Living on the blurred line between reality and illusion.
Tasting the bitter-sweetness of all things.
Moving from the world of words to no words.
Letting the silence listen and speak.
Pure experience. It’s like this. This is how it is.
All existence in one realm. One love.
Death, the great leveller, swallowing all pride.
‘Forever’ sitting within the fold of Now.
When I seek peace, he is
The kindly intercessor,
And when I go to war,
The dagger, that is he;
And when I come to meetings,
He is the wine and sweetmeat.
And when I come to gardens,
The fragrance, that is he.
When I go to the mines, deep,
He is the ruby there,
When I delve in the ocean,
The precious pearl is he.
When I come to the desert,
He is the garden there.
When I go to the heaven,
The brilliant star is he…
And when I write a letter
To my beloved friends,
The paper and the inkwell,
The ink, the pen is he.
And when I write a poem
and seek a rhyming word-
the one who spreads the rhymes out
within my thought is he!
Today is your lucky day.
She says, ”Why not?”
The traffic cop is sleeping.
Everyone assumes you were just kidding.
You’re upgraded to first class.
Your client is even later for the meeting. Bingo!
You got the good genes.
You win the lottery(and haven’t lost the ticket).
Surprise. It’s on sale!
It’s sunny at Wimbledon.
You bet on the wrong horse, which wins.
Blackjack. It goes in.
The test is negative.
You find 100 pounds in your old jeans. You’re OK.
Your mother-in-law is really cool.
You guess right.
There is no traffic.
You are the millionth customer.
You are proven innocent. Near miss.
Refund. No one got hurt.
You find your cell-phone.
Your kids are healthy.
They accept your ridiculous offer.
The one you love, loves you back.
Your dead, really rich uncle really really liked you.
You have a sense of humour.
It’s just a mole.
No one ever finds out.
Tomorrow will be even better.
Couldn’t believe that Saagar was gone on Day 1 or Day 10 or Day 100 … and soon it will be Day 1000. Still, life goes on. Still struggle with it. A lot!
Everything has changed – the world, me, my relationship with the world. I have been walking, sometimes crawling, up a steep learning mountain. Still am. Sometimes flattened by it. Many of you have been walking with me, keeping me fun, encouraging and comforting company. We have spent a lot of time together and there is so much more to do, share and learn.
This blog has been the hook on which I have hung my days. It has kept me from irretrievably crashing on the floor and getting decimated. It had held me together. It has been an ever-present friend, always willing to listen and receive, the stage on which I have shown Saagar off and poured my love for him, a rubbish bin into which I have chucked my pain, anger and regrets.
Coming up to Day 1000, I am filled with anticipation as I know it is time to loosen my grip, to place a little more faith in life and ride my bike with ‘no-hands’ for a bit. I feel the time is right. It is with trepidation that I make this proposal to myself that after Day 1000 I shall post a blog every Thursday. Or will it be Day 1001?
“You who walk, your footprintsare the road and nothing else There is no road, Walker. You made the road by walking. By walking you made the road And when you look backward you seethe path that you will never step on again. Walker, there is no road, Only wind-trails in the sea.”
The Papyrus AGM this morning brought together many people with the same vision – to keep every young person safe and happy. The numerous hurdles on ground made my heart sink. This is too big a task. It’s too much for me or anyone else. But, I am not alone and they are not alone. We are together. Most of us in the room had been touched by suicide and were carrying our pain boldly around, hoping to use this massive emotional energy to reduce further pain in this world. Bit by bit we will keep planting seeds of hope. One person at a time, we will keep smashing the stigma. We will keep taking small steps and keep walking without looking fearfully into the distance.
Wake up lovers, it is time to start the journey! We have seen enough of this world, it is time to see another. Though these two gardens may be beautiful, let us pass beyond them and go to the Gardener, let us go prostrating like a torrent to the ocean. Let us journey from the vale of tears to the wedding feast, and bring the colour of blossom to our pale cheeks. Let us journey home, our hearts trembling like autumn leaves about to fall; in this world of dust there is no avoiding pain or feeling exiled. This path is full of trials, we need companions let us join their caravan and let love be our guide. We have stayed home, scared like mice but we are lion cubs, let us roar like lions. Let our soul turn into a mirror, that passionately wants to reflect Beauty. Let us begin the journey home.
Ever since I was little, I loved to twirl round and round with my arms stretched out. When I was overjoyed, when it rained after a long spell of sweltering heat, when Punjabi and Rajasthani folk music played fast and loud, when I felt absolutely free I twirled at one spot for as long as I could without hurling myself to the ground. It happened automatically and made me feel like I was on top of the world.
Whirling dervishes from the Sufi tradition have intrigued me for years. Sufism is a way of reaching God, which involves rigorous meditation and prayer, emphasis on inner self rather than external rituals, continuous service of humanity and renunciation of worldly pleasures. When they turn, their right palm artistically faces upwards to receive from the Universe and their left palm faces downwards in a spout, to symbolise giving of what is received. The head is tilted gracefully to the right as though they are looking at their hearts. They revolve as if powered by cosmic energy. It is mesmerising to be in the same space.
This evening after work, Si and I attended a ‘Mukabele’ at The Study Society in West London. It was a soulful and joyous ceremony. It was about experiencing inner stillness and opening of the heart. It represented mankind’s inner journey back to the realisation of his essential oneness with God and the unity of all creation. ‘Mukabele’ means ‘coming face to face’. The practice is based on these fundamental beliefs: God is the First and the Last, the Outward and the Inward. Wherever you tum, there is the Face of God.
This practice was originally developed by followers of the 13th century Persian mystic Jalalu’ddin Rumi, whose writings are some of the most enlightening.
“There is a life force
within your soul
Seek that life
There is a gem
In the mountain
Of your body
Seek that mine.
Somewhere in the sea
Are you waiting for me?
In that expansive blanket
I am waiting for you
I’ve cried these tears
They’ve made this sea
And now I cannot find you
In this sorry mess of blue.
I’ve swam to the edge to reach This tip
Of nothingness where you left your shoes for a dip
From which you haven’t returned
And now I’m left tracing
Across this sparkling blue
Where has it taken you?
My love was pure
It held no bounds
And yet nowhere, anywhere
Can you be found
I try to search with frantic eyes
Where I can turn back the fate
Of your demise?
I hold your shoes pacing
Wont you be out soon, cold,
and need your soles?
I am here, a lifeguard
Supposed to protect you
Against these waves of blue.
I pray to the Gods and the earth and the creators I don’t know
That they can bring you back here to this spot where I bow
I’ll protect you better
Against this tide that pulled you out.
If I can’t find you then what is my life about?
I’m so sorry, my angel
But I’ll never give up
I’ll wait here forever till this blue dries up
I’ll sit here searching until you come back.
I grieve for his death.
For his guilt, his shame.
His self blame.
His sadness. His silence.
Every moment of distance.
Him, all alone. Forlorn.
His thoughts, torn.
His brokenness. Hopelessness.
His lightless eyes. His vanished smiles.
His hollow form. His shadow gone.
His quite desperation. Separation.
His terror. His fright.
Night after night.
Misunderstood, behind a hood.
For this black and white Now.
For this constant ‘How?’
That wretched day I went to work.
Every time I put me first.
Words unsaid. Eyes unmet.
Jokes and Stories unshared . Games unplayed.
Songs unhummed. Beats undrummed.
Meals uncooked. Dreams unhooked.
Films unseen. Jeans uncleaned.
Hugs unheld. Incense unsmelt.
Cocktails unmixed. Good-nights unkissed.
I grieve and I am grateful
For all that was given
and all that was taken away
And all the nitty-gritty.
For it pushes me closer to Divinity.