Tat Tavam Asi

Sometimes its wonderful to gather memories in the palm of my hand, blow the dust off them and sort them out and place them gently on the table for examination. Also enthralling is the experience that is occurring while simultaneously there is a realization that this moment in time will be imprinted in the neurons of my brain and there will be a neural pathway that is formed. When I remember it will light up and form a pattern like that of fairy lights! Its marvelous that there are so many different patterns that light up- each so different from the other, but yet one pathway triggering off and tripping the lights of another! Its a freaking christmas tree inside my head!

My current exercise is to try & ensure that patterns are formed but to allow myself to be completely in the moment, not think of past patterns or those that are currently being formed inside while I experience the experience. Its a tough task- in may ways its like letting go of control and complete surrender to the experience; not being the doer, recorder, analyzer and the observer at the same time. It has taken immense submission of will to realize that I am more the observer and the recorder than the doer. Everything that is experienced must be recorded. A watchful eye must be kept on the pattern being formed, identifying how similar the current pattern being formed is to previous patterns, why it is so- it only means that the pattern must be broken but is not broken. There is experience and there is thought, then thoughts on those thoughts and more thoughts. Of course, the term is metacognition- cognition on cognition. I've been too busy in seeing lights form patterns, identify and analyze that in all of that I've forgotten to learn and just watch and be the doer. 

For a long time I have believed that 'I' am not my thoughts but never lived it. I have been a slave to my thoughts and bound by it. The lights in my brain- I have watched them dip, dim and grow. I have become them- my memories and my ego. I have let myself be defined by them. My existence as a person has been limited to the neurons in my brain- beautiful fairy lights- I am more than that. Tat tavam Asi

Nasrul Minal-ah-e- wah fatah un Kareeb

Wintering?

My first impression on waking was that of light. Light dancing of the the temple tree flowers, light sluicing through the bamboos, light shaping the folds of the blue skies that came down to meet the grass. Curled up in bed I watch the dance of light outside my huge glass wall. I had refused to draw the blinds the last night so I could wake up to light.

Jumping out of bed I open the glass & let the light in & let the wind wash over me. Peace. The wind never fails to delight me. My feet sink into the grass and mud. I laugh remembering my mother- she tried so hard to teach me to wear my footwear before stepping into a garden space. I'm thirty today and I'm still barefoot in the grass! Still a child.

I wonder if I'm supposed to feel different? Have a big life changing moment? Have some great revelation. There is no earth shattering insight- I like that. Light has come after much darkness I choose to enjoy it, without thought, without question, without past without future.

Peace gives way to my great musings. I wonder what cake I am going to get myself today. Apple spice, a chocolate tart? Do I have some new clothes to wear? Will I treat myself to something exciting? What may it be? I am amused- I "ought" in more conventional worlds be thinking about the larger picture- kids, life and so on, things that the world thinks is important!

I wave at the gardner who brings me flowers each day. I like the simplicity of my world. My feet in the grass. The wind in my face. Flowers in my hand. Open spaces and warm hearts. That is what my world is made of. Small bits of happiness. Chuckling to myself I acknowledge that maybe I am unconventional- I like going "home" occasionally. I don't miss my bed or my cupboard. I like flitting in and out of what is familiar. I like being like the wind blowing through leaves leaving no trace but in memory. I realize I am the nun and the gypsy. I am peace with the dichotomy and I am happy. I am thirty. I am crazily in love with myself just as I was when I was two! I guess time doesn't change somethings!

My promise to myself for starting on the complete wrong side of twenty is to see Russia. A present for the child in me. To laugh a lot, travel, dress to kill and read. Thats for the woman I'm supposed to be!

Thank you all for giving me a fantastic thirty years! I wouldn't be me if not for you!

Words- Yours.

I believe. No believed in words. No, I still do. But words sometimes are slippery as stones that have been left in water a long time. Sometimes, when I try to grasp at them they slide from my fingers as I try to examine them. Sometimes, they tumble upon me crushing me beneath them. I try to find meaning, my will swings between love, confusion, grief and remorse, and my heart won't stop stinging. What else do words bring?

"You'll forget"- you say with such conviction. Is that the nature of sorrow? That it fades with time? I believe otherwise. It stays lodged below the surface of things- a stubborn thorn beneath the fingernail, making itself felt every time one brushes against it. My petty mind cannot encompass the fact that "you forget" because unfortunately I am not as evolved. When I hear the words replay in my mind over and over I feel a huge emptiness yawning beneath my feet, ready to swallow me.

I have waited, impatient for a tone I heard a long time ago- the sound of temple bells that resonates, a voice as gentle as a brook wending through pebbles- the only safe and comfortable place - so safe -so undemanding. But your other words- like rumors flit around my ears like dusky moths. Maybe there are insidious bits of truth in each one of them.

I am struck by how brief a passing moment is. How revenge can be such an overpowering force for you. I feel like a tiny boat rocking unmoored on the shore of a huge ocean waiting to see where the currents will carry me. There is an unexpected freedom in understanding that one was not as important as one had always assumed!

A fragrance, a sight, a smell - a single regret explodes in my heart, filling it with showers of burning sparks. I am still unwilling to let go. Your words had struck like hot iron, branding them in my brain. I want to live it all again- with wisdom this time!

I am a child in my mother's house, chasing after butterflies reading Misha and dreaming of love. I chase after the butterfly that evades me, sweaty and teary until my friend holds out a hand. the butterfly lands on it, and silently the hand is extended to me. And, I understanding something beyond my years then, don't grab it but gently stroke its dusty yellow wings.

Home is a foreign place

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness"

Dickens, my one true love, comes to mind, so often in the city I now call home... As a child I had visited it and looked around in wide eyed wonder. The city famous for its chicanery and power made a dent in my little heart a long while ago. I remember wishing to be a part of it. A strange wish for a 10 year old.

Delhi, like truth, or like a diamond, has many facets- ugly and beautiful. It has many seasons- clear and distinct. It reminds me with each passing day that it is a truly transient world that I live in. In the city of wide streets, show and pomp, chicanery I have discovered parts of myself and strengths that I have come to cling to. I discovered a capacity for peace, for industry, for endurance, acceptance and for love that has reached past my body, my thoughts, my heart into some part of me that I hadn't known existed. It is here, that for the first time in my life, I felt myself coming apart like a braided edge of a shawl, the threads reaching everywhere. Delhi has seen me at my best and at my worst. It has let me flourish and contained my soul. In it I have learned to love with abandon and now to wear an armor of caution so that no one or nothing can pierce my heart.

I have found new friends, strangers, dogs who knew nothing beyond what I chose to display (which was really just an ointment face or a beaming smile) show strange affection and concern bordering on love, going out of their way to bring a smile on my face. In this city known for manipulation and power games, ironically, I learned to trust, based on what I sensed (may be one day I will rue it bitterly or maybe not).

Maybe Delhi, and everything in it was fate. I have felt despite my occasional sense of aloneness, I feel a door has opened- to the palace of illusions I dreamed of. A world of flux and change. A long time ago I lived in a fort with comfort, ease and protection- a little princess. Yesterday I lived in a palace of illusions, today I walk the road of changing seasons hoping winter is close and trials by fire will soon be done, tomorrow, who knows? Delhi, I say to myself. You've taught me a lesson, and you've taught it well.

Beyond the dark of my only window, a pale yellow moon hangs in the sky. What mysteries are hidden behind his pockmarked face? Time is perhaps a master player. But within the limits allowed to humans in this world that the sages call unreal, I will be a player too....

Don't panic.

Don't panic. There's Sherlock Holmes! I work at a place where people come with the hope of finding many times things that they have lost: speech, motor functioning, neurons and/or their mind! Sometimes all of the above. I lost my cell phone to one of the 'seekers' who came to have his son's mind back. Considering that finding 'cell phones' is not on the above mentioned list, I had to go to a place which did find mundane un-exotic things like that. The police station beside the work-place.

The complaint written out and the FIR filed. There's Sherlock Holmes who was waiting in the wings. Enter Sherlock Holmes. "Do you have enemies?" (My phone was kidnapped- was the line of investigation being pursued I suppose- and no, no ransom calls were made!). Sherlock Holmes called back after two months of some highly purposeful line of enquiry

Sherlock Holmes: "We have found your cell phone! Are you alone? Dont panic" (Was this the ransom call?)

CC:"Hmm.. have you recovered it?"

Sherlock Holmes: "Madam your cell phone is in your house only- your Mom was playing a prak I think! She is using it".

CC: "I think you've got it wrong. My cell phone was taken from my work place. My mom is certainly not using it! Have you been able to trace the calls?"

Sherlock Holmes: "Oh no! The person is very clever he has not turned on the cell phone only. We told you maybe it was your mother so you would feel you left it at home.We wanted to make you feel happy that we solved the case!".

Elementary dear Watson, but what line of reasoning, or what curve of reasoning was Sherlock Holmes following- trying to do the "knowing where one's towel is"? Perhaps, there's a reason that the police station was located in close proximity to the institute of lost minds?

Rasta Reads

Ah well...

Pups for sale in the oven! What next???

Ah well!