Writing

Writing is essentially a solitary activity. When a writer writes he enters the dark cave of his mind, where no one else can enter, sets fire to his soul, fuels it with his joy and his pain and everything else in between and hopes that the ensuing light will pour into his pen and transform itself into words. After he has done with putting it down, he has finished his work, he has answered his calling. A writer who seeks fame and recognition is a peddlar of his soul.

Haiku

The ashes of my dreams
I have poured into my pen,
Look, how the poems blossom !

A place called home

There is a place called home
Where my spirit moves among the trees
And rises as sap into the leaves
And rustles as the wind beneath birds’ wings.


There is a place called home
Where yellow wildflowers sprinkle the grass
And always amaze me with their love for life
And fairies dance beneath the toadstools.

There is a place called home
Where my spirit sings to the drumbeat of rain
On the roof, and stands in awe to the moan
Of the wind wailing against the walls.

There is a place called home
Where my spirit soars to the twinkling stars
In a cloudless sky and trips across the Milky Way
And the moon rises laughing behind the hills.

There is a place called home
Where my spirit rests in the hollow of the valley
Nestling among verdant hills lit up with the laughter
Of a hundred, babbling, sparkling brooks.

The crumbling conversation

I stand before your door, dear friend,
Desolate, begging, bowl in hand,
Asking a crumb, a stitch, a caring hand,
This broken heart with which to mend.

But talk you would of the weather vane,
The howling wind, the thundering rain,
While my heart lashed with stormy pain,
Seeks a solitary, soothing word in vain.

Of war and peace you talk of next,
Of orphans, widows, of seething unrest,
While peace has fled my ravaged heart,
And sleep is but a fleeting guest.

Surely India cannot be left behind,
The wealth, the growth, the prospering land,
My hunger meanwhile gnaws and growls, and
The bowl grows heavy in my hand.

Where are those radiant, open lines of trust?
Those shining pathways to your heart,
How well you play a stranger’s part,
While the bowl sadly crumbles into dust.

The serene air

The day dawns misty and rainy, the hills outside our window fade in and out of the mist like specters. The rain is a fine spray on the windshield. As the train runs past the sea the hills in the distance are completely obscured by the mist and the bay looks like an open sea, vast and endless. There is no colour visible except varying shades of grey from white to a shiny, steely blue, and Mt.Victoria rises in the distance like a ghost hill, mysteriously stripped of the dwellings clinging to its sides. In spite of the dark, brooding sky and the colourless landscape, I feel a serenity matched by the floating mist, the still air and the gentle presence of God in the wind gently caressing the steel sea.

Love or Sacrifice?

Being an Indian woman, years of conditioning have taught me to sacrifice. Sacrifice my needs, my wants, my desires, my dreams for the needs of others. But in my book sacrifice is a bad word. If you are giving up something for someone else it should be out of love, willingly, it should be an act of love, a giving, then it blesses you and the receiver too. But sacrifice implies that you are doing it out of obligation, it is forced out of you by conditioning, by a sense of duty, there is an element of force to it, albeit hidden. Or it is done out a hidden fear, as if you might lose something if you didn’t sacrifice..

So we have been taught to sacrifice, we are told the rewards are many, all to be reaped in the afterlife. And maybe there are rewards in this life too. For sacrificing allows a person to feel morally superior, self-righteous even, all the brownie points that you collect to be redeemed according to the Law of Karma. And often it is used as emotional blackmail, as in “I sacrificed my life for you and you can’t even do this little thing for me….”. It gives you leverage over others. But in the final analysis, in total honesty, if can you look deep into your heart, it is quite possible that you mind find anger and resentment, a touch of bitterness even, over all the things that you sacrificed, because you did it not out of love.

Therefore, above all, love yourself. Like Buddha said “You can look the whole world over and never find anyone more deserving of love than yourself”. Then you are brimming with love and it flows in all directions towards all things. Then there will be no need to sacrifice, because all your acts will be acts of love.

All things are possible

Today evening as the train goes by the sea, I can see the clouds sitting atop the hills, grey clouds with rosy plumes like exotic birds, and the water rippling silver with the faintest touch of pink. And the folds in the hills lit up by the reflected rays of the setting sun. And I ask God how he paints a masterpiece on the sky every evening. He says, "All things are possible with me, all things are possible with you too". Somehow it is very comforting to know that my life is in the hands of someone so loving, so creative and so encompassing.

You come to me, always

On gloriously alive mornings,
The golden light slanting.
You come to me, laughing
As playful sunbeams, tripping,
Dancing, kissing my face.

On bright, sunlit afternoons,
Walking towards the hills,
You come to me, smiling
A beauteous vision of wildflowers
Around a sudden bend.

In the hush of twilight,
As the night falls gently.
You come to me, joyous
On the velvet wings of birds
Coming home to roost.

In the still of the night
Shadows asleep ‘neath the trees.
You come to me, soft-footed
As silvery moonbeams, treading
Tiptoe across the grass.

In the warm embrace of sleep,
Mind still, heart at peace.
You come to me, singing
Sweet melodies of spirits
Mingling, merging, becoming one.

Like a dream come true……

A Return to Love

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous -
Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people
Won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone,
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously
Give other people permission to do the same.

- Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love

Trees

I think I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast.

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray.

A tree that may in summer wear,
A nest of robins in her hair.

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

- Joyce Kilmer

Flower musings, pumpkin and lemon

It is Sunday morning and I am in the backyard. This part of our yard is secluded; it is cut off from neighbours’ eyes by fencing and from our house by thick clumps of trees, like my own piece of paradise. The cranberry bush is laden with fruit and I pluck them off and eat the sweet, juicy berries as a prequel to breakfast. The pumpkin vine in the vegetable patch gleams a tender green, the leaves with tiny translucent spikes, and a pumpkin in the early stages of infancy. There is also a single bloom, yellow and radiant, with a bell like base flaring into the delicate petal. I peep inside and to my wonder and surprise there is a bee inside, doing a kind of dance which I’m sure only the bees know the steps of. It is such a wondrous sight, nature in the process of symbiosis, giving and taking, wordlessly.


I walk past the clumps of trees, giving off a woody fragrance, exclusive to trees on early mornings or under damp, moist conditions and my heart rises in joy and gratitude like as if the trees had just sung a ghazal. Past the bird bath, the water turned rancid and brown, and the elegant ferns with fronds rising like fans fit for queens, till I reach the lemon tree. There are a few flowers and fewer fruit, nature is winding down for winter. Lemon flowers have this most delicately exquisite fragrance and when the tree is in full bloom, I just stand next to it and drink of the smell or when I am passing by, a whiff hits me and makes me pause and remember that the beauty in life lies in the tiny, imperceptible things that we so often unknowingly pass by.

Weekends, among other things …………

There is a practice here in the workplace that I found a bit odd in the beginning – asking about your weekend. I used to find it difficult to answer at first, but then I realized that it was just a means of starting a conversation. You are free to say anything you want, even invent something and often it leads to other discussions that can get quite interesting.

Then one day I said to a friend “why do you ask me what I did on the weekend, I might tell you all that I did but not what I experienced. I might not tell you that I stood on the balcony at night and watched the full moon rise over the trees and even the clouds that hung over the moon couldn’t dilute the magical quality of the light that filled the sky and lit up the hills, the trees, the grass, the house with a gentle, dreamy light. And in spite of the moonlight, the stars twinkled and the universe that stretched out into eternity, God’s benediction everywhere, His lovely smile everywhere.

Or that the petals of the rose that felt velvety to the touch, God’s love and his joy of creation in every fragrant whorl, as if God’s saying to me, ‘Let you every act be an act of love, my child. Let your every thought, every word create beauty, bring harmony, introduce joy’.”

Daybreak

Today morning I am catching the early morning train which is rather unusual but such a treat. The day is just breaking and patches of silvery sky are visible behind the clouds. The river gleams silver into the distance where it meets with the sea. The is a lone paddle boat in it, the rider gently paddling away like a ghost oarsman. As we come to the sea the scene is eerie, the hills are in shadows and water is a rippling sheet of silver, the light cast by the sunlight escaping from behind soft, cottony clouds has a mystical quality to it. There are a group of oarsmen rowing a canoe in perfect unison. Wellington gleams dully in the distance caught by stray patches of light, willing it to wake up.

Daybreak is a herald of new beginnings, like God has kept his promise and it is up to us to seize the opportunity. It brings hope and light into the darkness that has gone before and the light breaking out through the gaps in the clouds fills my heart with gladness and joy.

Surprising enough the train is full, Wellingtonians like to start early. But the sleep tugging at my eyelids reminds me that I am a nightbird still.

The Deep

I want to go,
to the middle of the sea,
and lie face down,
with my back to the sun,
looking into the depths.

At some point I will succumb
to those watery arms.
Body racked, with want of air,
until I start to inhale,
water filling up the lungs,
also the stomach,
bloating, exploding.

I don’t know when
my soul will leave the body.
Will it be sad?
Disappointed ? Glad ?
Will some animal dine on the shell?
Or will it be washed up
on some forgotten shore?

A thin line of reason
holds on to this life,
but the desire is long gone.

One heck of a lady

There are lots of things about Kiwis that are commendable but their die-hard spirit and independence often stand out.

My friend's 80 year old mother suffers from Leukemia (incurable) and her Dad (also 80) from Alzheimers, who sometimes has difficulty remembering who he is and who his wife is (who is the old lady with grey hair in the other room?). Both of them live by themselves and refuse to move into the children's homes. Her Mum drives herself and her husband around, does the shopping, housework, pays the bills etc. When her blood count drops, she requires transfusions and last month she had to be rushed to hospital with a clot in the leg.

So yesterday when my friend said to me that her Mum's going to Australia alone for two weeks, I was surprised. I asked "Why?"

"Oh ! She's got cousins. She has put Dad in a respite home so he'll be okay. She said she needed a break and wanted some time to herself".

All I could say was 'WOW !"

I know that different people will call it different things, but I call it 'nurturing yourself'.

Greed / Beyond Greed

-------- Excerpt from the book 'Osho Transformation' -------

GREED

Whenever people become very greedy, they become very hurried, and go on finding more ways to gain more speed. They are continuously on the run because they think that life is running out. These are people who say, “Time is money.” Time is money? Money is very limited, time is unlimited. Time is not money, time is eternity – it has always been there and will always be there. And you have always been here and you will always be here.

So drop greed, and don’t be bothered about the result. Sometimes it happens that because of your impatience, you miss many things.

BEYOND GREED

Man is full if he in tune with the universe. If he is not in tune with the universe then he is empty, utterly empty. And out of that emptiness comes greed. Greed is to fill it – with money, with furniture, with friends, with lovers, with anything – because one cannot live in emptiness. It is horrifying, it is a ghost life. If you are empty and there is nothing inside you, it is impossible to live.

To have this feeling that you have much inside you, there are only two ways: either you get in tune with the universe…… Then you are filled with the whole, with all the flowers and with all the stars. They are within you just as they are without you. That is real fulfillment. But if you don’t do that – and millions of people are not doing that – then the easier way is to fill it with any junk.

Greed simply means you are feeling a deep emptiness and you want to fill it with anything possible, it doesn’t matter what it is. And once you understand it, then you have nothing to do with greed. You have something to do with coming into communion with the whole, so the inner emptiness disappears. And with it, all greed disappears.

But there are mad people all over the world, and they are collecting things to fill their emptiness. Somebody is collecting money although he never uses it. People are eating; they are not feeling hungry and still they go on swallowing. They know that this is going to create suffering, they will be sick, but they cannot prevent themselves. This eating is also a filling-up process. So there can be many ways to fill emptiness, although it is never full - it remains empty, and you remain miserable because it is never enough. More is needed, and the more and the demand for more is unending.

You have to understand the emptiness that you are trying to fill, and ask the question, “Why am I empty? The whole existence is so full, why am I empty? Perhaps I have lost track – I am no longer moving in the same direction, I am no longer existential. That is the cause of my emptiness.”

So be existential.

Let go, and move closer to existence in silence and peace, in meditation.

And one day you will see you are so full – overfull, overflowing – of joy, of blissfulness, of benediction. You have so much of it that you can give it to the whole world and yet it will not be exhausted.

That day, for the first time you will not feel any greed – for money, for food, for things, for anything. You will live naturally, and whatever is needed you will find it.

Dilemma

The decision hovers over us like a knife,
waiting for a move, waiting to strike,
while I search the empty silence for clues.

A sign, a call, a whisper in the night,
a stray, murmuring beam of moonlight,
to show the way, to shed some light.

The heart trembling, hides its face,
the mind deadlocked, lost, confused,
the spirit sublime, looks on amused.

"Tarry", tinkles the wind-chime in the breeze,
"Don't go", say the wildly nodding trees,
"Stay awhile, stay awhile", the owl calls.

Riverside retreat

It is Sunday and Mathew is still in Auckland, but the day is warm and bright and tempts me to bask in the sunshine. So I get into the car and take off in the general direction of Kaitoke which I have seen on the map but never visited. On the way, the river gleams in the sunshine and picnikers are splashing about in the knee-deep water or simply lolling about on the grass by the river. I reach Kaitoke in about half an hour and look for a secluded spot not frequented by the river-splashers. There is a little gap in the trees by the river and I get the plastic sheet out of the car together with my lunch and books and settle down under the trees. There are clumps of yellow-orange flowers everywhere as if the sunlight fell on the grass and deciding to stay transformed itself into flowers. It is moist and cool in the shade and the river bounding over rocks and pebbles is beautifully melodious. Slowly the cares of everyday life fall away and reading Osho’s Transformation book transports me into the world of the spirit, where all is peaceful and tranquil. And I come away feeling rejuvenated and refreshed having spent the day in the company of nature whose pace is unhurried and whose source is the Spirit.

Unburdening on the beach

It is Saturday and Mathew is in Auckland so I decide to gift myself the day. I take off for Raumati to meet Joan. Raumati is around 60K from Wellington up the Kapiti coast and there is some breathtaking scenery along the way. As I round the corner of the hill, the sea stretches out before me, languid, in deep shades of aquamarine, the morning sun glinting off the breakers as they curl around the rocks. The traffic is sparse for a Saturday and I reach Joan's at around midday. Joan's standing at the end of her driveway with open arms and a million watt smile. Just seeing her happy to see me is treat by itself. What follows thereafter is a day spent in the company of the sea, wind and sunshine and a special person sharing heartaches and insights and wisdom and understanding. We drive up to Paraparaumu which is a further 10K up the coast and settle down to a long, leisurely lunch sitting outside a café, soaking in the sun, and unburdening ourselves. Life, memories, lessons, challenges, guidance, awakening, the road taken and the road-yet-to-be-taken, all feature in our conversation and sometimes tears threaten to break out from behind the sunglasses.

After lunch we stroll along the beach made more beautiful with driftwood. Then we head back to Joan's place again and after a cup of tea, change into our swimsuits and head for the beach. As I step into the water it feels chilly but as I walk further and further into the waves, the water gets warmer and warmer as my body gets accustomed to the water. The sun shining directly overhead scatters a swathe of dancing, twinkling diamonds on the water and it feels as if the sun is saying to me 'Take all that life has to offer, be alive, be free". And so I get into the flow of the waves. It is a bit windy so the sea is a bit rough, and wave after wave comes crashing over me. And as I lie there I feel the ebb and flow of the tide and the pull of the moon and the expanse of the universe above me and feel so connected with everything. There are only 6 people on the beach and three of us are in the water. Joan's sitting and chatting on the shore with a couple of guys with paddle boats.

Swim over, we go back to Joan's house and I take a shower. By the time I come out some of Joan's friends have arrived with their children and we just sit out on the deck and chill out. It is so good to be in the sun and warmth with the wind tossing the manes of the trees and causing the wind-chimes to tinkle pleasantly. Around six I head back home, my heart glowing with memories of fun and warmth and friendship, of feeling one with the ocean, of browsing through a crystal shop buying crystals, a wind-chime and a Osho Tranformation book.

Thank you God ,for Raumati and its beach, for a laid-back day in the sun and for beautiful friends like Joan.

Trust