openness

This is.

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9 am. The mist has cleared and the Red-whiskered Bulbuls are out with their sweet song, proudly wearing shiny black mohawks. Post-monsoon, the grass has shot up to nearly four feet high, its slender golden heads gently swaying in the cool light breeze. Pearlescent dew is clinging to the edges of the blades of grass. A frisky young jack-fruit tree is now competing with the elderly rosewood that’s been there for a decade. Coffee is brewing. An occasional motor-bike rumbles past. The chikoo (Sapodilla) tree is heavy with fruit. The palm frond is browning and half of it has peeled off the smooth striped trunk. A hint of jasmine in the air every now and then.

I sit here, breathing, looking at the hilly horizon and everything else, just as it is. Not one thing is wrong. Nothing out of place. The blinking of the eyes. Laughter, when it comes. Tears, when they come. Thoughts as they come and go. The Ficus extending skyward, regardless. The copper-leaf shrub being copper. The grass being its verdant green self. The breeze being its gentle self. This moment being open and present to me exactly as it is.

Not a thing missing. Nothing extra. Not a thing needing fixed or changed or made better.

All perfectly natural. Simple. This is. I am. We are.

Isness of Is. Clayness of clay.

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T: It came to a point when she couldn’t bear to celebrate Christmas with her family. Her brother and sister and their respective spouses could roll out one child per year effortlessly while she had been through all kinds of tests and procedures, and nothing. Absolutely nothing but heartache and multitudes of unbelievably negative pregnancy tests to show for it. Six years of nothing.

S: Yes. I suppose nobody’s got it all. Some of the missing stuff is obvious and some not. Surely, even those who appear to have it all have their painful stuff hidden away. Who said everyone has to have everything?

T: It’s hard for her to watch other people with their babies. Intolerable. I can understand.

S: Isn’t that like saying no one should walk in front of a man in a wheel-chair? They might be offended. Let’s all pretend we can’t walk. Poor man! It might be intolerable for him.

T: That’s harsh. That’s a completely different situation.

S: It is an extreme example. Yes. It’s all about comparisons though. Isn’t it? You have something that I don’t. By right I should have what you have. Everyone should have it. But everyone is different. Their life path is different. The lessons coming their way are different. Her unhappiness comes from ‘yours’ and ‘mine’, ‘desirable’ and ‘undesirable’. Kids come with their own brand of drool, cackles, dirty nappies and tantrums. Those things are there for everyone.

T: But her sister’s kid is not hers. That is fact.

S: Indeed. However, the kidness of the kid belongs to the whole world. It’s okay to be jealous – nothing wrong with it. It’s also okay to know there are other possible routes to take, other possible responses to make. She could choose to recognise jealousy as the most conditioned and expected response and embrace it. She could also be present to the pastness of the past, the kidness of the kid, the sisterness of the sister, the aliveness of her life, the heartfulness of her heart and work with that. See what happens. She might be surprised. There might be a beautiful garden behind that wall.

T: It’s hard though.

S: It’s worth a try. There are more Christmases on the way and they want to be happy.