The Season of Giving

In July, looking for inspiration to think and write beautifully, I spent an hour on 3 consecutive Sundays listening to David Whyte, a wise and warm poet of English/ Irish origin who speaks and writes, seemingly from his spirit. I thought he was some kind of a magician as I felt mesmerized, awakened and soothed by his presence and his words.

He described the simple involuntary act of breathing as a life-sustaining exchange for the planet – inhaling is receiving and exhaling is giving. Generosity and gratitude – reciprocity in every moment. Last Sunday he spoke on the seasonal subject of ‘giving’ and I can’t help but share the synopsis of his talk in his own words here.

  1. The foundational understanding that giving is not just a logistical act of transferring something from one person to another, but an art form to be practiced. Like all art forms, practicing it takes time and spaciousness and the ability to create a relationship with the unknown, the invisible and the unspoken.
  1. To learn to give is often the simple, heart-breaking act of giving again.
  1. Giving is an essence of relationship. To stop giving is often to call an end to relationship.
  2. Giving asks us to have a close relationship with both time and timelessness. All gifts change with the maturation of both the giver and the receiver.
  1. Giving is an imaginative journey into another’s life with all the implications accompanying that journey.
  1. Giving can be a form of blessing, a way of empowering another life. The blessing is made through giving what a person does not even know they need themselves.
  1. Giving, in the words of Shakespeare, is ‘Twice Blessed’. Through exploring the edges of our own generosity, we come to understand where we have trouble receiving ourselves; and this teaches us to ask for what we ourselves might not feel we deserve. In the enriched relationship, giving becomes a reciprocal harvest where giver and receiver are not so easily distinguished.

(PS: On 3 Sundays in January 2021, he speaks about resolutions for new beginnings. Recordings and written resources available if you are able/unable to attend the live event)

Lashings of Time.

What do I say to the lone black eye-lash on my cheek?

I say bring me the colours of the rainbow

The pot of gold and all

Bring me the joys of the seasons,

Most of all, the fall.

The Autumn comes,

Once again

The yellows, auburns and ochres divine.

Hidden daggers behind their cloaks

They drop

When I open these arms of mine.

Its in their eyes

The fear of stabbings of memory

The tears of the sea.

Let it go.

Let it rest.

Let it be.

All that matters is here in me.

In the green apple and the oak tree.

I have and hold the world

that was, is and will be

in the blackness of my lashes

till eternity.

We are one my love. You and me.

I feared I would forget

I wrote it all down

I panicked I’d lost you

Never again to be found

But you are here

In every word, smile, tear.

I didn’t think I could bear it

But I did and I do.

This thorn has made a home in my heart.

I do not die.

I breathe through.

Its a great surprise

To rise

each day

To the umbrellas and shoes of life

As if nothing ever changed.

But all is new.

Me and you are sweethearts.

Inseparable.

One is the sand. The other, sea.

One is the hand. The other, lines of destiny.

Dear Beloved,

I place my pettiness at your feet.

The sense of separation,

The sad longing born of it,

The seeming disappointments,

Imperfections and regrets too,

I offer them all 

To you.

A scintillating absence

A Scintillating Absence

“Be aware of the spaces you create.” Ma’am said. “Spaces make your arrangement dynamic, allowing each flower and leaf to shine. They bring a lightness and movement to the table. I saw her demonstrate this phenomenon again and again at our Ikebana lessons. Every time it was magic.

‘Ma’ is a Japanese word which can be roughly translated as “gap”, “space” or “pause”. It is best described as a simultaneous awareness of form and non-form, bringing the ‘seen’ into a sharper focus because of the presence of the ‘unseen’. It is a fundamental principle on which other art forms such as tree-sculpting in their spectacular zen-gardens is based.

As summer has most certainly ended, it’s time to put the linens and cottons away. 4 years ago I bought Marie Kondo’s book, “ The life-changing magic of tidying up.” The last chapter in the book is entitled: ‘Your real life begins after putting your house in order.’ My real life has not yet begun. I didn’t get past the index for so many years because if I would, I’d have to act on it and do something.

I finally decided to read it looking for help in sorting my stuff out and creating more space in the house. “Keep only those things that inspire joy.” She says. Hmm. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know intuitively what to keep and what to give away? Decisions. Decisions!

A clean desk inspires writing. An organised kitchen helps creativity in the kitchen. Fewer people in cars makes cycling more fun. Fewer appointments in my diary allow for restful spaces in my day.

On being asked to speak about how close a married couple should be, Kahlil Gibran said:

Let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

…. And stand together, yet not too near together: for the pillars of a temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow. “

Saagar’s physical absence has slowly transformed itself into an ethereal scintillating space that gives prominence to the love and blessings present in my life. Whatever manifests through it, through them and through me, I witness with grace and gratitude.

What do people need?

Thanks for this N.

It finally got me. This wretched forced and voluntary isolation. No wonder solitary confinement is a well known punishment. Mon, Tues, Wed were very deep blue. A friend’s dad’s funeral, a very unwell teenager … but underneath it all, missing my people. The screen did not suffice any longer. It only frustrated me. The phone was a sordid excuse for ‘contact’. I wanted to be with real people in a real way. Feel the fabric of a friend’s scarf between my palms, share a pot of tea and a big slice of carrot cake at a local cafe and laugh till I cry and such simple pleasures.

For now, gotta hold my horses and know you are there and soon we’ll meet again. Thank you for being there for me, my people. I am here for you too.

“People need people,
To walk to
To talk to
To cry and rely on,
People will always need people.
To love and to miss
To hug and to kiss,
It’s useful to have other people.
To whom to moan
If you’re all alone,
It’s so hard to share
When no one is there.
There’s not much to do
When there’s no one but you.
People will always need people.

To please
To tease
To put you at ease,
People will always need people.
To make life appealing
And give life some meaning,
It’s useful to have other people.
It you need a change
To whom will you turn.
If you need a lesson
From whom will you learn.
If you need to play
You’ll know why I say
People will always need people.

As girlfriends
As boyfriends
From Bombay
To Ostend,
People will always need people-
To have friendly fights with
And share tasty bites with,
It’s useful to have other people.
People live in families
Gangs, posses and packs,
Its seems we need company
Before we relax,
So stop making enemies
And let’s face the facts,
People will always need people,
Yes
People will always need people.”

Benjamin Zephaniah

Twenty six

The Broth of Grief bubbles on the back burner. Today it exploded.

Splattered all over the walls, floor and ceiling. It flooded the kitchen. It was everywhere.

Sticking in my eyes. Digging into my chest. Wrapping my wrists.

Five tornados running through me. Becoming me.

Softening me.

The broth is sticky-sweet as love, the source of everything.

The beginning, middle and the end of everything.

The air in my lungs, the lashes on my eyelids.

The wings of a butterfly in Japan, the moon that’s nearly full today. Sitting outside my window.

You and me and everything between us, my love.

“No coming. No going.

No after. No before.

I hold you close to me.

I release you to be free.

Because I am in you and

You are in me.”

– Thich Nhat Hanh

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.

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.

To you, with love. xxx

Sixth Christmas with your empty chair

Now more salt, less pepper in my hair.

That I’ve been breathing all this time

Still makes no sense, no reason, no rhyme.

Your cat makes all the other felines quake

His sweet name, given by you, is still Milkshake.

The Christmas markets we visited at the Southbank

The doughy sweets we gorged and the German beer we drank.

Those candle stalls and hand-knit shops, I believe are still there

But a visit, I cannot bear.

Ice skating at Somerset house with friends

Merry shopping here and there, for odds and ends.

Cocktails at ‘All bar One’ after work at Waterloo

What I would give to have another one, with you.

Beating the hell out of every one at Ping-pong.

Not many of your moves, slow or wrong.

The years trundle in and roll out like a stream,

I watch and wonder how they could be both,

A nightmare and a dream.  

Standing back, I watch and see.

Trying not to judge. Just be.

There are but three things to know,

To love, to learn and to let go.

To love, to learn and to let go.