Forget

 

It is strangely pleasing,
To see that you remember,
Each and every word I said,
Every word of nonsense,
Recorded and stored,
In your fond memory
 
All the queer fantasies,
Uneasiness and likes,
Every turn of phrase,
Recorded and stored,
Carefully held close
In your fond memory
 
But I would rather you forget,
Every little thing, every word,
Than remember and store,
Treasure with sharp ache,
Going through every day,
Like on a bed of arrows
 
I would rather you change
Change with the seasons
Dance with the crowds
Shake with roaring laughter
Smile that slowbreaking smile,
Than ever remember me
 
Yet every night the candle burns,
With thoughts sent as waves,
Prayers that may or may not reach,
For all blessings to fill your hands,
And strength to forget, forget, forget
An intense slice of an uneventful life.
 

Goodbyes

Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.

Recompense

For every word of harshness that you hear,
There is equally a word of love somewhere.
For the darkest hours of the wakeful night,
At the end of which is a beautiful dawn.

For the loss of innocence of childhood,
There is the growing maturity of years.
For the loss of a life near river green,
There is lot more sunshine to equal.

For the trenches that this life fell into
There are the new scales that it climbs.
For the years lost in search of dreams,
There are these words on a virtual page.

Which brings in daily, strange comfort,
For every friend lost, that of strangers.

Us

I have a self that knows years of sense and more nonsense. I stand alone in crowds yet walk with you in green fields at the same time. I run in many new paths sitting at my armchair though I never leave my  world but for fresh signs or old paths. 

You are my other self, whom I do not know for I have never seen you as you really are, for I was struck blind by your light. and love was something that naturally followed. You were not with me in the physical sense yet I know you were with me in each and every circle round the holy fire and will find you near me in every dream.  

You are my favourite daydream that I return to time and again just to hold your hand in an unreal realm where rules don't matter and hearts speak only the truth. In another world, in a different circle of life, you and I will win our eternal game of love and may understand each other perfectly well. For us, time and space have never been important concerns for both of us and all that remains is the sense of unconditional love for the self and the other. 

#twinflamereunion 

#love

Dreams

When we were standing together, I remembered the word vulnerable mostly. I think it describes the funny feeling that you have been through this before and you feel very sensitive about the whole experience. Though you feel like you are on cloud nine when in love, your past trauma resurfaces in the smallest slights you feel with your twinflame. 

You feel the angst of being not loved enough, the amount of attention that you received as a child looks insufficient for you to survive. One minute, you feel elated by the wonders of togetherness yet you feel driven by jealousy and unresolved emotional baggage from previous relationships. What if it happens again? You are scared to open up or even to take the risk of opening up before the person you like. 

Yet you weave dreams out of this fantasy of togetherness- to wander the world with you, go places, find beauty in nature and in simple things and live life to the fullest. What I have always wanted is to wake up early and watch the streaks of dawn across the sky and then snuggle you to wakefulness. 

The other dream has been to visit my native place near the River Green and watch the snakeboats glide in the river during Onam. Once in a while, to get soaked in its waters with your clothes on like in a lost childhood near the River. Also, to go a graveyard with my people in it to see the graves that have lost their names in renovation and forgetfulness. 

May be to find love once again in life, the beauty lost with time and the lost art of smiling many times daily like an innocent child does. May be to wear a spot of sindhoor on my forehead like a newly wed woman with pride in her acquired happiness.  

Yet in an unreal world, you are happy that though it has not started or ended, your dream has become a favourite haunt to wander in and in your days of wandering, you have managed to realign your perspective of life. 

Vegvisir

Dreamtime

 

This is the part of the dreaming earth that you become part of when you sleep or when you reach the ecstasy of creation, the place from where you learn the mysteries of the universe, from this deep slumber where you wake up refreshed and rejuvenated. 

The place where your flow activities take you, where you lose your sense of time and you step into kairos time and return back to chronos time having been part of creative forces. 

The place where your body rests in the rhythms of nature, in the cycles of sun, moon and the transits of the planets and you feel one with life in the universe. Then, this food that you eat and the love that you cherish becomes medicine that feeds your joy of living. 

You learn that all this knowledge shared in the times about this universe is all relative and arbitrary; that you need to learn wisdom from the wise to help you live better and to trust your own intuition so that you can recognise what your heart wants. 

This rest, this break, this act of doing nothing but rest and sleep and restore has been nothing but magic, of trusting in the divine timing of the universe. 

The Manual of the Warrior of Light

A warrior of light knows that certain moments repeat themselves.

He often finds himself faced by the same problems and situations, and seeing

these difficult situations return, he grows depressed, thinking that he is incapable of

making any progress in life.

'I've been through all this before,' he says to his heart.

'Yes, you have been through all this before,' replies his heart. 'But you have

never been beyond it.'

Then the warrior realises that these repeated experiences have but one aim: to

teach him what he does not want to learn.

Letters to the Self

Evenings at the Indian Coffee House

In this middle age, I wonder how life has turned out to be, so different from the images that I had when someone asked me to imagine how life will be after ten years. I have always dreamt of you at my side as my life-partner, with two lovely children of ours to greet the days, a comfortable set of old friends to grow old together and a cosy little home that I took time to decorate with curios from the places we visited together as a couple and a huge library of all the books that we used to read. 

But when I reached this milestone all I have is a history of losses- the disappointment of a broken love that almost came to fruition, the years spent trying to pull yourself back together, the indifference of your loved ones, the absence of real friends and the lacks that are spelt so clearly and in bold letters everyday. It has been years since you called anyone a friend as you have only acquiantances and you never offer a shoulder to cry as you used to do before nor ask solace from anyone despite of being miserable and broken. You wear a brave face in the crowds and break down miserably in your solitude as you plod on with your busy everyday life. 

Then in the evenings and weekends you form a bond with your workmate and share the same sense of joy at the aroma of freshly ground coffee and piping hot Masala dosa at your favourite haunt, the old Coffee House in the city. On some busy days, you have to scream to make your companion understand what you are trying to say, all amidst the hustle and bustle of the staff in the old Coffeehouse, full of life. 

Over a period of months, we form a unique bond, minus our histories and sad luggage, looking forward to what is served on the menu only with a common love shared for solitary hangouts be it an evening by the seashore or a quiet swim in the nearby river. Gradually, your sad face attains a brightness of being loved in return without knowing any of your past  wounds and your time is spent in tasting the old brew of hot coffee and eating the same Masala dosas. We write a life of being in the moment -looking forward to our days of favourite comfort food at our favourite hangout.

simple life

Notes to the Self

Note 4
I sense an epiphany when I think of how humans have imposed a sense of time over the endless days on this planet. Time stretches across changing seasons, nights and days, while humans measure it by the calendar and the clock.

I feel grateful for the hours gained in activities that make me forget time. I feel most alive when I am thrown into a world of complete absorption, where the clock seems to disappear and I lose myself in the moment. I emerge from those hours feeling rested and grateful. May be living is about spending your time wisely but also losing your sense of time. 

Notes to the Self

Note 3: Soul Food

I have loved reading starting from a very young age. There were times when I was weary with life and felt that I could not go on. Surprisngly, I felt comforted by a book. The words written by some wise person living in another place or time had the power to turn your life around. 

I read these words of comfort as if they were written for my eyes only. I felt sustained by their wisdom and they added to my knowledge by helping me gather some jigsaw pieces coming together. It felt like these words were set before my eyes to nourish my strength and I am grateful that I tided over the crisis. 

Notes to the Self

Note 1: Survival 

I have written to you erratically, forgetting the resolution I once made to write at least a page every day. I have changes waiting for me in the form of a new location, new surroundings, new people, and a new version of me that will learn how to survive. 

I do not know whether I will be able to adjust to the changes in my schedule or find it easy to speak to the people around me. I have always been an awkward social being, more comfortable in my own little world. 

But change is on its way, whether I am ready for it or not. May be this time around, I will learn how to belong not just to survive in the new world. 

The Unsent Letters

Handpicked

You cherish the Earth's palette: mud's earthy brown, leaves' vibrant emerald, sky's brilliant blue, ocean's soothing aquamarine, and sunset's golden hues. Though you have been buying sarees only for a few years, you are quick to choose drapes that you like. 

Your eyes settle on a saree that captivates you and the motifs tells stories to you. You marvel at how the maiden proclaims her love through blowing the trumpet while the rest of the crowd dance to the tune. You think of your own love and how you basked in his attention in the early days of togetherness. 

You remember the first time when you had worn a saree he had selected. You recall his gaze and how he had looked at you with wonder. Inspired by this memory, I choose a blue drape with neelakurinji motif on it just to bring that same awestruck look on his face.