I love and live in my love. ALone.
He loves and lives in his love, too. Alone.
That does not make any sense. But it is supposed to.
It is supposed to be left alone. And he is supposed to be left alone.
So he can find out for himself what I or anyone else means to him, and for him.
And I must wait for that realization to dawn.
Because… I love him.
And I can wait till eternity for that love and that togetherness-
so long as he is the one at the end of that long lonely road. I will walk alone.
And I will learn several languages along the way- just so I narrow the distance we must both travel.
Language that speaks of the heart, of the soul. From the heart, from the soul.
Language that bridges the distance and makes it irrelevant.
Language that makes Time itself irrelevant.
I must learn to speak a language he can understand.
I must also learn to understand the language he speaks.
In our loneliness and our search- it is only words that may string us together.
Those words that speak of feelings. And of forevers.
The head must rule where the heart treads carefully.
And the heart must learn never, ever, to give up.
At the end of days- what else is it that will matter?
That we lived, and lived well.
That we understood and were understood.
That we loved, and we were loved.
And for that day of togetherness
For that moment of truth
Wait I shall
Patiently, and impatiently…
Always, and forever…
Now, and till Eternity.
From Infinity and beyond did we arrive,
To Infinity and beyond shall we go.
Love me now…
Love me forever...
May be another day...
Pain ends.
These 10 months have taught me that people care just as much as they do not.
That pain engages us with ourselves. It tells us to slow down, even stop so we can focus once more on ourselves rather than outside ourselves.
That it is possible to beat it, overcome it- and even live with it. If it does not kill you, it does make you stronger.
That life is about moving. Moving to live well. And moving on to live better. Staying still is not possible. Being still is. Even the breath mandates movement.
That most people confuse motion with movement. Motion creates movement, but motion alone is not enough.
That sometimes- we must simply give in, and breathe or even shed a tear if that is what we want to do. Or need to.
That giving up is never an option.
That Something will work- even if there is nothing that has till now- there is always something else. Not a Plan B, but another Plan A. An alternative that has not been tried, and needs to be tested. Like acupuncture!
That we often confuse moments with life. And then we feel alone, lonely and unloved. Life catches up- the sun come out again and the clouds drift away.
And that all that matters in the end is how we lived it- not survived but lived.
What a mother wants...
What a mother wants is to be a mother. What she wants is to make a difference. What she wants is for her children to do well in life. What she feels is their pain in her heart. What she does is take on the whole world for them, and will stand like a tigress at the first sign that anyone is troubling them, or misusing their effort or obstructing them. She does not hesitate to wear her heart on her sleeve because her heart is no longer with her anyway!
And she feels the pain and the tears and the laughter and the pride as raw emotions. These cannot be felt by anyone else. No one else can ever feel the same way- because she carries it inside her gut and inside her soul. This goes much deeper than just the heart, or the head. It goes deep into her soul and stays there for eternity.
Infinity is nothing as compared to the weight of all that she carries. She cries lonely tears, and feels an anger so deep that it cannot be measured. She will stop at nothing nor will she be stopped by anything. Her children have to win. Even at the expense of being hated for her effort. The weight of being a mother is not simply in grazed knees and fevers soothed. It is not even only in the medals won and the applause received.
It is in the occasional, "I hate you, mom!" It is also in the more frequent "I love you, mom!" It is in the fibre of her life. It is in the tapestry of her breath.
So what does a mother really want? She wants for her children to be the best they can be. And she will accept nothing less. She begins to expect The Universe, and The Gods and Destiny herself and even her own children must deliver. Nothing less is possible. The expectation sets the standard to which she compares everything. She compares her own effort and that of everybody else only to that expectation. She measures everybody and everything only on the standard of her expectation... and when that is not met- it is simply not good enough.
She does more, and more. She wishes and asks more and more from everyone because she will not accept anything less, and will not tire from the effort.
She looks on- the tea at the table. Perfect, like her children. She looks on- a perfect brew- deep orange and golden yellow, thick and full bodied tea. The aroma itself is enough to refresh anyone. It gives her immense pleasure- almost a sense of pride. She had a role in this. It looked great and smelled wonderful. But, she needs to add some sugar.
The necessity to add sugar implied a deficiency. All of a sudden, that great tea was reduced to great tea that needed sugar. All the other great qualities became insignificant. Putting in a spoonful of sweetness would make the tea perfect. But we're human! And because we are human, we MUST make sure. So- we stir. We stir up a veritable storm in the tea cup. The whirlpool in the cup goes deeper and deeper and the edges rise higher and higher. Soon, the tea spills over and the family appears to be losing its coherence and togetherness.
And in our wisdom we try harder still. We get hurt. We bleed. We do not give up.
But... in that pain, and in that agony, the best thing to do would be to stop stirring. To stop. And to wait.
To wait for another, "I love you mom" before you give up.
And a mother never really gives up. No matter what.
And she feels the pain and the tears and the laughter and the pride as raw emotions. These cannot be felt by anyone else. No one else can ever feel the same way- because she carries it inside her gut and inside her soul. This goes much deeper than just the heart, or the head. It goes deep into her soul and stays there for eternity.
Infinity is nothing as compared to the weight of all that she carries. She cries lonely tears, and feels an anger so deep that it cannot be measured. She will stop at nothing nor will she be stopped by anything. Her children have to win. Even at the expense of being hated for her effort. The weight of being a mother is not simply in grazed knees and fevers soothed. It is not even only in the medals won and the applause received.
It is in the occasional, "I hate you, mom!" It is also in the more frequent "I love you, mom!" It is in the fibre of her life. It is in the tapestry of her breath.
So what does a mother really want? She wants for her children to be the best they can be. And she will accept nothing less. She begins to expect The Universe, and The Gods and Destiny herself and even her own children must deliver. Nothing less is possible. The expectation sets the standard to which she compares everything. She compares her own effort and that of everybody else only to that expectation. She measures everybody and everything only on the standard of her expectation... and when that is not met- it is simply not good enough.
She does more, and more. She wishes and asks more and more from everyone because she will not accept anything less, and will not tire from the effort.
She looks on- the tea at the table. Perfect, like her children. She looks on- a perfect brew- deep orange and golden yellow, thick and full bodied tea. The aroma itself is enough to refresh anyone. It gives her immense pleasure- almost a sense of pride. She had a role in this. It looked great and smelled wonderful. But, she needs to add some sugar.
The necessity to add sugar implied a deficiency. All of a sudden, that great tea was reduced to great tea that needed sugar. All the other great qualities became insignificant. Putting in a spoonful of sweetness would make the tea perfect. But we're human! And because we are human, we MUST make sure. So- we stir. We stir up a veritable storm in the tea cup. The whirlpool in the cup goes deeper and deeper and the edges rise higher and higher. Soon, the tea spills over and the family appears to be losing its coherence and togetherness.
And in our wisdom we try harder still. We get hurt. We bleed. We do not give up.
But... in that pain, and in that agony, the best thing to do would be to stop stirring. To stop. And to wait.
To wait for another, "I love you mom" before you give up.
And a mother never really gives up. No matter what.
NaNoWriMo
I have been wanting to write for so long now that it is no longer funny. I read like a house on fire- one book on the bedside table, one in the bathroom, one in the car for those inevitable red signals that I must stop on, and one even for the office. And not to forget one in the Purse! (What if I have to go somewhere I do not usually leave a book- I must have one on my person!)
Then a few years ago, the man who loves me, my husband and my greatest strength (That paradoxically also makes him my weakness!) threw a challenge at me. DONOT BUY ANOTHER BOOK BEFORE YOU WRITE ONE OF YOUR OWN. And I did!
But I did not know how to query it. I did not know how to publish it. I could not find an agent who though about my book and not his pocket. I tried half-heartedly for a while, and then gave up. I told myself that it was enough that I had written a book.
On one of the writing support groups online, I came across a wonderful person who became a great friend. It turned out that she is also a publisher and she had helped shape my manuscript from a raw draft to a readable final copy. She knew my characters even better than me! (Well... may be not!! ;-) )
She asked for my ms. She said she would love to publish it. We tried for nearly two ( may be even three years) but we could not figure out the financials across the oceans and on two different continents separated by timezones that I am still to count.
Finally, we decided to part gracefully. Hopefully, we are still friends.
Long and short- I have written one novel that has been difficult to publish. Faced an extreme case of Writer's block the past few years and then, on November 1 decided- It has to be now.
So.. helloo!!! NaNoWriMo!!!
I started writing without any idea what I was going to write about. But I am writing. EVERYDAY. And loving the recaptured Muse.
Thanks! Your story is INSPIRING!!!
So I write for myself. And for the man who thinks I can. I also write DESPITE not being able to find a publisher. I write for the love of writing.
He was all of four years old!
This little boy came in with his parents. He was small - very small.
He was four but looked barely more than two and a half. He was thin and wiry and hesitant. He hid behind his father as he came in- that should have warned me. But it did not!
We always must learn- learn to be in THE moment. To observe. To simply breathe and let the air and the light wash over us. But... we start to make our own stories and create our own interpretations. We must make some decisions, some judgements- before we even consciously identify any facts of the matter. Then we spend the rest of the interaction justifying our baseless judgement.
How can we do that? We- who are supposed to be intelligent and observant creatures- and the creatures whose power of observation really must determine the quality of life of any soul who walks in through the doors to our chambers. We- the doctors!
But... we learn. We stop. We take stock once more when confronted by new or different information... I did, too.
The father began to speak. And the boy sat quietly- much too quit for the terrible twos or the frustrating fours!
"His speech is not clear." Simple enough complaint. There are not many things that can go wrong here. So I carried out my preliminary examination- tongue fine, teeth good, muscle tone fine, even the ears great. No reason the child should not speak clearly.
Another alert! By now, I was better placed. I was PRESENT IN THE MOMENT... to the child. My eyes were on the little fellow. My ears were eager to hear what he would have to say. I needed a speech sample to move further.
He started moving and placing his tongue unnaturally over the lower teeth and into the back of lower lip. No matter what I tried, the tongue would not really make the excursion through the various parts of the mouth for speech clarity. All the sounds were jumbled and warbled. One phonetic group was completely substituted by the other. Then, there were sounds that defied definition. He could not even enunciate his own name- poor baby!
By now, alarm bells were ringing in my head. I turned to the parents. And told them that the child seemed to be terrified of something or someone. And that the would need not only to work on the physical world of the tongue gaining more flexibility and movement but also his mind being more playful and able to be the child he could be.
I turned back to the child, "Dhruv*!, Are you afraid of anyone?"
I have noticed that direct questions work better than indirect ones in these situations. That the children are no different than adults except that they have fears that overwhelm their little minds much more readily than adults can imagine. And that they MUST speak what is in their head- and they often do- to be free. They can BE free- easily.
We must learn the art of acknowledging our fears from the little ones, just identifying the fears loosens their grip on our life.
He looked at me- with eyes wide and unblinking. A tear formed at one corner. And then a torrent started. All I could do at that time was to reach out- and hug the baby. I did. I gently asked him again. "Are you afraid of someone?"
He looked at his mother- sitting across the room- and blurted out. "I am afraid of my mother. She hits me. Very badly. And I do not know why." He started sobbing. Tears were now freely rolling down the cheeks. I did the only natural thing for me to do here. I completely ignored the father. And asked the mother to leave us alone for a while. She walked. In dignity. In stoic silence- her head held high in the wake of a storm that her little son had managed to start.
I asked Dhruv* again. "Do you not think your mother loves you?"
He sobbed, "Not very much. She has more anger than love. She really hits me. "
"But you must be doing something for her to feel the need to hit you," I persisted. "I am sure she loves you and you do not understand." To give this little tyke his due, he stood firm on that shaky ground; the tremors were only for his mother.
No.
My mother does not love me.
Now- being a mother myself, I cannot believe that it is possible for a mother to not love her own child. So I wanted this love deprived child to understand that love can have many faces- some of them may not even look like love. But I could not do that. Instead, I asked HIM- "What would make you think your mother loves you?"
He cried even more bitterly.
I had to press on. This child needed to know how he could identify love. And his mother needed to know how she could love him so he could feel the love. Often we do not even know that the way we express our love is not the way the other sees love. We talk French, hoping to understand and be understood by a person speaking German. It is not going to happen! Not only is one language soft and the other guttural, both are totally different in their soul and expression.
I asked him whether he would feel loved if his mother hugged him like I was hugging him. He backed off. And told me- he would not let her come that near because he was sure she would hit him. Now that is really not natural! I asked him what then would make him feel loved by his mother. He brought up a tiny hand, and lovingly gripped his own jaw between his thumb and his fingers on the other side and said- when she kisses me like this!
How clear can a love language be? Gary Chapman would be proud of that child.
Now it was time to talk to the mother. I called her in. And sent the child and the father out. And I asked her. "Why is your son so afraid? What scares him so much?" Now it was her turn for catharsis. She could not speak at first. Then words came tumbling out. "The atmosphere at home! My husband had threatened to divorce me. My mother-in-law was torturing me. Now we are separated from my in-laws and live separately, but I used to take out my frustration of not being able to find love by hitting Dhruv*. I have hit him very badly in the past. And I realize I have really damaged him. I am sorry. I am so sorry. I am so so sorry!"
When Dhruv walked in a few minutes later- he did not have to be told that his mother loves him.
He looked at her and she was crying. He was crying, too.
They both reached out for each other and hugged each other.
And she held his face between her thumb on one side and the fingers on the other... and...
...she kissed him.
Gently.
On his tears.
The salt of his emotion mixing and mingling with the salt of her emotions. The tides rising and falling synchronously. They had found each other.
And i found myself!
How many times do we try to RULE the lives of our children?
Do this, do not do that!
Speak properly. Now shut up!
Sit down. Stand up. Eat. Wash. Sleep. Wake up. Walk. Run.
There appear to be only commands. Where do those words that the children need to hear as much as us go?
Go back home and say to the ones who matter to you- I love you. You matter to me. I am sorry. I am grateful for being with you. And say thank you.
Thank the people who make the life you live worth living.
Thank the Lord for putting them in your life to make it meaningful.
And understand that each day- we must choose. We must choose to live a life worth living, or not.
Understand that the things that matter most cannot be measured.
That we must find our own love space. And fill it with light. So we are not afraid of the dark.
He was four but looked barely more than two and a half. He was thin and wiry and hesitant. He hid behind his father as he came in- that should have warned me. But it did not!
We always must learn- learn to be in THE moment. To observe. To simply breathe and let the air and the light wash over us. But... we start to make our own stories and create our own interpretations. We must make some decisions, some judgements- before we even consciously identify any facts of the matter. Then we spend the rest of the interaction justifying our baseless judgement.
How can we do that? We- who are supposed to be intelligent and observant creatures- and the creatures whose power of observation really must determine the quality of life of any soul who walks in through the doors to our chambers. We- the doctors!
But... we learn. We stop. We take stock once more when confronted by new or different information... I did, too.
The father began to speak. And the boy sat quietly- much too quit for the terrible twos or the frustrating fours!
"His speech is not clear." Simple enough complaint. There are not many things that can go wrong here. So I carried out my preliminary examination- tongue fine, teeth good, muscle tone fine, even the ears great. No reason the child should not speak clearly.
Another alert! By now, I was better placed. I was PRESENT IN THE MOMENT... to the child. My eyes were on the little fellow. My ears were eager to hear what he would have to say. I needed a speech sample to move further.
He started moving and placing his tongue unnaturally over the lower teeth and into the back of lower lip. No matter what I tried, the tongue would not really make the excursion through the various parts of the mouth for speech clarity. All the sounds were jumbled and warbled. One phonetic group was completely substituted by the other. Then, there were sounds that defied definition. He could not even enunciate his own name- poor baby!
By now, alarm bells were ringing in my head. I turned to the parents. And told them that the child seemed to be terrified of something or someone. And that the would need not only to work on the physical world of the tongue gaining more flexibility and movement but also his mind being more playful and able to be the child he could be.
I turned back to the child, "Dhruv*!, Are you afraid of anyone?"
I have noticed that direct questions work better than indirect ones in these situations. That the children are no different than adults except that they have fears that overwhelm their little minds much more readily than adults can imagine. And that they MUST speak what is in their head- and they often do- to be free. They can BE free- easily.
We must learn the art of acknowledging our fears from the little ones, just identifying the fears loosens their grip on our life.
He looked at me- with eyes wide and unblinking. A tear formed at one corner. And then a torrent started. All I could do at that time was to reach out- and hug the baby. I did. I gently asked him again. "Are you afraid of someone?"
He looked at his mother- sitting across the room- and blurted out. "I am afraid of my mother. She hits me. Very badly. And I do not know why." He started sobbing. Tears were now freely rolling down the cheeks. I did the only natural thing for me to do here. I completely ignored the father. And asked the mother to leave us alone for a while. She walked. In dignity. In stoic silence- her head held high in the wake of a storm that her little son had managed to start.
I asked Dhruv* again. "Do you not think your mother loves you?"
He sobbed, "Not very much. She has more anger than love. She really hits me. "
"But you must be doing something for her to feel the need to hit you," I persisted. "I am sure she loves you and you do not understand." To give this little tyke his due, he stood firm on that shaky ground; the tremors were only for his mother.
No.
My mother does not love me.
Now- being a mother myself, I cannot believe that it is possible for a mother to not love her own child. So I wanted this love deprived child to understand that love can have many faces- some of them may not even look like love. But I could not do that. Instead, I asked HIM- "What would make you think your mother loves you?"
He cried even more bitterly.
I had to press on. This child needed to know how he could identify love. And his mother needed to know how she could love him so he could feel the love. Often we do not even know that the way we express our love is not the way the other sees love. We talk French, hoping to understand and be understood by a person speaking German. It is not going to happen! Not only is one language soft and the other guttural, both are totally different in their soul and expression.
I asked him whether he would feel loved if his mother hugged him like I was hugging him. He backed off. And told me- he would not let her come that near because he was sure she would hit him. Now that is really not natural! I asked him what then would make him feel loved by his mother. He brought up a tiny hand, and lovingly gripped his own jaw between his thumb and his fingers on the other side and said- when she kisses me like this!
How clear can a love language be? Gary Chapman would be proud of that child.
Now it was time to talk to the mother. I called her in. And sent the child and the father out. And I asked her. "Why is your son so afraid? What scares him so much?" Now it was her turn for catharsis. She could not speak at first. Then words came tumbling out. "The atmosphere at home! My husband had threatened to divorce me. My mother-in-law was torturing me. Now we are separated from my in-laws and live separately, but I used to take out my frustration of not being able to find love by hitting Dhruv*. I have hit him very badly in the past. And I realize I have really damaged him. I am sorry. I am so sorry. I am so so sorry!"
When Dhruv walked in a few minutes later- he did not have to be told that his mother loves him.
He looked at her and she was crying. He was crying, too.
They both reached out for each other and hugged each other.
And she held his face between her thumb on one side and the fingers on the other... and...
...she kissed him.
Gently.
On his tears.
The salt of his emotion mixing and mingling with the salt of her emotions. The tides rising and falling synchronously. They had found each other.
And i found myself!
How many times do we try to RULE the lives of our children?
Do this, do not do that!
Speak properly. Now shut up!
Sit down. Stand up. Eat. Wash. Sleep. Wake up. Walk. Run.
There appear to be only commands. Where do those words that the children need to hear as much as us go?
Go back home and say to the ones who matter to you- I love you. You matter to me. I am sorry. I am grateful for being with you. And say thank you.
Thank the people who make the life you live worth living.
Thank the Lord for putting them in your life to make it meaningful.
And understand that each day- we must choose. We must choose to live a life worth living, or not.
Understand that the things that matter most cannot be measured.
That we must find our own love space. And fill it with light. So we are not afraid of the dark.
True love is forever.
I love you and you love me... And we often wonder what we did that brought us to this! We did not know each other a few years ago. Now we know no one else. We had not the faintest awareness of each other's existence- and now we know no other existence. This is all good. It is all well. And it is as it should be. Yet- there are some punctuation marks that force us to pause and ponder. These pauses make us more alive and aware of that moment which must define a life. They make us more alive in each moment and to each other- complete with flaws and with traits that first got us together. There is nothing else that matters now. There is nothing else that CAN matter now. Only that we are together and we will not have it any other way.
And yet... we must also acknowledge that this is not perfect. I am not perfect. You are not perfect. It is the search that we both undertake that seeks perfection and sees nothing less as possible. Love, they say is blind. no. I assert. Love is not blind. It blinds. Love makes every little flaw and each big one, disappear as if these do not exist. Not that they do not matter. But that they do not exist. However, deep down we both know. We are seeking. And have forgotten to see. It is time to rest our eyes and even our minds. It is time to let our souls awaken from the slumber and simply see what is, not seek what is not.
Will we see each other in this light- just as we are? And will we decide in the depth of our souls that THIS is what we chose? This is the life and the after life that we chose and this is what will bring us the light and the cool breeze in the stark desert of life? This is what will bring the showers and the flowers. This is what will bring the song and the poetry. This is what will be the well spring of life.
We live in each other's awareness. We live in each other's consciousness as the feelings we feel. Not as they are. Not as we are. But as the feelings we each feel. It is time to realise that we are a sum of several things. We are not our feelings alone. We are not our thoughts alone. We are a sum of all the moments that we live and do not even register in our consciousness. We are a sum of all the moments that the Universe has seen prior to us and will see after we are gone. We may be an insignificant speck in the firmament of Life and of Time and we may be THe defining speck without which the pattern of the Space Time just would not be what it is. We are in reality neither one nor the other. We are at once both. This is not very difficult to reconcile with our consciousness; it is only made more difficult by the eyes we look at the Universe with.
In fact, in some alternate Universe we have not even met. We have not fallen in love. We are not aware of each other's existence and know not how much we mean to each other in this one. In this alternate world, it does not matter that we woke today or did not. It does not matter that we breathed the same air or not.
In that alternate Universe the little battle that left us both embittered could not have happened. In that alternate world, the little moment of togetherness that we stole from our day to reinforce our belief in love forever would not have mattered. In that alternate Universe, we could be with someone else. Or still waiting for each other. Or we could have met, and parted knowing this is not to be. But all that would have to be in an alternate world where the laws of our world do not hold. It would have to be a world where we could not survive because the only natural existence for us is to be in each other's love. That would have to be a world where the laws would be completely different. Because any world where we are not together is not a possibility from what we know about each other- even without being aware of the knowledge.
In any world where life exists as we know life to exist- in any world that closely follows our laws- an alternate reality is not possible. It is not possible for any other combination of breaths and moments in a world that we recognise as a world.
So stay with me- and love me tender.
Stay with me and fight bitter battles only as a means to express that undying desire never to be free of my presence. Just as I confess my undying desire to be in your presence in your world and your life.
Love me. For nothing else is possible. The magic is here.
The elegance of being alive, the magic and the mystery of being in love gets overlooked by the business of living and believing there will be better days. Those days will never be. They are here and they are now. They are never going to be in some intangible, distant, unforeseeable future that we are doomed to keep looking for. The elegance of being alive and the magic and the mystery of being in love are defined in each moment we live fully aware that it is THE only moment we live. In each moment a part of our life becomes history. Something that cannot be changed. And in each moment we are at the point where we can define history by making a choice- to observe THE moment.
The most crucial moment of any 'episode' in life is not when that episode happens. The most crucial moment in life's episodes are the moments just BEFORE the episodes happen. In that moment we could fly, or love, or hate or even simply leave everything behind.
But in the mad rush of living a fast paced life- we hardly notice the moments. We only notice the episodes. And we miss the moment of simply BEING alive. The moment that we could go anywhere and do anything. This is the moment when we can touch eternity. This is the moment when we can connect with God. This is the moment when we can finally come home.
And where is really the home? Is it in the four walls that protect us from the blistering cold of bitter winters or from the blistering heat of vaporizing summers? Or is home the pace where we may rest our heads and our hearts knowing that the elements are our friends and we need no protection. That we are one. One with the Earth. And with the Firmament. And it is the place where we discover our own Divinity in love.
And that home is the place where nothing else matters.
Home is the place where we find ourselves because we found us.
And yet... we must also acknowledge that this is not perfect. I am not perfect. You are not perfect. It is the search that we both undertake that seeks perfection and sees nothing less as possible. Love, they say is blind. no. I assert. Love is not blind. It blinds. Love makes every little flaw and each big one, disappear as if these do not exist. Not that they do not matter. But that they do not exist. However, deep down we both know. We are seeking. And have forgotten to see. It is time to rest our eyes and even our minds. It is time to let our souls awaken from the slumber and simply see what is, not seek what is not.
Will we see each other in this light- just as we are? And will we decide in the depth of our souls that THIS is what we chose? This is the life and the after life that we chose and this is what will bring us the light and the cool breeze in the stark desert of life? This is what will bring the showers and the flowers. This is what will bring the song and the poetry. This is what will be the well spring of life.
We live in each other's awareness. We live in each other's consciousness as the feelings we feel. Not as they are. Not as we are. But as the feelings we each feel. It is time to realise that we are a sum of several things. We are not our feelings alone. We are not our thoughts alone. We are a sum of all the moments that we live and do not even register in our consciousness. We are a sum of all the moments that the Universe has seen prior to us and will see after we are gone. We may be an insignificant speck in the firmament of Life and of Time and we may be THe defining speck without which the pattern of the Space Time just would not be what it is. We are in reality neither one nor the other. We are at once both. This is not very difficult to reconcile with our consciousness; it is only made more difficult by the eyes we look at the Universe with.
In fact, in some alternate Universe we have not even met. We have not fallen in love. We are not aware of each other's existence and know not how much we mean to each other in this one. In this alternate world, it does not matter that we woke today or did not. It does not matter that we breathed the same air or not.
In that alternate Universe the little battle that left us both embittered could not have happened. In that alternate world, the little moment of togetherness that we stole from our day to reinforce our belief in love forever would not have mattered. In that alternate Universe, we could be with someone else. Or still waiting for each other. Or we could have met, and parted knowing this is not to be. But all that would have to be in an alternate world where the laws of our world do not hold. It would have to be a world where we could not survive because the only natural existence for us is to be in each other's love. That would have to be a world where the laws would be completely different. Because any world where we are not together is not a possibility from what we know about each other- even without being aware of the knowledge.
In any world where life exists as we know life to exist- in any world that closely follows our laws- an alternate reality is not possible. It is not possible for any other combination of breaths and moments in a world that we recognise as a world.
So stay with me- and love me tender.
Stay with me and fight bitter battles only as a means to express that undying desire never to be free of my presence. Just as I confess my undying desire to be in your presence in your world and your life.
Love me. For nothing else is possible. The magic is here.
The elegance of being alive, the magic and the mystery of being in love gets overlooked by the business of living and believing there will be better days. Those days will never be. They are here and they are now. They are never going to be in some intangible, distant, unforeseeable future that we are doomed to keep looking for. The elegance of being alive and the magic and the mystery of being in love are defined in each moment we live fully aware that it is THE only moment we live. In each moment a part of our life becomes history. Something that cannot be changed. And in each moment we are at the point where we can define history by making a choice- to observe THE moment.
The most crucial moment of any 'episode' in life is not when that episode happens. The most crucial moment in life's episodes are the moments just BEFORE the episodes happen. In that moment we could fly, or love, or hate or even simply leave everything behind.
But in the mad rush of living a fast paced life- we hardly notice the moments. We only notice the episodes. And we miss the moment of simply BEING alive. The moment that we could go anywhere and do anything. This is the moment when we can touch eternity. This is the moment when we can connect with God. This is the moment when we can finally come home.
And where is really the home? Is it in the four walls that protect us from the blistering cold of bitter winters or from the blistering heat of vaporizing summers? Or is home the pace where we may rest our heads and our hearts knowing that the elements are our friends and we need no protection. That we are one. One with the Earth. And with the Firmament. And it is the place where we discover our own Divinity in love.
And that home is the place where nothing else matters.
Home is the place where we find ourselves because we found us.
Do I hide my feelings?
Trying to post two posts to make up for yesterday. I had severe pain chest and upper abdomen- never felt anything like it before. It made me feel as if all my viscera were going to fall out from wherever they can find a way; and if they cannot, they will strain hard against the resistance that my body's boundaries were posing. It was excruciating and I could not hide it... for once.
We tend to hide how much we hurt, and how sad we are. We do not try to make small of our love and our happiness. We are often afraid to be transparent- because that reveals our vulnerability and our weaknesses. What if someone takes advantage of our weakness? What if someone uses it against us? What if... And we hide it so well, that we start hiding it from ourselves!
But those who know us, and love us- they can see it clearly. When they say it to us- we are not able to accept it, too. By now we believe what we live- the lie. By now our reality is different from THE reality.
And as they say- some of the things that matter most are invisible- gravity, atoms, DNA. Yet they are as real as the chair I sit on, and the machine I type this post on! And these real things, too- are made up of largely empty spaces! How can so much emptiness create so much solidity and tangibility?
No... I am not very good at admitting to me faults- but I am getting there.
No... I am not very good at accepting my shortcomings when they are pointed out- but I am trying to get there, too.
No... I am not very good good at seeing MY invisible- but I am trying to expand my vision- and look beyond what appears to be. I want to reach what IS. And not be hurt by it- any longer!!
And that is what life should be about? No?
We tend to hide how much we hurt, and how sad we are. We do not try to make small of our love and our happiness. We are often afraid to be transparent- because that reveals our vulnerability and our weaknesses. What if someone takes advantage of our weakness? What if someone uses it against us? What if... And we hide it so well, that we start hiding it from ourselves!
But those who know us, and love us- they can see it clearly. When they say it to us- we are not able to accept it, too. By now we believe what we live- the lie. By now our reality is different from THE reality.
And as they say- some of the things that matter most are invisible- gravity, atoms, DNA. Yet they are as real as the chair I sit on, and the machine I type this post on! And these real things, too- are made up of largely empty spaces! How can so much emptiness create so much solidity and tangibility?
No... I am not very good at admitting to me faults- but I am getting there.
No... I am not very good at accepting my shortcomings when they are pointed out- but I am trying to get there, too.
No... I am not very good good at seeing MY invisible- but I am trying to expand my vision- and look beyond what appears to be. I want to reach what IS. And not be hurt by it- any longer!!
And that is what life should be about? No?
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