Receiving time.

I am not busy. I am relaxed. I am working but I am also receiving Time.

Feels like a renewed relationship with Time.

After decades of chasing it, I am ready to stop and enjoy it in all its fullness.

Yes. The present Time is uncertain. Even ‘interesting’.  But it is ours. Yours and mine.

To live in, live through and live to tell the tale. Live well.

Create and claim small, simple joys.

Here are some things I tried-

Candle light in every room.

Bask in the glow. Notice how you slow.

Be a hopeless romantic and

Dig out some books of poetry, old and new.

Maybe create a card or two

For someone who loves you

with silk ribbons, floral fabric and sticking glue?

Write a long love-letter to you

From your higher self, not as a ‘parent voice’,

But as a compassionate friend.

Make cinnamon, raisins and apple stew,

Have it with great dollops of double cream.

One … or two.

Find a picture of yourself when you were 5.

Look at it. That’s the real you.

Find a perfect frame for it and

Share it with those who want to know you.

Last 12 days have been a break-through.

Si and I have finally started to enjoy Scrabble,

After 10 years. And 2.

Now, we are a proper couple. Woohoooo!

Treat yourself to flowers.

Repot some plants.

Tend and nurture them

And your soul. Pay attention to sunsets.

Watch ‘Out of Africa’ again.

Or ‘Modern Love’ on Amazon.

Listen to Dido or Norah Jones. Breathe

Create a sacred space.

Yes. It may sometimes feel like the world is falling apart

But keep yourself together. Informed, connected and centered.

Enjoy your time. And your company.

Storyless

The spring knows not.

I need my story.

Who am I without it?

It’s a habitual place.

A refuge.

Something I can lean on and hide behind.

This is my story. This is me.

Is it? Really?

Am I not more than the way I have been taught to respond and speak and act?

More than the stories they told me and I tell myself?

Am I not a mysterious, wondrous creation of the galaxies?

Am I not more than a feelings-crunching machine?

An events-processing factory?

Like all other life forms, am I not designed to evolve through challenges.

Adapt. Learn. Grow?

Processing kills it. My creativity.

Thinking locks me up. In familiar prison cells.

Who I am

flies, flows, dances, melds and reaches out with all its arms.

It knows not what it is.  

Like the ocean knows not how deep it dives.

Like the sky does not care how far above the planets it stretches.

Like the day knows not the secrets that will unfold as it extends into time.

Like the stars twinkle on, oblivious of how many eons pass them by,

Which telescope catches them, which doesn’t.

Like the spring knows not where its flowers will grow.

Like the river sings along, not knowing who will drink from it or

The apple tree that offers all to friends and strangers and

Stands. Story-less.

Who am I?

I am. I am. I am.

Thank you, Rumi.

Welcome, unexpected visitor.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

  • by Jalaluddin Rumi.

Nowhere to go.

On the 9th of March, I reached Melbourne for the second leg of the Churchill Fellowship. I had been looking forward to it for ages and just couldn’t wait to get started. I had the taken the whole month off. Despite the long journey I didn’t feel any fatigue. My AirBnB was homely and comfortable. After a good night’s sleep, I was ready for work.

The Beyond Blue Office was easy to find. After a brief introduction to the team, we all went out to get coffee together. I was already one of them and the coffee was great. The following days flew past with meetings, interviews, presentations and briefings. A trip to Headspace. Despite some background murmurings of a virus, I was having the best time, learning and exchanging thoughts and ideas. Then Australia closed its borders. Meetings and conferences started getting cancelled.

On the 16th, I took a return flight to London.  My trip shrank from 3 weeks down to one. I had to miss Sydney altogether. Now, I am back here with a blank diary for 2 weeks and I am loving it. I have volunteered myself to work and I am on standby.

I can now research and look up things I’ve been meaning to for a long time. I can clear out one cupboard every day and get rid of stuff I don’t need or use or get joy from. Unclutter and create space in my house and my head. I can go to bed without setting an alarm. That pile of unread books that’s been sitting atop my table, feeling ignored and giving me dirty looks, can now be tackled.

Part of me is rushing in to fill the time with a list of a hundred things to do but I am consciously slowing down. Having an easy routine. Fitting in things I love doing, like arranging flowers. Making time for friends. Cooking. Walking. Not getting hooked to the media but keeping an eye. Writing hand-written letters to loved ones. Sitting still. Enjoying our home. Truly appreciating the weirdness of our cat, Milkshake. Cherishing having breakfast, lunch and dinner with Si as he works from home.

Simplify. Make easy. Make plain.

The Way Back – supporting attempt survivors – an idea worth adopting.

Who knows?

12 days ago I left my home and husband with a strange sense of ‘last-ness’. Si and I are familiar with that uncomfortable feeling.  We know that the whole world can change in one second. 12 days is a long time.

Melbourne, Australia, was my final destination when I left home to complete my Churchill fellowship. On the way, I broke my journey for a week in India. I find it impossible to fly over India to go to other places without stopping. There, I watched in horror how much India’s centre has moved to the right. It has gone so far that the words ‘liberal’ and ‘secular’ are now bad words. My closest friend there is a Muslim gentleman whom I have known for the last 23 years and have never thought of him as a Muslim. But now I fear for his safety. I fear for the safety of all my family as I know that when there is fire, some are damaged by flames but many more by smoke.

So, here I am, in Melboune, at a house, rented through AirBnB and so much has happened in these 12 days. I have never understood the need for 24-hour News Channels as they endlessly repeat themselves, induce panic and heighten pre-existing anxieties. Many people are petrified. They are understandably worried about themselves and their loved ones. The restrictions being imposed are causing more isolation and angst. Italian prison scenario is a very sad example.

This is a good time to observe the effect news has on you, pay attention to your feelings and take a break when you need to, from the constant ranting of various media. I am doing that. I am keeping myself informed, connected and calm. I am not willing to allow the situation to affect my mind too much. I am taking all the precautions as advised and that is the best I can do. WHO sensibly says let’s look after our bodies and minds.

I suspect that death rates from this virus are being hugely exaggerated. They are based on projections from those who have been tested, but many people, all over the world have had a cold or flu over Jan and Feb and have not been tested. So, where does the truth lie?

No one knows. That is the answer. No one knows.

Gullyboy (Street boy)

A Hindi film about young boys growing up in slums, turning into rappers.
(Nominated for the best foreign film at the Oscars 2020.)

Angst escapes as words and song,

To a simple metre they belong.

Expression is art.

Connection at its core.

Honest.

Straight from the heart.

Stay in the flow Bro. Stay in the flow.

Keep working at it.

Be proud of what you is.

Know that all will change.

Nothing is too strange.

Dig deep and dig deep.

Be the shark of the deep.

Not a gold fish in a bowl. Yo.

Stay in the flow Bro. Stay in the flow.

Our day will come

Every dog has his day.

Doesn’t look great right now.

But it will go away.

Respect …. yourself. Yo.

Stay in the flow Bro. Stay in the flow.

The heat of strife will melt your chains

And set your spirit free.

Your friends will stand by you

No matter what may be.

Stay rooted and look high.

Like an eagle. Fly.

No fright. Just flight. Yo.

Stay in the flow Bro. Stay in the flow.

Know. Just know.

It’s okay to show.

The wounds that hurt you so.

Someone will understand.

Trust in life and let go.

Stay in the flow Bro. Stay in the flow.

You are not all alone.

Though it may seem so.

Prayers and blessings galore

Are sewn into the seams of your clothes.

You wear them all the time

But you just don’t know.

You are a rare diamond.

You are my heart and soul.

You are the sun, the moon,

The galaxy to me.

But you could never know.

Stay in the flow Bro. Stay in the flow.

The good times.

Once again I found myself sitting in the waiting room at a Healing Centre in Wales. I sat facing a wall covered with effusive and colourful thank-you messages plus baby pictures. They were addressed to the acupuncturist who had helped these women become mums. I was here to connect with my son through the beautiful, Moya, whom I have seen twice before. She is compassion personified. Each time I have met her, I have found great comfort in her readings and felt close to Saagar. So, despite Storm Dennis, train disruptions, a brewing respiratory infection and a serious jet-lag, I made my way up in water-proofs and a big red polo-neck jumper.

The first thing she mentioned was Varanasi. A seat of learning. A place of pilgrimage, where the temporality of this human body is clear to see. Of course, Varanasi, where Saagar’s ashes are immersed in the Ganges, where we had a prayer ceremony with 5 priests simultaneously chanting and carrying out various rituals for 5 hours to help Saagar’s soul transcend peacefully into another realm. Where my ashes will go.

Then came a string of other places and memories: Playing catching-catch on a beach in Port Rush, stepping over multitudes of hexagonal stones at Giant’s Causeway, crossing the flimsy Carrick-a-rede bridge, the 3-day trip on a narrow boat one beautiful summer, shopping in New York, visiting his Uncle, Aunt and new-born cousin in Chicago, admiring the moon and stars through the big Velux windows in his large loft conversion space. All these sweet things came up.

He wanted to present me a Cherry blossom. Did that make any sense to me? Yes. Coming up to March, we would be using Sakura in our Ikebana arrangements, bringing nature into our homes. A very special time of year for this Japanese art.

Moya said he is peaceful where he is. He understands that sometimes I breath deep and hard to stay alive and sometimes it feels like I am breathing glass and sometimes I wish I could just stop. He understands. And he holds all these happy memories and places that he cherishes.

He’s reminding me of the good times. I need to look at them and cherish them much more than I do. They were ours. They will always be ours.