Moving out: Day to day day 1

I want to write of life ... life as it is now . I saw Dangal. I don't feel like writing nor do I feel the same excitement which I felt earlier in the day to write. Yet I am moved. T lives amongst severe anxieties of many fatal outcomes she imagines in her head. She remains in the constant fight mode with either one of the situations or the people in those situations. Then it gets even more confusing, when she meets those characters in real life.
For example, her mother always says, she has always loved her and done the best thing possible. In T's thoughts, she right now can not bring up a memory where she felt anyone go out of their way to help her. Right now, we have a contradiction. This is where she is most of the time, between these junctions. She called her shrink to verify these differences in realities. But the phone was left hanging in the mid air. She is still confused as to various realities unfurling.
There are days when this doesn't happen in T's life. Those are the days when she does her Yoga, practices her music, bakes a cake, tends to garden, sketch, work hard all day! These days  those days are rare and far between. Coming to the condition, now we see, T has a condition based on the condition of her days. Her thoughts are significantly altered, her reality doesn't bother her so much and contradictions and conflicts cease to exist. Mother can claim all that she wants to. For that matter anyone can. Peace, we have signed that pact.
So the effort should in having more of Yoga days, more of music days, more of work days! Period. Which is why T is moving out. Now she has clarity! 

A hole in my heart 

she comes in

leaves suddenly 

a hole in my heart 

I open the gates 

search her along the window sill

the nodding head 

i imagine 

yet she comes in

through the peep holes 

in my broken heart 

she comes in through the light 

I look up to 

I seek around 

I stretch to touch her 

I sniff and smell 

She is there 

I tell everyone 

at times the holes 

close in on its hearth 

She is there 

She is home 

She comes in

the holes close in on its hearth

A hole in my heart 

blood flashes 

falls out as poetry 

a momentary lapse of her continued presence

A hole ..and a poem

Epiphany Series 1

There is almost nothing new in me or anyone saying these lines…or any lines for that matter!

The only thing that really matters ..is how you say it, and if it is from your experience that you are speaking. 

Anything at all, said or unsaid, from the moment of inner experience, adds beauty to the world. And yet something that is of value to you, may not find immediate relevance in your immediate world. Allow the world to decide whether or not it is of importance to it. The difficult part follows, allow for it to be transformed, reinterpreted. You don’t own it ..in any case..

Without fear or restraint or hope, allow me to share this pearl.. 

Do not allow any idea to anchor you

Do not allow any person to be your anchor 

for ideas may get lost, or change or challenge you over the time you live

for people may get lost, or change or challenge you over the time you know them

Change is the only thing that you are going to anchor by, 

Remember you can not ask the river to stop flowing, then there is no river, no flow.. 

And yet this deep sorrow, angst that you feel right now.. you should know this. It is as real as you, and as unreal as you (if you can know what i mean!). You will continue, continue this journey along the edge of the dagger, as long as it takes for you to know that there is no you, no dagger, no journey. Until then, the only solace (or the lack of it!) is that only people, reasons, events etc. will change.. 

Hence standing by all the adages that has been said and heard over and over, I say this, anchor, and re-cognicize when you are anchored elsewhere, and each time, be gentle with your self. You are human and it is okay to be! 

P.S: if ..and only if you allow it to be known, from all the breaking points, from the moments in which the tightly held sand.. washes away, light will dawn on you, you will know God! Trust me on this. Do not fear it when it happens, God waits on the other side.

what it means

I try to avoid the pain
I try not to look inside
I try to point fingers
close my palm shut

I try to avoid the pain
I try not to look,
anywhere,
I see a silhouette

I cry out,
you correct your step
as if in a dream
I see you cross  the river
unharmed,

I look inside
I look at the pain
I see you unharmed
inside
I look at anger
I see you unharmed
I look at grief
I see you unharmed

do you know
what it means
do I know
what it means

I dance without fear 

Koans 1

Koans 1

a stone in the path
many stones in the path
all different tones, varied sizes

many different shapes, varied surfaces
stones in the course of a river
river flows, stone stays,

ringing melody ensues

stone forms the river
river forms the stone

shoreline, herons call,
landscape ahead,

rolling plains, rising hills
all formed and deformed

river flows, heron calls, stone, grain
neither the stone, nor the heron,
nor the river, nor the wind

all are one, one is all

~
Today it dawned on me about stones, about the obstructions, the resistance and formations. That I see it there, that I see so many different stones, so many forms of luck and misfortune, all tied in a single thread of a vision of stones and river. A moment later, I saw the world in that grain of sand I held until it vanished and became my hand. And I saw all the differences, all the differentiators melt into one. I saw humanity as a single amoeba carrying a single stone. It all made sense. It was beautiful. The weight lifted. The flow and music because of the stone was there still. But there was something beyond it us all. A foresight to enjoy the music, a foresight to enjoy the resistance. Not just mine, but also of the world's. And the bitterness, anger, judgements, competition, fear- all of it melted away. Or it was there, and it was not there. How do I say it.

All of what I have been reading, meditating, treading up on. All of it made sense. Not that I was looking for it to make sense this way. I did not know that the answer lay in a stone and the image of the flow. Suddenly a fly passes by, and I acutely hear its flapping. I hear a motorbike and I see myself getting carried away. I see memories arising, I see emotions. I see fear. I see grasping. And I can not point to this place and form sound or  a syllable to translate the place from which I am seeing this. I cannot call it beautiful. But it makes sense. Immensely. There is more to it. That much I know.

while i recall

can you shelter me in a syllable, a sound

in the depth of your poetry 

in the ink that drops fervently

a shelter for a moment 

while i recall 

the way back into me 

can you share with me a move

in the vastness of your embrace 

in the dance of your hips 

a moment for just a moment 

while i recall 

the way back into me 

can you give me a hand 

in the sweetness of the kheer you feed the multitudes

in your search for more mouths to feed 

a mouthful of taste for a moment 

while i recall 

the way back into me 

can you give me a shelter, a move, a hand, anything at all,

for a moment 

while i recall

the way back into me 

I miss you 

It was yesterday 

walking back 

late into the night 

with a rain drizzling 

with a dark blue shawl around me

walking into the night 

i thought i saw you 

sitting on the side walk 

a glance and you were gone 

I missed you then 

not in the way one misses something you crave for 

but in a way one looses one’s arm 

or a leg may be, 

or a part of you 

I missed you and I cried 

Later mom asked me, 

if it is the rain that choked my voice 

if it is the rain that gave me the cold 

No, I did not bring your name into the conversation

it was still raining outside 

I imagined you 

There was no point in imagining 

You are gone, truly gone 

I missed you again then

And I asked for relief

relief from this pain I have been carrying in me all these months

relief from the words unspoken

relief from the tears unshed 

I prayed that I could bury you 

with this missing 

like I will learn to live without a part of me 

i nearly hear you say, 

life goes on 

As I write these lines, 

Pain is lesser than yesterday,

Did I tell you, I slept better than all these months

all these years

Coming back, I have to confess,

I looked at your picture

And I found this out

My missing you had nothing to do with the living 

It is all got to do with the dead 

with the gone 

I seem to have a buried you partially 

I am addressing you from the past from here and now 

I miss you still 

allow me leave you for now

I have reached the end of lines 

I will close with this one last time here "I miss you"

I miss you.. 

Like an amputee remembering the shape of the arm or the tiny finger on the feet, lost, gone, 

Like the childhood river and its company, flown past, invisible, unidentifiable, non-existent,

Like the monsoon which came on time,some time back, 

Like I would never have imagined how missing could be..

I miss you 

..then I saw you

my eyes cried out
throat constricted

partly out of separation
partly out of compassion

then
there was nothing