The mirage

 We are pursuing a sense of oneness with something unknown, a vague sense of fulfillment. Almost an emptiness. And we make our own pictures of that which we suppose will fetch that sense of oneness. We have intangible glimpses of that something which drives us to try to fit in and taste rest, ease, oneness through aims, goals, desires, relationships, art, science, everything we do. That something which will eventually get us relieved of perpetual weariness and tension which make us feel that something is missing in life.

Either we have tasted this oneness before—there is a logical chance for it because otherwise why would we hanker so soulfully for something that hasn’t been experienced earlier—or it never was, nor will ever be our fate to feel this oneness.

The second thing is more probable. And we are merely little particles in this stream of cosmic thrust; the aggressive, parasitic expansion; the powerful explosion in which the stronger elements chuck out the weaker ones—a black hole sucking a huge star into its empty innards; an eagle pouncing upon a soft rabbit to tear it apart—to make more and more complex structures and beings. From the perspective of timeless and spaceless infinity, it doesn’t seem probable that there is one particular, permanent state of oneness.

The Phoenix

 

One ought to have transportable roots so that when the calamity strikes necessitating an exile, you can uproot yourself and move with your injured self to a new place. It’s better than suffering and meeting a slow, painful death at the old place that has no option for you to lead even the most basic of a life.

Of course, you can’t carry the earth around your roots with you. But its scent and feel in your heart and soul will be still enough to help you as you dig fresh earth at a strange place to fix your broken roots.

You can graft yourself and try to adjust to the new soil, new sun, new rain, new animals, new insects, new plants and grass, new people. It’s always good to give it a try; as long as there is some option—even if it’s as little as carrying a part of your broken self and broken roots.

If you succeed in this self-grafting, this new you, built on the ruins of the old you, will save you from many a guilt of life. A self-reward it will be; bestowed in honor of having keep going—just for having crossed the desert to reach home; a far away oasis, strange and almost alien but still livable, where you can spread your roots to a decent degree.

The story of a little plant

 Hi, I’m Jasmine, a little flower in a tiny garden in a modest house. I have a message to pass. Or do you think I smile for nothing? I have a sweetly whispering tale to tell! Or do you think I have such nice scent in my petals for nothing? But sweet tales are of no use these days; even children are being taught to be rugged puppeteers to create their own unique miracles. So I would, for the time being, prefer to give an invidiously yawning message. These are not my own reflections, these are inspired by a dew drowsed rose last night, an old one, who ruffled his old petals to unfurl the tale of mankind’s doomed destiny.  

The summer has fire in its heart-kiln. Hottest dusty winds swerve and swirl with an all-consuming passion. Temperature creeps like a restless climber to boil all and everything. The sun shoots off billowing streams of sorrowful rays to soak the last ounce of moisture to appease his current mistress, the unsparing summer. The weather’s torturing squeals tame even a bull that pants with thirsty foam on the muzzle. 

I know Corona has had full-fledged orgy leaving you guys caught in devilish bewilderment. I but have the indefatigable and irrepressible grain of the Holy Spirit. It still lies at my petalous core because I have retained some room for it to keep it thriving, unlike you guys who have stuffed yours to the gills. The grain of Holy Spirit stands firmly forthright. Otherwise why would I smile with a spirit so deeply exuberant? I am not bothered much about the nightmarish twists and angry shoves of the noon-time hot wind that builds up with a barraging crescendo. 

Amidst all this groaning commotion, I stay unmindful of the garish and grotesque, and always stay mindful of the opulent aura and nostalgic contours of the fresh sips of early morning cool breeze. It caresses me with luxurious swags. I have a single-pointed—unlike the multi-pronged memory of yours—sharp memory that helps me recall all treasure of my good fate, while the testing noontime passes over my petals with a gibberish squelch. Unfavorable time with its tendency of criminal confiscation can’t erase the songs in my heart which the cool early morning etches on me with its hurryless, sweetly crawling pen. 

You may have an eternally rampaging brain, but where is that eternal equanimity of the soul which even a tiny flower like me is blessed with? You are firmly in the grip of the riotous renaissance of your passions, but do you have the time even to get a genuine spiritually suffused and nectar-imbibed smile like I possess? Your rapier sharp reflexes, born of your insecurities, have turned you the ruling supernovas of the earth. But restless journeyman, mind thy faltering strides and the fanatic noose hanging down the line as a kind of primordial penalty for rising too high and sinking too low at the same time to be the ugly emissary of some evil, spurious speedster. Take care, thy condemnatory encroachment is continually coiling around your own self. 

You guys are superbly theatrical with your eloquent arguments. You are energetically resourceful and proclaim your resounding resourcefulness. But can you even smile with this feeling that you are light-headed and unburdened of some insurmountable restlessness? Can you ever be free of the guilt about the longly repressed real self? Isn’t all your so called growth and development a mere flailing of arms at the unbreakable bars of the perpetual prison?

You are everything and I am nothing. I am a tiny speck of formless and relationless love. I have the golden reminiscences of the slow-moving remotest wilds. I smile fulsomely beyond the teasing tussles of the cringing anarchist who is foredoomed to end in the failure’s meat grinder because he churns his own ill-fate by pulling strings this way and that way to break everything in two, in pleasure pain, light dark, love hate, etc., etc. 

I am deep in the docile domesticity of just being as I am; pulsating dynamics of the eternal light flood through my petals. With your copious consumption and arrogant aloofness, you loop around your desires’ dragnet and kill the spirit of the forests. ‘Animism!’ I coo even at my modest most enthusiasm. ‘Humanism!’ is all you can manage even at your best. My worst is still better than your best. Engaged in your piercingly protracted struggle, you may proclaim self-righteousness in your own courts, but in the eyes of the supreme colorist, you are nothing more than a perilous pimp of criminality. Your self-created Gods and Goddesses are nothing more than goblins and elves of fairy tales. 

With my silent spiritual reflections, beyond the drag of expectations egging one to write permanent lines on the shifting sands of time, I enjoy the flourishing inspiration of my soul. And sorry, I turned condemnatory like you guys for some time! Now forgive me and inhale the olfactory nectar that I offer in full humility!

Beauty's momentum to bloom

 

After the terrible rainstorm at night---that blessed the parched land with holy water apart from satiating the summer time thirst of the rough handwritten draft and notes of some book in future, smudging and bloating the words like soaked almonds, apart from allowing many other books to drink some water---the beautiful hibiscus appeared shaken and jolted. Was plucking old withered flowers and by mistake plucked two unopened buds also. Youth has its moment and indomitable spirit. It has to blossom irrespective of the killing strike. They retain their spirit and blossom up like they would have on the plant. If buds don't mind being plucked unripe accidentally and still smile, I don't have any reason to sulk on spoilt script and water sodden books. In any case, it was my mistake in both cases: plucking the buds unripe and leaving books carelessly at a place where they too would get tempted to get a rain bath!

PS: Nothing happens suddenly at a fixed point in this creation. Infinity won't be possible without an ever-occuring transition having a stream of points as we know them. There is a handover, a sort of takeover. Physical Death also doesn't occur at a point as it seems to us. There is still life in the buds to continue running the show of smiles and living. In case of human death, nails and hair continue growing for 13 days on the corpse after the moment of death as we see it on the surface. It means, it takes 13 days for all the life force to leave the last of cells.

The open window

 

As you stand lost in your thoughts, and you smell the fragrance of a rose. Know that it’s smiling at you and sending a message through a fragrant whisper—that there is hope, love, sunshine and smile. The moment you are open like this to a thing of beauty, you realize that you had built a shell of your weakness and crawled into it for safety. The shell made of fears and insecurities. It’s a big fort. It will make friends look like foes and foes like friends. It will block freedom, joy and sunlight from trickling in. But it will allow the agents of infirmities creep in. It wants to retain its prisoner. Because what jail is worth if not for the prisoner inside?

Beyond the web of factual right and wrong

 

One can commit violence even using the naked sword of ‘truth’—the so-called matter-of-fact truth. It’s a bland, statistical, mechanical bit of information. A soulless entity. It’s an arrow that’s strung on the bow of ‘honesty’ to pierce, to hurt, to settle a score. Most of the so-called ‘outspoken’ and ‘blunt’ people, who assume that they are truthful, are in fact using the facts to hurt and settle scores with the people they don’t like. They are no worshippers of truth.

The real truth is in spirit. Beyond technical accuracy, it has a soul. It possesses a sweet core. It’s a feeling, lively entity. A really truthful person will not unleash a factually correct arrow to outscore some rival in a debate or argument. The facts that hurt someone can be retained and left unused. And if you need to use these facts at all, it should be with love, care and an intention to guide and bring positive change in someone’s life, not just the plain intention of judging and showing someone in bad light and humiliate him/her.

So the intention behind what we say is the real decider of what is truthful in spirit. Even slightly modified facts that are meant to help someone, make her feel better, guide her on a nice path are far more ‘truthful’ than the naked, fanged facts that hurt someone and are basically used as weapons to pamper our ego.

The thief of divine grace

 When I’m near Gaga Ma I somehow go footloose. Walking on Her banks or on the landscapes shaped by Her torrential flow becomes my meditation, my ritual, my tapasya. I just find myself keep walking. The pent-up energies, emotions, karmic entanglements all start flowing as if pushed by Her blessing shove. I just walk. Gently. In a fine flow with myself. No destination. No goal. She does what is supposed to be done; what is needed for Her child’s growth.

This is late April and I’m staying at Dharali. I’m here to walk with Ma Ganga Doli Yatra from Mukwa to Gangotri—the colorful procession starting from Her winter abode to culminate at Her summer home. It’s a soulful procession, full of colors, redolent with local hill people’s unquestionable faith in Ma Ganga. No words can describe the feeling. I walk with them and simply keep looking at Her beautiful, kind, pious face visible through the small opening in the little silver shrine being carried by the bearers. I’m just soaking myself with as much darshan as possible. Plundering the divine prasada actually. Greedily. Copiously.

It’s a lovely little trek lasting about 22 km. When the procession reaches Gangotri, the entire little pilgrimage town lines up to welcome their mother. The place is as good as nonexistent without Her. No wonder it’s abandoned during the winter months when the mother is away at Mukwa.

There is a suspension bridge over Ganga Ma linking Dharali on this side to Mukwa on the opposite hill. During nights I keep walking from this end of the bridge to the other. The hill people usually stay indoors after the dark, so I have the bridge all to myself for meditative walks. It’s a spiritually heady cocktail of elements: the mountain wind rushing through the valley, Ma Ganga’s roar, my seeking self and pristine open starry sky above. All the elements forming a tiny intersection defining my path.

I keep asking people whether they know some real saint to recommend for a meeting. Almost all of them say—with helplessness—that presently it’s all about money, power, authority, perks and privileges; religion is more or less a big business and political tool now; the babas are powerful and do liaisoning work facilitating big interests of powerful people. But when was it not so? The ritualistic part has always engaged with worldly matters more or less on the base frequency.

I’m more into spirituality. Moreover, this is kaliyuga—the age of darkness and expecting satyuga purity in kaliyuga sages would be asking too much. To me it’s pretty simple. Earlier in pure climate you had massive trees lasting centuries; now we have lesser trees struggling to survive in the changed climate. The same is the case with the sages in the changed, degraded social climate. They are also the stunted version of the lofty mythical sages of the ancient times. But at least they are carrying the lineage and deserve respect for that. So I’m not too judgmental and usually try to have satsang with kaliyuga saints.

Mahesh, the gentle and kind hotelier, is a thorough gentleman; always ready to do something for the babas and matajis of the entire area from his place till Gangotri. I ask him about any serious baba. He also says with sadness that it’s all business now. ‘But you can try meeting this avadhuta. But it depends on his mood. Usually he asks the visitors to leave within a couple of minutes or straightaway refuses to meet,’ he tells me.

This babaji stays at the other end of the bridge towards Mukwa. As you emerge on the other end of the bridge, the main steep climb goes to Mukwa up the hill. The baba has a tiny hut of planks and tin fixed against a rockface on the left side a few meters above Ma Ganga’s stream. To reach his ramshackle little gate, one has to walk under the bridge along the bank and cross over to the other side of the bridge’s base.

As I reach the tiny indicator of the start of a human’s domain in free wilderness, I see a stocky figure sitting under a tree on a platform in front of the hut. I gently hark his attention from the gate. He waves his hand asking me to come in. I walk gingerly. I’m extra cautious, full of additional politeness in order not to disturb him. As I come near, with a swift action he throws a small durri piece on a beaten down wooden chair near him. I touch his feet and sit at the chair’s edge with folded hands.

‘I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you swami ji. I just wanted to see you. I simply come as an empty vessel. Ready to accept whatever you bless me with,’ I cautiously approach with respect and acceptance of his graceful presence. He laughs with childlike innocence.

I keep my promise of being an empty vessel and just listen. The baba talks. I’m lucky that he is feeling happy to talk today. He is a Begali baba initiated into Ramakrishna mission. But he found the ashrams too binding and has been on his own for the last six decades, most of which he has spent in this area near Ma Ganga including the last 37 years here at this place. Earlier he was at a cave about one kilometer up the stream for some years and before that at Gangotri.

He speaks with a cute Bangla accent. Quite hale and hearty for his 77 years. The baba is happy to share his life story and even tells me about his family. It’s a nice satsang for an and hour and fifteen minutes. He is quite vocal about a sadhak keeping the vow of celibacy. I have my opinion on this but I know he knows more than me and I must listen to him.

‘O narayan ji, why are you unnecessarily entangled in this worldly maya? Leave it. Quit,’ he says it very naturally like he feels that’s what I should do now. ‘Sit for sadhna. You can sit in my former cave some distance from here. I’ll ask the villagers to help you initially. In any case, what does a sanyasi need? The basic needs are met by mother nature. So you need not worry about that,’ the baba is quite optimistic about me taking full sanyas and abandon all worldly connections.

‘Can’t one achieve peace even while staying in the world with its issues?’ I ask. He says a firm ‘no’ and doesn’t explain it further than this. I have arguments in my talkative mind but I don’t say anything.

Even Kaka Maharaj, who stays outside the village, asked me to abandon everything and sit for sadhna somewhere by the canal in the area where he has been staying for the last many decades. In fact, my brother laughs that I have been offered two penthouses by two babajis. But I know I’m not for complete severance of worldly ties. I’m for a balanced life in all matters. More than that, I believe in reading and writing and that I will do till my last breath. I’m not worried even if that creates situations not conducive to absolute peace. No problem.

‘If you don’t quit, the God will force you to leave all this worldliness, which stops one from enjoying the grace of absolute peace,’ the baba says emphatically. I just clear my throat apologetically.

As I take leave and stoop down to touch his feet, the baba puts his loving, kind hand on my head and gently pats my back saying, ‘Peace be with you! Peace be with you!’ He gives me two apples, a bit stale, dejuiced, somewhat shriveled. Actually all his apples were like that. He isn’t bothered about freshness of fruits. But the fruits are fresh with divine grace.

During our interaction the baba has a firm idea that I’m a bookworm. He opens a bundle of soiled cloth and from the stack of very old books randomly picks a part of an old, dog-eared book. ‘Read it! But reading scriptures is like using a thorn to take out the thorn in one’s flesh. After taking out the thorn both thorns have to be discarded,’ he says. The baba knows the utility and futility of knowledge. He is after all a graduate himself.

There I walk back after hitting the jackpot—satsang with a saint, two apples and an old book about the lamp of knowledge. The rumpled, crumpled book has been thoroughly thumbed; possibly during his former knowledge-seeking days. The thorn of knowledge which he used to pull out the thorn of ignorance. The pages bear extensive markings, underlines, sidenotes and scrawls in Bangla to give me an idea how extensively babaji has gone through this book. He seems to have gone into depths over each world and phrase on the banks of Ganga Ma over the decades. This is a prized catch—in worldly lingo. I might not be able to read it as extensively as the baba but its mere presence among my books is enough to dispel the dark corners of ignorance in my study. It’s enlightening just by its presence. How it can’t be? After all, it has stayed in the hands of such a longtime sadhak who has definitely attained a joyful state. I feel that joyfulness in my head now. A feeling of ease. Palpable. Not many ideas swimming in the brainy pool. Just an emptiness. I feel the grace of his peaceful touch as I walk back.

Yea, missed to tell it. The baba listens with the cute excitement of a child listening to fairy tales. I was telling him the story of a Zen monk and he looked and listened in rapt attention, a childlike smile on his face all along the narration. 

The fulfiller of cosmic will

 

All this is a little funny innocent thoroughfare around. This creation is just pushing a unique expression through our identity, our point of existence in Her infinite folds. So let’s be proud of what we are doing. Our karma is nothing but a contribution from our end to help the eternal truth in maintaining its sanctity, its mystical depth. So let’s create well in full honesty to our own self. Spool your webs and feel that we are fulfilling a vital part in Her scheme of things.

Each step we take is in fact Her step to realize Her full potential. We are merely an expression of the infinite potential lying at the quantum level to take more and more shapes and expressions. So do your karma in action, thoughts and emotions in full sincerity, with full awareness, with full presence. And you make Her happy, happy about Herself because She is you and you are just a drop in Her vast cosmic sea. She is happy when you are happy. She is sad when you are sad. She feels like a majestic creator when you are consciously creating something in full awareness. And She is right there in you when you are aware of your full presence.

A little message for the traveler

 

Usually people, most of us, walk through a grey zone of shifting shadows. It’s not totally dark, it’s a mundane journey. Neither too painful, nor joyous one. It leads to a common destination as well. But some people have to walk through a dark cave, you may call it ‘dark night of the soul’. It’s painful involving lots of suffering. Many perish in the folds of darkness. But those who choose to continue, they finally come out and face the brightest dawn, the dawn of the soul in evolutionary terms. Such people are leaders, guides and inspiration just by default. They need not even try to accomplish anything. Just by being there they do goodness. And if they choose to guide fellow human beings, they make good masters.

So remember this, always, as you walk through your dark nights, that you are such a soul. And the patches of darkness will keep arriving periodically till you see the sunshine finally and be an inspiration to others. So keep walking. With a smile. And keep in touch with the people who care for you. Don’t allow the darkness to build more walls around you. Best wishes brothers and sisters!

In celebration of life and living

 

Good day everyone! Brace up for a lovely day of Karma, learning and smiles. I find it suitable to share the story of Dr Joe Dispenza. I always wondered how come this medicine man turns out to be such a mystic! And here is the cause.

He met an accident at the age of twenty-three, breaking six vertebrae in the spine. Paralyzed. The doctors said the only chance at walking would come after inserting two 12-inch long steel rods along the spine. He said ‘no’ and asked to be discharged from the hospital. For three months he lay on his stomach at his friend's place and reconstructed his spine using creative visualization...step by step...with extreme focus, intention, awareness, being present in the body...and made a new reality using his mind power, by being open to the infinite mind that has all the solutions to all the problems. He got up after three months and simply walked away to glory. He hasn’t had back pain in the last three decades. He says it’s not just about the body; we can heal our life in the same way by recreating better careers, relationships, everything in fact.

Wish you all a happy refabrication of life!

A mason's dharma

 

He is a middle-aged man, stocky, solid, graying with wisdom of experience and hard work. His nicely curling moustache on his weather-worn face seems to justifiably boast a life well-lived with honesty, hard work, integrity and discipline. Equipped with this impression on me, Fauji mistri visits me.

When you are born in a so-called lower caste, it’s like beginning with a huge deficit, disadvantages piling up over the generations to hold your head low, grounded, non-assertive, humble, cringing. It’s like being born under the water. Right from the first instant you are aware that you have to at least come gasping onto the surface to survive and then struggle to reach the shore and then begin your journey from where most of the humans take their first steps after getting born in better caste hierarchy. You start with a big minus and even to reach zero takes the major part of one’s life, and if you achieve that, it would make you feel successful. All around you people are born with multiple of pluses, a launchpad for them to shoot out into the sky. You are meantime laboring on the ground, merely spading the dirt, while they go and grab the stars.

Fauji mistri started as a mason. He worked very hard, honestly raising his family. Then migrant Bihari bricklayers started to arrive, looking for better options among the endless private and public construction going on. Individually they don’t feel safe in working on the construction sites because many people would chuck out the wages of a migrant worker. So they tie-up with a local contractor who gets them work and ensures payment, keeping a commissioned amount for himself. So Fauji turned a contractor as well. All this while he has been working himself as well.

He visits me and appears to be seeking some solace. He looks disappointed, hurt, stressed and downcast. I don’t ask him the reasons for his feeling so low. They are bound to be the same old stories of hurt, complaints, anger, cheatings. I’m not interested in the repetition of these stories. All of us know them too well. I feel he seems to have lost faith in his mason dharma of hard work. There must have been reasons. But one’s faith ought to be restored.

‘It’s a reverse world. What appears solid is a shadow. Those whom you feel are prosperous are maybe unlucky because the majority of them are earning money through unjustified means. And following a fake path can never take one to truth. So maybe they are unlucky and have been penalized for their past sins to be born among circumstances where there is a lot of unjustified prosperity. And those who look struggling maybe are the lucky ones, blessed by God to be given a path that requires them to an honest, hard-worked life, every penny earned through blood and sweat. As Jesus said those who seem standing last here will be standing first there. Since you dig a well daily to see through the day, you have to believe that you are very dear to God. He has put you on a path that will see your soul marching nearer and nearer to truth. You will realize and feel it at the end of this journey. You don’t need pilgrimages, rituals, fasting, meditations, charity to pursue your will to be dearer to God. You already are. You worship Him with each brick that you lay with your hardworking soul. You already follow all the rituals in spreading cement to make solid walls. You light up incense in erecting roof over people’s heads. You have your own dharma of sweat and blood, your temple, your own priest, your own scripture. You don’t need any guru to be guided to a nobler path. You already are all that it requires to be a human being dear to God. Just remember your dharma with each brick that you lay to erect a wall. Don’t forget it. And it will always maintain a smile on your face,’ I told him.

Fauji mistri smiled and looked vastly comforted. Well, at least that much you can do. You can help people in retaining their faith.

Bowing with respect to the past

 

Do the past’s facts, assumptions, beliefs and theories are worthy of being put into the dustbin in the light of new emerging facts and theories? Normally we think so. But we shouldn’t forget that the past was once as relevant and useful as the present is now. The past is the building block of the present.

We lived in the caves once and hardly knew anything beyond the raw struggle for survival in the forest. We used that little platform comprising tiny bits of knowledge to construct a small stage. We didn’t even know the shape, size and basics about our planet. Were we wrong? No. That was simply our reality in the past. It was our truth at that time.

The Rig Vedic Indian sages had hardly any idea about what lay beyond the ocean. Did that stop them from evolving an elaborate system of human thought which still holds relevance for us in this modern age? Till a few centuries back we thought the sun was revolving around the earth. Did that stop us from using natural forces, resources, and contriving laws and regulations to shape fantastic civilizations? It didn’t.

There is just growth and evolution. From simpler to more sophisticated. Or maybe it isn’t even complexity. It just is—a transient stage in the stream of ever-unfolding dynamics. Truth is no static entity or something absolute. The only Truth that we may assume is a certain pattern in evolution and emergence of phenomena at any given point. Like a little plant grows in a forest. Its growth and survival are bound by the infinite possibilities of cause and effect. Cause and effect are a sequence in happening. But the trigger points for the cause-effect to take place can be infinite.

Life lessons by a little angel

 

Playing with my two-and-half years old niece Maira is great fun. Coming down from the levels of burdensome intellect and going down to meet her innocent joyful being is elevating and uplifting in many ways. It seems going down but it’s going up in a substantial way. The joy up-shoots like anything. One tastes ‘the lightness of being’.

A child will help you in breaking many barriers that one has built around himself. As a clown with lisping tongue, acting funny and speaking even funnier, you slay stress like a shiny knight in armor.

We are playing on the sunbathed terrace on this balmy winter noon. A flock of asian pied starlings floats lazily in the sky. They chatter and twirl, taking gentle, unhurried turns and loops in their flight. It’s a playful flight, not the one for survival and sustenance. Little Maira goes ecstatic at the joyous sight. And here I’m habitually trying to put more knowledge in her little brain. I point out that these are asian pied starlings. I repeat it many times so that she remembers the name. Then I ask her what is their name, pointing to the flying flock. She is worried for a moment. ‘Birds!’ she shouts and jumps with joy.

Yes, birds they are. The simpler, the better. Why get bothered about sophisticated nomenclature that our intellect-obsessed mind craves so much for? Enjoy the creatures that fly as birds only. Or, in Krishnamurti’s lingo, see them just as ‘life’. Nothing more, just plain life.

Furthermore, Maira knows how to go suddenly invisible right in front of your eyes. It’s a child’s magic. All she needs to do is to put her little hands on her eyes and disappear from the world around. It’s her beautiful truth that she too is invisible to others when she cannot see anything around with closed eyes.

How I wish that we too had the belief and conviction of a child in closing our eyes to all that is unbecoming and painful! We can at least try to close our eyes to the painful past and go out of its sight.

Blossoming

 इसको कहते हैं खिलना। इतना खिलना की बिखरना सिर्फ खिलने का अगला, सुखद चरण मात्र बनके रह जाए। पूरा खिलने के बाद बिखरना अर्थहीन हो जाता है। होने और ना होने के द्वंद के परे है संपूर्णता से होना। जियो जीवन भर के, पूरा खिलो। पीड़ारहित बिखरना तभी संभव है जब आपने खिलने में सब कुछ अर्पित कर दिया हो।

और ज्यादा खिला। It happens when you welcome life with the widest bear hug! This is expansion! Then a playful tug of the gentle air will aid in further expansion! A drizzle of ecstasy will occur! The petals will fly away to be a bigger part of a larger dimension! The smile doesn't die. It acquires a broader plain.

The self-sustaining orbit of life

 

In the infinite womb of the cosmos, the interplay of matter and energy churns out newer and newer formations, births and deaths of supermassive bodies. The cosmic churn goes on and on. Stars burst, black holes swallow supermassive bodies, and galaxies heave massive pulses across the space. It’s basically a super-storm going around. Cosmic bodies pulling, repelling, orbiting, colliding, sucking and maybe many more phenomenon beyond our perception range. But there are little points of peace, balance and poise where there is equanimity and balance in this cosmic storm. These are Lagrange points or Libration points, the points of ‘equilibrium for small-mass objects under the gravitational influence of two massive orbiting bodies’.

Usually, two gigantic bodies put an unbalanced gravitational force at a specific point, thus changing the orbit of any small-bodied object present at that point. However, at the Lagrange points, the gravitational forces of the two massive bodies balance the centrifugal force exerted by each other. It results in little Lagrange points that can be used for space docking for satellites, because here they can float almost unchallenged by any force in one particular direction and hence decreasing the fuel requirements. The manmade space objects can be placed at these Lagrange points for observing the marvelous chaos unfolding around. The satellite is very stable at this point and like a meditative saint can marvel, observe and make a meaning of all this meaningless unfoldment going around.

Human life is also a tiny replica of the cosmic upheavals, shifts, transformations, collisions going at a bigger scale in the cosmos. There are forces that pull us down and curtail our flights just like the forces of gravity tend to crash the objects back onto the ground. These are the forces of discontentment, fear and insecurities that pull us back to the base level, cutting our wings. There are repelling forces as well that keep our real self away from the essential core of our pure being. These centrifugal forces are anger, hate, jealousy and judgments. And being either pulled or repelled by one or the other, we have to spend a lot of fuel in cutting through the rough atmospherics and vicissitudes of life. We feel the wear and tear of this struggle against the opposing forces. We carry the scars, the discontentment and lots of dis-ease in our being. Life feels a burden as a result.

Luckily, in this rough journey we too have our Lagrange points just like the satellites. Every individual has his/her own Lagrange points, where the soul-ship can be docked in the balanced zone; where it requires minimum dissipation of life-force. Here we don’t feel the struggle of it. We feel the light of just ‘being’. We can feel the ease of just being. In this zone of equanimity and balance, we can set up ourselves with least conflicts and dissipation of energies. The contrasting forces here neutralize each other. A conflict-free existence naturally provides a lot of comfort to the soul.

Now the all-important question arises: How to find one’s very own Lagrange point? All of us have varying situations, circumstances, advantages, disadvantages, insecurities, fears, skills. All of us know the things that pull us down like the force of gravity. We also are aware of the repelling forces that keep our real self from coming face to face with the egoistic one. In my opinion the Lagrange points for a common person are the intersecting zones between materiality and spirituality—the zone between the desires of flesh and the dreams of the soul. One can set up a specific Lagrange point for one’s being and dock the soul-ship there to see, observe, witness all the drama going around, just like observatory satellites placed at Lagrange points do their job. This is the zone where the forces of materiality and immateriality are balanced by each other, allowing us to just be a celebrator of life, a witness of all this seemingly meaningless unfoldment around. Maybe we observe a meaning of life then. Wish you all a happy, cozy and safe Lagrange point in your life!

The will to exist

 

Energy’s manifestation as matter is bound by the laws defining our survival instincts. And survival has the tools of attack and defense as the primary modus operandi. So ‘being’ is like walking on the tightrope, holding the pole with one end as ‘attack’ and the other as ‘defense’, sometimes tilting to this way to defend, the other times to the opposite end to attack.

Each eatable grain on the earth wants to survive. It has the multiple layers of defense and attack mechanisms to help it carry its journey forward. And we break through their defense portals by cooking them and make a pulp of their starch and protein by breaking these down. The grain accumulates lots of starch to lengthen its life, but we are smarter enough to break it down for our consumption. Primarily, a grain collects its starch for its own consumption. Getting eaten by the humans or animals is the least of its priorities. So to reach this rich source of starch and protein, we have to first defeat its first line of defense, the structural line of resistance. Grains have physical obstructions in the form of thorns, bark, husk and other protective armor. We go through it with our superior weapons by peeling and milling.

At the second tier of defense, the grain still tries to survive and here it engages the gluttony humans with its chemical warfare. The grains have certain pathogenic properties that don’t go along the digestive capabilities of the human stomachs. They also possess certain enzyme inhibitors that make the grains harder to be broken by the digestive system. It makes them very tough to be eaten raw. To break this line of defense we use the weapons of boiling, fermenting and germination. We even dupe them by soaking. Soaking actually dupes the grain into believing that it’s the first stage for the birth of a baby plant. As it gets ready for giving birth to a baby sprout, it withdraws the defense portals and immediately certain enzymes are born to support the baby sprout. And something eatable for the baby plant is eatable for us also.

So it’s primarily about attack and defense at all the hierarchies of life. What we see in the world at the tangible level of we humans is simply a representative of all that is going at the tiniest levels. So keep your defense walls strong and the attack portals (skills and efficiency) well oiled. The bubble will anyway burst but to maintain that bubble and enjoy the pleasure and joy of being, we have to give our best just like a tiny grain does. Learn from a grain. If not for this tough fight, how will a tiny seed grow into a majestic tree some day? A tree is the optimum actualization of a seed’s potential. Similarly, we too have the task of maximizing the potential that we carry within. Fight well!  

Sharper AI wit and duller human brains

 

In an automated and mechanized world it’s not about good and bad; it’s primarily about good, better and best—strictly in terms of numbers. The entire moral façade crumbles and the vast potential of our fabulous brain is as much within the reach of the evil as it’s available for the good. With the equation of good and bad sidelined, the human race enters a hazardous zone. The quest for betterment, for more efficiency bypasses the check-dams of morality and ethics. It’s a blind race for achieving more and more material gains at any cost. When there is no consideration for the costs that we have to pay, we naturally cross the balance sheet. We then beat even the nature in hatching disasters and hazards.

We fly too high in the eternal quest for more and more conveniences and better and better products. In the unrelenting quest we burn our wings and fall down. The unreined and unchecked impulse to go for betterment in every sphere of life churns out such models of production and social norms that come with open-ended potential. These seem to facilitate a process but carry an equal amount of potential for multiple adverse effects that require solutions. For example, artificial intelligence will of course churn out interesting and more and more media content, but it will put challenges in the form of manipulated synthetic media content and deepfakes. For the latter we need more and more technologies to manage the fallouts. After a time, it becomes very difficult to tell whether we are creating more problems or solutions. The confusion results in a melee. Just mere exhaustion and tiredness born of the relentless march makes us believe that we are progressing. While in reality we are simply throwing arms in darkness, caught in the web of our creation, like an over-smart spider spinning a castle of web and then forgetting the way out.

Honoring the dynamics of life in others

 

There is an age-old proverb in the villages. Making a child laugh and playful might not earn you a good name, but if she cries while under your care, it will surely earn you a bad name. Negative experiences leave a far bigger impact on us than the positive ones. One sour word very easily undoes the sweetness of hundreds of beautiful words. This proclivity to lock the ‘negative’ in our mind while filtering out hundreds of ‘positives’ is the cause of strife, tension, anxiety and discomfort within. It also very easily sours relationships.

We simply judge people for the ‘exceptions’ in their behavior, ignoring the common ‘mundanities’ of their demeanor. We simply catch the black dot on the otherwise white board. It even seems that we are operating as watchdogs looking and sniffing for the chinks in the walls. I sometimes wonder whether we are actually companions while walking with someone or are we spies going with a mission to catch the other person on the wrong foot. No wonder we feel so vulnerable and insecure most of the time. A spy on a secretive mission will of course be on his toes and full of tension.

It becomes so easy to blame others for all the problems in our lives. But why would we always go searching for the tiny black dot on a white canvas? Why would we simply forget the rest of the white sheet? We are always looking, peeking, searching for those chinks in the armor. It just shows how insecure we are. What breeds this insecurity? It’s caused by the conflicts squirming inside us: the friction caused by our quest for the eternal ease of ‘being’ and the poor ‘becoming’ that we are molded into by conditioning, roles, stereotypes, expectations.

Most of the time we are self-charged on the grand mission of aggravating our own miseries. We are suitably helped all along by our ability to hold onto the master illusion that others are responsible for all the shit flying around in our lives.

We are always pulled in two directions. Then we get scared. We are a scared species. We put the blame on others in order to somehow clear our guilt for not being what we are supposed to be. To have that conflict-free ease of being, we have to learn to retain our vision spread out to still see the surrounding white even though the black dots appear here and there. We have to accept and view situations and people in totality. We have to accept this law that an all-white scenario is impossible to sustain as per the laws of nature. It’s a dynamic canvas. Things and people change and shift in shape, size and color. They aren’t stones that they will retain the same appearance. They aren’t dead. They too are evolving and growing, shifting and changing as much as we are doing the same.

It’s very easy to theoretically discuss, write and understand this fact. But it’s very difficult to bring it into practice. Anything that requires rewiring the habitual network needs a regular exercise. So we can remind ourselves regularly that people aren’t stone idols cast in the mold of our expectations. They are an evolving life. They will grow and change and come out of the mold we have created for them to fit our needs and desires. Accept this fluidity and sanctity of change in a living form and most of the judgments will drop of their own. We then accept the black dots on a white canvas.

 

The flow of life

 

Making love, a mere repetition; falling in love, a mere repetition; falling out of love, a mere repetition; doing this, a mere repetition; doing that, a mere repetition. I think we are creatures of repetition. And repetition is primarily born of habits. So most of the things we do are the results of habits. Why do we form habits? Possibly because we feel safe. And why do we crave to be safe? Maybe because we have fears. Well, then even fear might be a habit of the mind.

The moment we allow ourselves to be driven by the habits, we limit ourselves to a customized social unit, for our own safety. The society too feels safe when it sees fine creatures of habit swarming around. Habits define a safe zone around us. They breed convenience and that’s why we hanker after them. They define and limit us and give us a false promise that we will be happy in that little zone. But very soon we find that the happiness born of mere conveniences hardly brings juice and joy to life. It’s dry. We still feel something is missing even though we adopt more and more habits to erect sounder structures of safety around us.

The human spirit wants to fly and habits are the chains. It wants to be free. But habits hold it back. When we set out to chart out our own path, we have to break the mold of habits. Habits clip our wings. They condition us, limit our potential. We have to do everything in a way that it doesn’t turn a habit. Then whatever we do is an ode to the present. It’s open ended and creative in nature. We create and move on. The past doesn’t drag us. The future doesn’t make false promises. We flow. We fly. We live.

God's child playing

 What happened in the past was relevant, if not altogether apparently good...it involved some learning...some evolution that needed some closed setup within challenging situations... And as you came out and took tentative steps toward healing was also good...a flow after the stay and stagnation...all was well..all is well...all that will happen will also be good...the tough episodes are Mother Nature's indirect means to give us a gentle shove to nudge us to step out of the situational and psychological constraints and see more of life and living in this beautiful, exotic chaos of cosmos where we have to fix a few random pieces to make a meaningful life, to feel relevant, to be loved, to love, to live..go and pick your pieces of your sovereign choice...make anything you want... that's your making, your independent free will...the random pieces lying around have infinite permutations and combinations and hence you have the limitless potential to create. As a maker of something lovely and specific and beautiful you serve as an arm of God even though you are His children. Run on the beach of creation and play in the sands and give shape to all your imaginations: a castle, house, animals, birds, machines, vehicle, anything. It will be there as you play with childlike joy. Of course Father sea will surge His waves to wipe it clean for all the future children to play on a clean sandy beach. But till the high tide washes you and your creations into the bosom of the sea, play you have to with full enthusiasm.