learning

Day 924

Posted by

3

 

Day 924

CHIRAG
(Central Himalayan Rural Action Group; Also means ‘lamp’)

Every time I return to India I witness immense beauty in simplicity. I feel that beauty changing me. I grew up in a simple, sweet world. Moving away from it was difficult but time moulded me. Somewhere deep within that appreciation of simplicity remains. I see it without romanticising it. It is a part of me. I feel closer to myself each time I am faced with it.

Last week I volunteered to tell a story at a primary school in a small village in the Himalayas. I sat in a circle on the floor of a well lit large classroom with a group of  sixteen 7 year olds and we chatted for about half an hour in a mixture of Hindi and English. One of them asked me if we would be singing but I wasn’t able to confirm that. It bothered me.

The Principal, an enthusiastic young man of 29, said they didn’t have a music teacher in the school as the charity had just about enough money to pay for teachers to cover the academic curriculum. A local musician has offered to teach music but they are waiting for funding to come along to be able to employ her.

It is Saagar’s 23rd Birthday today.
I think he would have liked for that school to have a music teacher.
Happy Birthday Darling!

“O Bud! Your life is so moving that only for a while
You blossom, for just a smile.
“In this garden, O dear,” said the bud
“Just a few are lucky to smile, even for a while.”
(Translation of an Urdu couplet by Josh Malihabadi)

IMG_0624

IMG_0625

Chirag School Newsletter 2_Autumn 2016

 

Day 923

Posted by

1

The idea of this blog was conceived in a state of utter shock and numbness. All I knew was that no one should suffer alone. I didn’t want anyone to experience the pain that was in me.  All I wanted was to immortalise Saagar. I wanted to continue having him in my life on a daily basis. This blog was and is, my sacred time with my son. On some days it’s my life jacket. On others it’s a luminous shrine or a punch bag, a podium with a loud speaker or an art gallery, a story-telling exercise or a tear-soaked handkerchief, a rant or a vent.

Every week I hear back from people who have been touched by Saagar’s story.

Message from a Mum:

“I don’t know you my dear but I have to say your son is so beautiful and he is watching you from heavens and being happy that you are able to save so my kids by opening up …..virtual hugs from a mom who is dealing with the same disease your son fought i was able to hug my daughter today as i knew more what she is dealing with because of you rather than getting frustrated with her ……..thanks from the bottom of my heart for correcting me in dealing with this disease.”

Message from a lovely young lady:

“Hi S. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. I just wanted to say that when we met last summer and we had an emotional conversation about Saagar and life in general. Something definitely struck a chord with me. I’ve spent my whole life since I was a child, running away from my mental health issues. I had a complete breakdown shortly after seeing you. I’ve just been discharged from the Home Treatment team after a very difficult period. I’ve been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and am on the waiting list to receive the right therapy. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you because I think if I hadn’t had that conversation with you I wouldn’t have been able to open up to my family and ask for the help I desperately needed. I’ve been wanting to message you for a while but it’s taken me some time to accept that I have a mental disorder. I read your blog all the time  and it’s inspired me to write my own about my own thoughts and experiences. Thank you for the amazing work you are doing to raise mental health awareness. Sorry about the mammoth text. I hope you are well and your yoga retreat plans are going well. Love, Z. x”

(Z’s blog: http://notasimplemind.wordpress.com)

Thank you! We are together. Never alone.

 

 

 

Day 922

Posted by

1

Me and Mine

Where dost thou seek Me?

Lo! I am beside thee.
I am neither in temple nor in mosque
I am neither in Kaaba nor in Kailash.
Neither am I in rites and ceremonies,
nor in Yoga and renunciation.

If thou art a true seeker, thou shalt at
once see Me : thou shalt meet Me
For the priest, the warrior, the trades- man,
and all the thirty-six castes alike are seeking for God.
Hindus and Moslems alike have achieved that End, where remains no mark of distinction.

O friend!  Hope for Him whilst you live, know whilst you live,
understand whilst you live, for in life deliverance abides.
If your bonds be not broken whilst living, what hope of deliverance in death ?

It is but an empty dream, that the soul shall have union with Him
because it has passed from the body
If He is found now, He is found then,
If not, we do but go to dwell in the City of Death.

If you have union now, you shall have it hereafter.
Bathe in the truth, know the true Guru, have faith in the true Name!
It is the Spirit of the quest which helps ; I am the slave of this Spirit of the quest.”

Do not go to the garden of flowers.
O Friend! go not there.
In your body is the garden of flowers.
Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty.

TELL me, Brother, how can I renounce Maya?
When I gave up the tying of ribbons,
still I tied my garment about me
When I gave up tying my garment,
still I covered my body in its folds.
So, when I give up passion, I see that
anger remains ; And when I renounce anger, greed is
with me still ; And when greed is vanquished, pride
and vain glory remain; When the mind is detached and casts Maya away, still it clings to the letter.

THE moon shines in my body, but my
blind eyes cannot see it.
The moon is within me, and so is the
sun. The unstruck drum of Eternity is
sounded within me, but my deaf
ears cannot hear it.
So long as man clamours for the me
and the Mine, his works are as naught.

When all love of the me and the Mine
is dead, then the work of the Lord
is done. For work has no other aim than the
getting of knowledge.

When that comes, then work is put
away.

–Saint Kabir 

 

Day 916

Posted by

0

Twenty again?

IMG_4763

At my age it’s hard to remember what life was like when I was twenty. I was in medical school, forming strong friendships, working hard, playing harder and worrying about exam results. The last one made me swear that I would never ever take an exam again after finishing medical school but like many others, this resolve too, dissolved.

The upside – one can drink, have sex, travel, dip into the bank of mum and dad, live at home and be a kid when it suits and be an adult when it suits. The insecurities – Am I the person I want to be? Will I be able to establish my place in the world? What will become of me? Will I make my parents proud? Will I achieve ‘success’? How many years will it take? Will I meet Mr Right and will he continue to be Mr Right for a long time?

The biggest advantage of passing years is the gradual evaporation of all these concerns, the ability to follow one’s dreams with lightness and self-belief, to be able to laugh at oneself and not take life too seriously.

Would I like to be twenty again? Nope.
What would I tell my twenty-year old self? Relax.
Things have a way of working out.

What would you tell your twenty-year old self?

Ref:

http://trendom.co/struggles-of-being-20-years-old/

Day 912

Posted by

0

Everything was fun.

As soon as he could walk with support, leaving home in the buggy for a walk in the evening meant, him pushing the buggy, taking it for a walk. Looking into the mirror, playing hide and seek with himself was fun. Kicking a cotton sheet off him with his frantically moving arms and legs was fun. Wearing big sunglasses and shoes was fun. Playing with toys and words was fun. Crawling, walking, running was fun. Dabbling in different kinds of music was fun. The ‘bandana’ phase was fun. Playing and listening to any kind of percussion was fun.

43

Going round and round while sitting in one of my mother’s big cooking pots with a convex bottom was fun. On his second birthday, we found him in the balcony with a pot of yogurt, officiously feeding himself and our dog, Caesar, with alternate spoonfuls of the honeyed white stuff. As he grew older, pulling faces was fun. Smurfs and Mighty Morphin Power Rangers was fun. The little toy in the occasional Happy Meal at McDonalds was fun. Z-Ball was fun.

Being back here in my parent’s house brings back heart-warming memories of his childhood. He was such good fun!

imgres-1