in a stroller that was being pushed by his mother. It was so cute it brought a smile to my face, and so incongrous too. Here was a Superman who wasn't even walking let alone flying, I couldn't help thinking.

Then later on it occurred to me that so much like that we are too. Here we are limitless, flying spirits but once we don our physical bodies, we forget all about our boundless nature. Our bodies understandably are bound by gravity but we let our minds too get fettered with convention, dogma, rigidity, 'can't-dos', impossibilites. We don't realise that there is a realm of infinite possibility that we have access to. That anything is possible. We need to get hold of a mental Superman costume and wear it so that we can relearn to fly :)

Anyone interested in flying lessons ?

why?

if God can create the whole universe, can he not take care of my needs? then why do I feel insecure about tomorrow? why do I hoard and hoard for the future, even more than I might ever need? when I let go of these fears, I feel free. I feel like I am floatling weightless in a void. a void filled with love...

A Moroccan story

----- Another gem of a story from the book "Like the Flowing River" by Paulo Coelho. -----

A visitor arrives from Morocco and tells me a curious story about how certain desert tribes perceive original sin.

Eve was walking in the Garden of Eden when the serpent slithered over to her.

”Eat this apple,” said the serpent.

Eve, who had been properly instructed by God, refused.

”Eat this apple,” insisted the serpent. “You need to look more beautiful for your man.”

”No, I don’t,” replied Eve. “He has no other woman but me.”

The serpent laughed.

”Of course he has.”

And when Eve did not believe him, he led her up to a well on top of a hill.

”She’s in that cave. Adam hid her in there.”

Eve leaned over and, reflected in the water of the well, she saw a lovely woman. She immediately ate the apple the serpent was holding out to her.

According to this same Moroccan tribe, a return to paradise is guaranteed to anyone who recognizes his or her reflection in the water and feels no fear.

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If you think you're too small..

“If you think you're too small to have an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito.”

- Anita Roddick

What can I say about her, her life says it all ! http://www.anitaroddick.com/

Sita in the forest

A long time ago when Doordarshan was the only channel on television, they used to telecast these wonderful dance programmes. There is one I haven’t forgotten even after all these years and which I keep remembering very often these days.

It was a lecture-performance and the story being depicted was of Sita and her twins living in the forest. One day, the dancer explains, they set out to collect firewood. They come to this tree and before chopping it down they bow down in obeisance and ask the tree spirit for its permission and forgiveness. Humble and contrite they realize that they are not owners but guests and the rules of hospitality must not be violated. The bowed Sita image comes to mind very often these days.

There are reams and reams of words written and spoken, miles of footage telecast and broadcast on the apocalypse that is coming. Lamentations on the world consuming itself to destruction like a parasite consuming its own host. We are all following the 10, 20, 50 ways to save the planet. And I’m pretty sure it’s all making a difference. But in my opinion unless we establish a connection with Nature, with the Earth, like the ancients did, all these efforts are going to be just superficial. That applies to all of us, rich nations, developing ones, poor countries.

We all have myriads of problems, excruciating job schedules, sick relatives, money troubles, but we don’t forget to eat, do we? Most ofus are strapped for time, but we still make space for love and laughter, don’t we? This connection with the Earth Mother and the spirit that underlies all things is just as existential. Then why do we put it aside? Without it we flounder about lost in the maze of the senses, in a world created by the ego, moving towards artificial goals.

Surrounded by comforts and noise, by mindless activity, we have lost that connection with the elements, we’ve forgotten that we are made up the elements ourselves. We tend to think of ourselves as executives and professionals and powerful. As rich and well-informed and doing better than the neighbours. As having fun and being financially secure. But is that our true nature? We cannot see beyond the labels. We have lost the connection with the source of all things and until we regain that connection all other journeys are going to be futile. That is the only journey worth taking. And we must do it not for our children, not for the planet, but for ourselves.

How can we put our external world in order when our inner world is in shambles? How can we rebuild the planet when our own house is in need of fixing? How can we save the world when we haven’t saved ourselves?

Therefore, I remember Sita in the forest.