the now

Day 259

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As days go by, time just gets away from us. It turns into distance, assuming various elastic shapes like an amoeba.

As I go through his clothes, his fragrance seeps through the veil of a delicate detergent into my frontal cortex, radiating to the rest of my brain, giving rise to a catalogue of emotions. The loudest one being – I miss him! It is unbearable, unquantifiable but so palpable! It is not like anything I have ever felt before. Each time it is new. Saying it feels like a hole in my heart would be a gross understatement.

”The best advice I ever got was to just forget about them.” , said a colleague whose daughter had sadly died in a road accident a few years ago. It’s true. Everyone deals with it differently.

Lime green is the colour of his trainers. Penguin is the motif on his hoody. Lavender are most of his t-shirts. Pink is his drum-kit. ‘Egg Flied Lie’ is one of his favourite Chinese rice dishes. When the moon is full, it is his. Badger is the role he played in ‘Wind in the Willows’ at primary school. The sun pouring its warmth through a curtain of clouds is him. His mother is me. The smile on my face, the tears in my eyes and the love in my heart are his too.

He is the embellishment woven into the fabric of my life.

Forget?
How?
Why?

Day 256

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Just as the quietest spot in a tornado is its centre, so is mine.

Everyday I access that peaceful place for a little while as the world and all my emotions whirl around me at a ferocious pace. This is where there is no ache of being two, no grappling with the inadequacy of words, no helplessness. Just love.

As Rumi would say, that despite being hit by the tip of the love arrow, I the martyr am grateful to the hunter, The Almighty. He is the earthen bowl, the potter, the wet clay, the buyer and He is also the one to break the bowl.

Don’t grieve. Everything you lose comes round
in another form.
The child weaned from mother’s milk
now drinks wine and honey mixed.
God’s love flows from unmarked box
to unmarked box….

On the day I die, don’t say she’s gone, he’s gone.
Death has nothing to do with going away.
The sun sets and the moon sets,
but they’re not gone. Death is a coming together.
The human seed goes down into the ground
like a bucket,
and comes up with some unimagined beauty.
Your mouth closes here,
and immediately opens with a shout of joy there!

One of Rumi’s great teachings is that celebrating our pain and loss leads ultimately to joy. It’s difficult for us to grasp the idea that whatever we most resist and fear, whatever seemingly unbearable pain we must face, is actually our doorway to freedom and happiness.

Rumi teaches us that even the prospect of the reality of death can inspire courage and serenity. He says:

Take care dear Visitor.
Look for the glints of treasure in the dirt.
Blessings to you on this day!

Day 245

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What does it all amount to? What does it mean?
What is all this drama for?
This thing called ‘life’.
The friends we make, the lives we touch, the places we visit, the jobs we do – what is it all meant to lead up to?
The entire series and mixtures of thoughts, interactions, feelings, relationships, mistakes, events, misunderstandings and mis-judgements – for what?

Who writes the script?
Who decides the direction of the winds?
Who plants the tree and who tastes the fruit?
Who keeps an account of the innumerable days and nights that come and go non-stop for millions of years?
Who is the controller of this cosmic game?
Who holds the Remote? How many of them are there?
Is there even a Who?
How meaningful can ‘life’ be if it is can be easily and cleanly sliced into two distinct parts – ‘before’ and ‘after’? How can nature be merciful and generous while inflicting such harrowing pain on humanity at the same time? How can anything be good or bad when everything is said to have an element of the ‘Divine’ in it, when everything is a mere reflection of oneself?

Is there really such a thing as ‘free will’?

May be we are all just like little bubbles in a glass of sparkling water (or champagne, if you like) – randomly appearing, disappearing, colliding, expanding, contracting, dancing, some sticking to the glass to buy more time, others rising straight to the surface as if in a rush to disappear.

Day 244

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You may have chosen to go.
But you are still here.
In the grass, the sunshine, clouds and air.
You are here.

Your arms are around me.
Your smile still brightens my days.
Your laughter rings through the house.
Your friends still call and drop in.
We speak of you like you will be back next week,
having just popped out of town for a gig.

All these places remember you well – our street, the corner shop, the bus stop, the bakery and the local pub.
Your things are still strewn around the house.
Your pictures everywhere – even the ones you don’t like.
The thoughts of you are constantly here.

Our memories play themselves over and over again,
like a film in front of my eyes through which I see the world.
House, Friends, South Park and The Office are still on TV.
Stand up comics are on too.
Top Gear is gone for a while but it’ll be back soon.
I told you that guy was a goon.

The lawn is ready for mowing.
The cricket is on.
Exams are over.
Most kids are back home for the summer.
You are in every French conversation that I hear.
In Arabic too.

You are in the drumbeats of every song.
In every beat of my heart.
There are traces of you everywhere.
My life is sublime because you are there.

xxx

Day 240

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The present still stands still. I feel like a bell struck by an indifferent hammer whose blow leaves echoes ringing in the ears long after the strike, a big noise transforming itself into an elongated faint harmony. Deep inside I know the intensity of pain I feel now will pass in time but right now life seems filled with absence. Right now my heart is not willing to move forward but my legs move the rest of me. Whether the movement is aimless or purposeful, it is still movement, a gesture of faith that something still lies ahead.

One beautiful hour of walking through the countryside with a friend this afternoon woke up that part of me which has been unable or unwilling to move. It started off as the usual walk of a ghost through a sepia world but ended up as a celebration of life and all its gifts – friendship, colour and beauty. The walk became a demonstration of the power of persistence. I kept walking till my body had gently bathed my brain in the bio-chemicals that shield it from darkness. I did not have the energy to move fast but I pushed hard enough to make the clouds recede a bit. I had claimed back some control from the world.

This is what life is about right now: putting one foot in front of the other. I demand nothing more of myself. And nothing less.