A Peek into the Misty Fluidity of Life

 

It’s a small book, this world of ours, having still smaller layers after layers of canvas and each one having the potential to give a glimpse of the ultimate truth. There is a glance of the ultimate truth at this dawn in my village. On the infinite canvas in the sky, He, the ever-creative artist, paints one mural after the other, gives a fleeting vision of the ultimate truth, of transience, of ever-transforming shades. The creator does not hold onto the fleeting shades. He allows these to dissolve into newer and newer frescoes.

The marvelous fluidity keeps on unfolding unmindful of the Angry President thousands of kilometers away. Like a pissed off kid raising a ruckus about going to school, an angry Trump skipping lunch and cancelling his Denmark holiday. Not being able to purchase Greenland, the future's prime location and the present's last hideout for mother nature, to change its status from nature's estate to real estate, I hope there aren't broken windows in the White House. An angry businessman is scary man! It's understandable, there can't be a bigger loss for a businessman. My sympathies with him for his mood getting spoiled. And God save the dining set, bedside mirror, housekeeping staff and even officials in the office. All of us are mother earth's kids. But the tantrums of the fattest bully among the famished mass of we poorlings can be very testing. I pray to almighty that there is a surge in President's business to make him forget about the loss!

Well, all this happens to be inside the mightiest place on earth, the White House. Let us come down to smaller places. A somber dawn of faded blue, grey, dark, pale orange and rusted silver opens up new vistas of agonies and ecstasies. Nature holds the ultimate copyright on colors, shapes and phenomenon. The lanky lad/lass—Parijat—stands with elegant pride. Well, with painful pruning, which hurt my conscience and his/her body as my pruner did its job, my friend will at least won't blame me too much after looking at himself/herself. A fantastic tree model he/she appears. A gorgeous adolescent! The nutrition of monsoon season and my jimmying instructions have put it on the path of developing a well-chiseled tree body. He/she appears like a tautly proud and confident NCC cadet. All the best! Grow to be a firm soldier against pollution and ecological degradation!

A few yards away, there blooms the story of love between a thorn and a rose, a sort of monsoon wedding. The husband, a prickly, stern, hard-wooded acacia; the wife, a mellow, soft, delicate, juicy, attired in heart-shaped leaves embracer Giloy (Tinospora Cordifolia). She covers her beau's hardy ruggedness. He spreads his tough self for her soft, supine creepy love notes to climb high and kiss airy swirls of the monsoon season. All of us are just parts of a larger beauty, mere contributors to a bigger picture. No life stands in isolation. All are contributing characters on the largest canvas where colors, shapes and panorama keep moving in a circulatory fluidity, giving rise to stories, anecdotes and episodes. Feel the mammoth river of life flowing around your apparently distinct self. Spread your wings. Enlarge your vision. Broaden your heart. Embrace more of life and living. It gets you freedom from the chained self imprisoned in narrow confines of illusions and ignorance. It melts the block in the smooth flow of life and living. Claim your liberty!

Among the excited nuptial ceremonies, on the same tree, a little story of an abandoned nest tugs at the time’s sleeve to catch attention. An abandoned home waiting for mother nature to dissolve it into a different shape. A masterwork of tailoring by the tiny tailorbird by stitching three heart-shaped leaves of the climber wife to make a cozy home. The interiors have strong webby framework of buffalo hair and cotton. How do I know these are buffalo hair? Haaa haaa! I do! We know them with more familiarity than even our own crop on our head. Grew as we wallowing in the village pond where buffaloes swam, defecated and urinated with an utmost sovereign ease. Haaa haaa! I can even recall the taste on my skin, including the tongue part—sorry to disturb too polished tongues—as we played in our aqua playground. Well, leave it, coming back to the little abandoned home. A little sugary sweet lump of love and care arranged this texture. A new life flew out successfully, as I myself bear witness to at least one hatchling taking on to its first flight out of the tiny cluster of trees. So the sweet home will be dissolved, recycled and change to a new pattern. It's a long and winding story to the ultimate home dotted with little, little temporary shelters where love coos in finest, delicate most tunes.

An abandoned nest cannot steal the entire show. A few inches away, the time stands struck to the ultimate cocoon of the penultimate camouflage caterpillar. A case moth, a camouflage caterpillar, is on its leaf-eating sortie. This chap makes a silken cocoon around it and attaches tiny twigs around it. It then moves like a little cylindrical wagon of firewood. Amazing! But, of course, the poor leaves have a different tale to tell. Well, he should not be deprived of such hardworked breakfast, lunch, brunch and dinner all put on the same plate. The noisy babblers though happen to have this feaster on their own lunch table. The cantankerous kings of the quarrelsome birdie world make lot of noise while undoing the protective wood wagon and gather their own food from something that was gathering from someone else. So, now the case moth has a sorry tale to tell. Ask the babbler. It definitely will have many of the same genres to tell. Well, this sad touch in the story is simply our mental projection created relatively to a so-called happy touch. Beyond our mental projections, there are simply stories in nature, cyclically interweaving their threads to make one singular entity, the ultimate case moth, the final camouflage.

Wait, before you decide to flip over this section, another little character is performing on the ever-busy stage. It is a cool late August morning and a lot many hominids are having hasty breakfasts before catching onto the bandwagon of survival through the day. This little Indian yellow wasp, unfortunately maligned with a pinching adjective ‘stinging’, is not breakfasting on the dry bark of this dead Marwa plant.  With the unhurried ease of an artist, it’s scratching away little bark crumbs to use these in making its paper carton galleries to lay eggs and start the process of life from its end. In the slow-paced, unhurried smaller world, they use pollen crumbs and dead bark pieces to build their umbrella-shaped nesting hives, the little galleries to shelter eggs.

Well, it’s a sad tale from colonies to couple; from booming, buzzing colonies to sad, solitary couples. Earlier, during the times when they stood a chance to freely stand and play their part smartly, or when the mankind was not too imposing, they thrived in colonies and valiantly defended their citadels. The days are gone. The human heart has shrunk and his pest control arm has expanded well beyond his home and hearth. It now covers every nook corner of earth. So the colonies are out of question these days. All you have is just a wasp couple sneaking like thieves and set up a little nest in some inaccessible part somewhere around overhangs, porches, eaves, attic corner, barn, porch shed, some abandoned ceiling, railings or doorframes. More than the artistry, it is about the theft of temporarily stealing a little space somewhere. Just a tiny bulb of nest and a few eggs. All that is left of the maligned stinging nest. A little unbecoming projection at the risk of being swatted out by the gentlest touch of a cobweb cleaner.

There will be many who feel like rapping my knuckles for speaking for the stinging wasps. Well, do they sting for pleasure? Let somebody come barging uninvited into your bedroom and then watch your own sting. Just because you hold man-made papers of the property, it doesn’t justify your sting, just like it doesn’t the biggest wars for land and resources on earth.

Nature has a place for them. They pollinate flowers and control many insect species. Now don’t look at the insect species controlled by the wasps as the primary villains. They in turn must be controlling something else. In the two-way scheme of things, every species receives something in lieu of what it gives back. We have but turned the tables. We have re-calibrated the natural instinct to give back also. It’s a mad rush to take as much as possible, without the willingness to give back anything. No wonder, we have raped mother earth. With newer and newer techniques to plunder resources, we are giving back long, long tragic tales of ecological degradation, extinction of species, wars, diseases, strife and unrest. Well, the list of our give-aways is endless on the negative side.

The Mother

 

Vivian Richards: “Test father, One Day mother and T20 their children.” One of the greatest cricket players of all times has a big point here. I but beg to differ a bit slightly, or may be not so slightly. My common man’s corrected version would be: “Test mother, One Day father and T20 their children.”

Test is the genesis, the prolonged furnace in which the real cricketing destiny is forged. So shouldn’t Test be called the mother? Given her soulful contribution, bordering on the most selfless version of love seen in nature, in formulating a new life, involving selfless emotional and physical donation before the conception, and later in the form of irrigating the new seed with her own blood, and still later with 24 by 7 care and concern, when her own individuality melts and takes the shape of that little vulnerable life, doesn’t she stand closer to the prolonged cricketing game of agonies and ecstasies spread over the five day version of the game? So Test definitely is the mother! I have no doubts. Ask mother earth, how much of divine stillness and poise is needed to allow a new seed to sprout from its earthy womb!

Father is the One Day version, definitely. He is moderately rash, adventurist and huffs and puffs for a day. No wonder, his contribution might seriously come close to only one fifth of what a mother does for her children. No insults meant for all the fathers out there. Kindly have a close look at the story of your children’s rearing up, and you will realize the mothers have been out there like slowly smoldering warmth, keeping the tiny shapes alive with the prolonged glow of her care and forever-existing duties. Fathers have a privilege of playing, tiring though, swashbuckling one-day innings and hot blizzards of fiery spells of bowling and rolling dives in the field. It has but its concurrent fun, this play of brawn and show of spirit. But the classic contours of a mother’s travails are spread out over a broad time and space continuum, like some elegant tussle at the Lord’s on some autumn evening. Her efforts touch the horizons and mix with misty insignia of godliness.  

Well, no issues about the children being the vagrant, rampaging, arrogant, disobedient, running off the line T20. Effervescent, unorthodox, fiery, revolting, as many mishits as hits during the funny adolescent idiosyncrasies. We can spare our words from elaborating on the evident jocularity.

Life: A Virtual Bubble of Consciousness born of Matter/Energy Transformations

 

As per the classical mechanistic model of physics, they assumed this universe to comprise matter and empty space beyond. This approach was basically born of looking at things in exclusivity, strictly defined by separate boundaries, i.e., end of one and the start of the other. But if things were so exclusive, how would the lumps of matter scattered in the universe interact, and get into a transformative process, across the barriers of empty space in between?

Further researches convinced the scientists of the existence of a zone of interaction, the buffer zone floating between matter and emptiness (as they visualized space then) in the form of electromagnetic and gravitational forces in the empty space. The latter were taken as mere ripples (or effects) of the matter floating in the emptiness of space.

Then the quantum scientists went ‘within’ and more and more ‘within’ into the supposed solid, indestructible wombs of particles. Layers after layers of the once solid particles were peeled off, only to land at flashes of energy at the far end. The solid matter turned out to be mere clumps of energy. More importantly, the empty space, hitherto supposed to be the medium for electromagnetic radiation and force of gravity (presumed mere effects of matter) turned out to be the same extension of the quantum field, which manifests as matter in the areas of high energy clumps. So it leaves us with one entity: a quantum field where energy is getting transformed cyclically.

So now it’s accepted that it’s just singular energy field involving infinite lot of virtual interchanges of subatomic particles giving rise to cosmic blizzards. An infinite potentiality of transformations and cyclical handovers from one state to another, just change, no give, no take, no loss, no gain. It’s merely a recurring makeover of energy in the universe in which the apparent matter (in the form of dense cluster of energy) simply happens to be a transitory stage. The present cycle of the universe began with the big bang to continue expanding till the big implosion, the cosmic crunch, only to go round and round like an endless journey along a circle. Simply a cosmic heart beat, with the beat interval of billions of years.

Like an infinite circle is composed of little series of straight lines, similarly this cosmic multidimensionality also comprises definite patterns of linearity, not in the strict sense of straight lines but in the definiteness and specificity of patterns. A circle is merely a clump of numerous straight lines across its periphery. Similarly, the cyclical transformation of energy in this mammoth circle cannot just go randomly. Its basic building blocks have linear patterns in the directions of evolution.

Suppose there is rainfall on the slopes of a mountain. Under the law of gravitation, the water has to flow down. It cannot move up or stay where it lands. So gravity is the superior law defining this particular process. It has to flow down or at least retain its tendency to flow down if there is some obstruction. In that case, the tendency takes the form of potential energy. So each and every ounce of this existence is simply a manifestation of one energy transforming into the other. The moment water moves down, the potential energy changes to kinetic energy, which goes into changing into many types of actions that are a result of the movement of water.

Now raindrops fall randomly. However, the process later on cannot remain on the same scale of arbitrariness. Here things acquire a shape. The water coming down acquires stability over a period of time after the initial moments of chance and arbitrariness handed over by the falling rain. It stops at obstructions, takes recourse and very soon, without any choice and prejudice, as per the supreme law of self-sustained spontaneity, establishes a little water channel. Many such individual channels make a rivulet, and many rivulets go into making a mainstream, which cuts its valley where its initial turbulence is changed into an effortless flow in a broad winding stream during the mature and old age.

Same is the course of flow of energy streams in the forms of apparent matter (clumps of energy at specific frequencies). The supreme law is that the net energy is zero, and to have zero you can have countless, infinite plus and minus components, balancing out each other for a zero net result, like at each stage you add and subtract the same amount. You are at liberty to have infinite interplays. So under the supreme law, it has to flow in cyclical transformations. Visualize a circle and try moving your finger on its periphery. There is a journey without end till you get tired. However, your getting tired or losing interest in continuing with the job is no benchmark to set up an ‘end’ to the journey. The path still stays with its potential for infinite movement.

With our limited sense perception, we have a linear, fragmented view of things and phenomena. To make things tangible to us, we need to have a straight line of cause and effect, a simplifying linearity, which presents a convenience to help us in running our tiny world. However, in a cyclical transformation, the movement is endless without net loss or gain. It’s the same set of energy moving on and on. The apparent diversity of the matter is simply due to the existence of different frequencies on the path of transformation.

Now this energy also cannot transform randomly. It has to develop a pattern over a period of time, just like water falling as raindrops over a slope cannot flow randomly forever and finally acquires suitable channels given the geography. Its freedom to flow under the force of gravity also gives it a duty to acquire a definite pattern over a period of time, so that it adapts to the platform of its action, that is, the terrain, and becomes one of the parts in the holistic scheme of self-sustaining ecosystem. Similarly, the energy transforming itself under the supreme law of cyclical transformation acquires a shape, a pattern, a design, a specificity, or a definiteness with the passage of time. Like the random drops acquire an order in the form of stable channel over a period of time, this consciousness evolving through matter/energy transformations in a particular direction turns into a recognizable entity, a flow, a spontaneity.

The flow of matter/energy in one particular direction gets a distinct shape in the form of individual species of animals, trees, birds, reptiles and much more. Take for example Homo-sapiens. It’s merely a flow of matter/energy in this precise direction that has acquired a particularity after cutting down its path through the choiceless spadework on the terrain of creation. The choicelessness itself hands over the reward, where it appears like there is some freedom of flow in a well set course.

In the case of humans, the flow of this matter/energy over the path of its passage has ingrained certain characteristics, just like it has for any other species. That repetition, that linear ease for a smooth passage, gets imbibed as the genetic pool in the DNA to give rise to a species, a temporary but tangible part in the passage. The milestone but stands notified as a species. Most importantly, selfless love is the propelling force behind the emergence of this species-specific distinct course. If you have and doubts, kindly closely study the extent of parental care undertaken by each and every living being to ensure the survival of their little ones on this planet. You will understand what I mean!

These millions and millions of distinct courses in the form of manifestations of energy, apparently linear, are the constituents of the big circle of nothingness. However, in this ever-shifting play, the evolution of a definiteness, the cementing of its course, facilitated by the so called gene pool, is tangible as a species- or genre-specific collective consciousness primarily. It defines broad identities like humans, birds, animals, reptiles, etc. The simple fact is that in one particular direction, the flow of matter/energy allows the pathway, like the water channel does for the random drops of rain, for the propagation of a particular species. The overall, tendency that allows this choiceless emergence of such patterns is the cosmic consciousness. The supreme awareness facilitating the establishment of patterns in continuous flow is the ultimate law.

Now just like water in the collective consciousness of an established course, i.e., river, comprises many water molecules, the collective consciousness of a particular species also comprises numerous, individual particles of consciousness. Again under the simple law: the whole is just an assortment of parts; the part is merely a miniature of the whole. So the individual consciousness also ingrains its identifiable characteristics within the collective pool of that particular stream. In humans we call it the karmic imprint. It’s an assortment of the processes and stages passed in the early stages of the journey experienced by one individual consciousness.

Like a well-established river course is not inclined to take a sudden recourse, the divine momentum in an individual consciousness also makes it inclined to retain its course. Particular consciousness is just the set of an individual course within the collective course of a particular species, the latter itself being an individual consciousness within the super-sea of cosmic consciousness. It’s the self-evolving program running the hardware of energy transformation processes.

These countless strands of individual and collective consciousness, comprising the overall cosmic consciousness, are mere virtual fuel-tanks facilitating the cyclical transformations of energy. Where does the feeling of being human, the set of our seven sins and the set of so called positives at the levels of emotions, stand in these energy transformations? Take a small example. A neighborhood woman has very nice emotions for my mother. She sees my mother outside the house and as usual having a good feeling for my mother shows concern for the wild growth there. She has seen a snake there, she tells. This information is born of her concern for my mother’s safety.

I catch the notes of care, concern and fear. I decide to go out once their chat is over. Yea, there is wild growth. The snake must also have been there. But where will poor snakes go if not in wild growth? This earth itself was a big clump of wild growth. However, we have turned it into a well-managed house. Where is the place for lesser species in mankind’s well-decorated house?

Anyway, there is something more important here as I cast an apprehensive look. I have been thinking of planting peepal and banyan plants for some time. I have even sown seeds for it. No germination. A huge disappointment. What comes most easily to nature becomes almost an impossible project for us. Lo, I see a small peepal there. My day is made, I feel so happy. A beautiful emotion born of care and concern in a woman triggers my little walk to the place and I see the most holy plant in Hindu and Buddhist system of belief.

A bird ate a fruit somewhere and dropped its bird-drop and there grows the uncared peepal, which won’t grow despite best of my efforts with the help of internet research. Her good emotion for my mother sets in motion a chain of events that will help in a story that started with a bird eating a fruit to the planned replanting of a nice tree and my emotions born of my individual consciousness involved in between. Isn’t the so called ‘individual consciousness’ merely a virtual fuel to facilitate the cyclical transformation of energy around us? 

Like I have hit a jackpot, I retrieve the gems from an abandoned, broken flower pot in a mossy corner overgrown with wild grass and weeds. With the rascally muse of a treasure hunter, I salvage these two tiny Peepal tree saplings from the disused flower pot overgrown with bunch grass and weeds. Here I scurry like a squirrel to plant them safely in separate sapling containers to nurture them till they become boys from infants and then give them the freedom to grow wild and manly.

You try your level best to grow Peepal from seeds. The odds are always against success, at least to an amateur gardener like me. I have experienced it to a salty taste on my tongue, the taste of failure. However, a bird eats some fruit somewhere and eases its bird-drop here in the flower pot. By the way, it must have been attracted by the little patch of wilderness. Guys, here I am going to claim my share in the scheme of things because my proneness to let things take their course, without poking my nose too much into it, must have played a big part in the evolution of this untidiness here. The birdie adventurer must have come to eat grass seed or some little insect lost in the deep forest. Then finding it a safe corner, eases itself also. That's how mother existence creates its pathways for its march.

How does our individual consciousness become a channel for this pattern's evolution? As we have already discussed that the streamlined awareness across a particular trail lays down the path for the evolution of species, phenomenon and various forms of matter. Most of the times, our emotions, born of the interplay of our consciousness and the external world around, become facilitator for this evolving pattern.

I like gardening, so I create a bit of space for the expansion of universe in my little corner. I am also prone to see things going on their free way. It thus creates the space for a small circle of wilderness in a corner where it won't be otherwise. Further, this little space of wilderness gives a pathway to mother existence to sow a seed of potentiality, which is filled up by a bird's dropping. The prospect grows within the small confines of a disused flower pot. Now from this point, it's someone's emotion that will help it in moving towards the next hierarchy of evolution. Like I take the saplings from the abandoned pot and replant them separately. They need tending like little infants. Again awareness and emotions fuel that care and prospects. These will be then replanted in the wild.

The beauty of being humans is that we can consciously create positive pathways for mother existence to move forward on its march. Guys, choose to be aware and conscious of creating a positive pathway for the bigger benefit of all. That is why we have been given this ability of being aware of our consciousness by mother existence. Create space for universe to expand positively. Love is the ladder to the destination!

Following the Roots to Reach the Source of Love

 

Happiness is not a hailstorm bombarding your head with screeching fury. It’s a soothing shower of tiny droplets kissing the dry dust. If little, little things cannot make you happy, and consequently loving, forget about the dreams of huge mountains of things, objects and relationships turning the scale in your favor. You must have experienced it already. So let’s try to delve into smaller things for larger swigs of solace!

You have to recall the roots of your individual self dissolved around in multiplicity of things and phenomena. It helps you in finding yourself. These are the little anchor support of individual destinies. Just like a tree has roots in earth, a human being’s roots lie dissolved in each and everything around us. Individually we are just part of the grand totality around.

This tree that absorbs the carbon dioxide exhaled by you, allowing you to inhale oxygen let out by it, in fact functions like half of your lungs. The water in your body is just an ounce from the reservoir of water on earth. The few kilograms of metals constituting your bones, muscles, fat and blood are just a speck of matter from the minerals available in earth.

So the most important thing is to know and realize your roots. That will melt the painful tumor of ego. These roots pull the strings to shape your unique identity, allowing you to perform your duty, enjoy your privileges on the great stage that creation is. The best thing is to realize and remember as a habit that you are just a tiny leaf clinging to the bough like so many others on the tree of creation. Your destiny is in totality. The individuality lies in knowing only this much.

I on my part try to remember it as a habit. It becomes natural later on with practice. The more you realize your dependence on the grand totality, the more you feel gratitude for the benefits and boons showering upon you. I keep my eyes open for the unconditional love bestowed by the small trees in my yard. I try to reciprocate the smile of flowers. By opening the eyes of awareness, you see the reality as it stands instead of the way you want it to be. It defines your reality out of the churning machine creation is.

I try to soak in weather’s offerings. It’s free and belongs to all and nobody at the same time. For example, October has its early winter charm. There is night blooming jasmine in my yard. The nights are cool and mornings dewy. The tree gets fully decorated at night with beauty and fragrance. In the mornings, a fresh day welcomes me with the day-time vestiges of the night’s smile. The tree smiles through the dewy night, the night blooming jasmine, Har Singar as we call it in local parlance.

As the day opens its eyes, I find the remnants of a perfumed night scattered under the tree. The first thing I do on such dewy, dreamy days is to collect the tree's offerings and keep it as a scented trophy on my desk. It makes my day, keeps it smiling and aromatic. Thanks brother tree! I just put some water around you, and here you are with a shower of unconditional love, life, beauty and fragrance. The weather has turned amazing and your gift makes every day better than the previous one.

I can recall this moment in all vivacity even though weather has changed almost to be the opposite. One more lesson: witness the change around as much as you look for the changes in your life. This observation saves a lot of pain because we get less prone to identify with things and phenomena going in a flux on the inevitable path of change and transformation.

Coming to such delicious, dewy moments, their surreal charms in memory define eternity. If you learn to soak all that a single moment has to offer, believe me, time follows you. You tame eternity.

Another moment etches its story on time’s endless fabric! Quite enigmatically, a smile's life is on cobwebbed lease. Sometimes existential support, as slim as an almost invisible single strand of spider-web, sees you smiling well beyond your expected time. It is 4:30 PM in the afternoon. A pair of night blooming jasmine flowers, a souvenir of a lovely, cool, dewy night, still hangs almost in full life. They bloom under dewy starlight at night, and tumble down happily at the dawn, pulled by Mother Nature’s call for cyclical transformation. But then some chance innings outfox the routine cast of apparent reality to carry further on and reach hitherto untouched milestone.

These two flowers saw the youthful charm of full bloom at the bygone cool October night. Thousands around them toppled down at the day's onset through a slightly misty morning and are almost recycled to dust in the ground. But mischievous destiny lets out a strand of web, and here they are swirling and swaying to the gentle breeze of a balmy early winter day. Little ounce of beauty and fragrance hanging like chandelier, signifying the imperishable aesthetics of love, peace and harmony.

To have a feel of the infinite love and beauty pervading the cosmos, we have to sharpen our aesthetic sense to capture such brief moments with our limited sense perception, which later on opens the vista for unqualified, unrestricted, sense-perception-free view of the ultimate truth in our life. But of course we cannot escape these small exercises before that happens.

Only feelings can capture the infinite vastness of love and harmony in the cosmos. And such little keys hold the prospects of opening the treasure chest. The bigger things turn it daunting. They take you to a world of thoughts and calculation. Nothing wrong with that. After all, it sets the stage for careers and making a living. But if you want to have a glance at the eternity, you have to see through the keyhole. There is hardly any other way.

Some moments, when you surrender your ego and dissolve into the cool shades of eternity, take you to the pinnacle of realizations beyond words and languages. Language is a poor substitute to catch truth in totality. You name a word and it is just a fraction. As Lao Tzu said, words are poor carriers of truth. You name light, and dark is cut off.

Coming to the mammoth canvas of feelings, around midnight a beautiful feeling pervades me as I stand under the night blooming jasmine in full bloom. I feel an ounce of the totality.

Dewy fun under the nightly sun,

Winter night with a full moon,

Night jasmine smiles with honeyed spoon,

Swathed in the cool shades of a dewy night,
The flowers stand brave with smiles and innocent delight,
When all sleep, they hold the beacon of love and light,
The moon is their sun,
When we humans will get up in the morning,

We can't imagine how much was the nightly fun!

Lost in the poetic swathes of the dewy night gone, I walk with slow steps in the yard and see the game of death played so harmlessly without its otherwise fee-fawing avatar. A butterfly corpse I come across. The tiny shove of mortality, which freed its little consciousness from this flowery shape, still has the mercy to leave the sleeping beauty on jasmine leaves.

RIP Lime Swallowtail! It presents me with a picture perfect view. There are large number of irregular creamy yellow spots on dark wings and red tornal spot on the upper hindwing. More importantly, the sleeping beauty has a hearse of jasmine leaves and sadabahar flowers. She still looks full of flying life, as if ready to take off any moment. She had her colorful days, flowers, nectar, airy swirls and rainbow darts. Quietly she landed then on the tarmac of mortality; and her little ounce of spirit flies and takes off to the highest station to be one with the primordial spirit. From limited to the unlimited. From here to everywhere. From these few colors to all the colors of paradise. From now to forever. From this beautiful pattern and design on her wings to the primal self-evolving pattern of nature.

I have a sad smile on my lips, a deep sense of acceptance and detachment fills my being. But then there is an excited flutter nearby. This game of creation is ever so busy. I look up with a smile and see the bulb of life on an electric bulb holder. Well, this bulb holder was lying idle for too long, till it gets the attention of natural intelligence. I see a mud fort in the making. Hope it will cherish the bulbous fluid in eggs that will sprout the light of life.

A wire-tailed swallow pair is busy making their mud nest. The muddy ark is being drawn upwards from the central holder. They pick up mud from rain puddles and deposit it layer by layer, slowly mixing their saliva and droppings in the mixture. During the breeding season, their glands have extra salivation equipping them with a suitable adhesive. This is what I call environment friendly birdie cement.

My mother has a problem though. She finds it disturbing because at this stage it appears a mud sling on the painted wall. I have to convince her that it will be a very nice, decorative wall hanging once it's completed. Best of luck beautiful birds. They have very bright colors of metallic blue and white. They just love their job. Tirelessly they go on making a new house, raise kids and then fly away without clinging to the earthy possession. Godly detachment, by the way. I definitely take inspiration from these few grams of wonders.

To someone feeling lonely, with not much happening around in the sense we relate to happenings, free moments easily become agents of depression. But not to someone basking in solitude because so much is happening around all the time with silent majesty. So the day moves on and I keep on taking larger and larger sips of solitude. I feel like it’s solidifying my soul in an almost mystical way. One more thing, it’s impossible to slow down one’s time to the extent of feeling the nature’s spontaneity and be angry and hateful at the same time. Only a spread self doused in love and compassion slows down time like this. So here we come across another nice exercise to build up the muscles of our loving self.  

Thus the day seems full of countless prospects and I keep my eyes open to the marvelous plays unfolding around. Here comes a surprise: awakening the dead. It was a dry, dead branch at the top of an acacia. But that was before the monsoon touched with watery pout, to kiss and infuse greenery even in an otherwise prickly, irritatingly imposing silhouette of the acacia. Overblown life from the surroundings is creeping into the dead wood. The creeper with big green leaves is handing over its extra greenery by climbing over dead pricks and crown the treetop with a symbol of life. The canopy is getting its leafy top. Wonderful greenish encroachment. Leafy donation. The birds though may not be happy because this dead branch at the tree top is their favorite sentry point to look around. So they have almost lost their bare watchtower. It helps me in retaining my sense of wonder. I find it really essential for my humane self.

More wonders waiting! Lo there is a birdie coup in the shrub. Olive-backed sunbird hatchling I see out of a sudden. Freshly minted birdie wonder. Well these tiny flirtatious birds have done a coup in the jasmine cluster right under my nose, right under my gate-crashing presence. And I haven't the littlest clue. I am busy watching the progress on the bulbul front in the slightly bigger world on the Harsingar tree above. Lo! Here is the swift hatchling! Straight from its tiniest of grassy hideout in the jasmine shrub. Not only it escaped my eyes, it also beat the cat in master camouflage. The way this one and its brother or sister already dart among the branches, I am fully sure of their survival and taking the world on their own. Best of luck sons or daughters! Fly safe for the next week and always obey your parents. Then you guys can scale the world on your own.

Our survival basically depends on the things that we have taken for granted by default in life. The irony is, the things that we tend to take as the survival tools are merely conveniences, mere comforts, like house, car, jobs, gadgets, etc. I try to take a stock of the millions of roots holding the tiny iota of my existence. These flowers, birds, insects, reptiles, all these and more are nothing but the building blocks of the platform I stand on to enjoy life.

So guys keep your eyes open for the little wonders of nature around. In any case, they are supporting our existence, just that mere recalling of this fact gets us grounded, making us gentler, humbler, and these definitely make life more positive and more enjoyable. And loving, without an iota of doubt!   

Catch a Big Fish of Love with the Tiny Bait of a Small Generous Deed

 

Next time you have some doubt about the value of a small coin, a single tear of empathy in the eyes and a feeble smile at a stranger who may need it, you better revaluate the potency of these tiny chisels in shaping a whole mountain of love.

Forget whether your small coin will change the life of that person or not. All you need is a big heart and genuine sympathy. A coin given with respect to a fellow human being is far-far more valuable than a hundred rupee bill given with some traces of scorn on the face. The lesser fortunate will feel the humanism behind your gesture and reciprocate in equal measure.

Many times the dilemma arises. Is it possible to do a good deed in part? Or goodness requires the completion of a cause? Just because most of us are incapable to see through our act of beneficence to its destination, is it justified not to take that littlest of step that may keep the chances still alive for someone in need?

Your mere stopping by somebody, who has fallen on his/her path, may fuel a determination to get up again; your comforting hand on some sulking shoulder may strengthen the muscles to take up the challenge again; your soft word of comfort may reignite the fire in someone’s vocal chords to vent out fiery battle song again; your tear may absorb someone’s gloomy sea of sorrow allowing a faint smile of life to surface again; your little step may lay the foundation stone for someone’s long march to success. Think over it.

So crux of the matter is: just be there with your minimum offer of help for a cause larger than yourself. We are not here to become the Gods of charity; we are here to be just normal human beings. And having a heart a bit bigger than what we have at present is what greatness is all about. So everybody can have a shot at greatness. Free for all game! Isn’t it?

I can remember a scene. In the smoky, suffocating traffic chaos, a small natural phenomenon was crying for attention. It was Delhi at it busiest peak. A congested, well trampled road with vehicles after vehicles hurtling with noise and exhaust fumes. Horns angrily baulked. A 2 ft road divider separated the mad rush in opposite directions. And there she was with her bundle of plight. A female dog with her tummy full of just-to-be delivered puppies.

She was desperately digging a hole to lie down for the moment of creation. Metropolitan claws hardly leave space for the so called lesser species of nature. However, these can catch any of us in any possible testing situation by the way. So kindly don’t feel too secure and confident on account of your homo-sapiens status.

The unconcerned world was just speeding away. We miss so many misdeeds born of our mindless development. Guys at least watch, if you cannot get out of your car. Feel sorry for our collective sins and apathy. Take a sip of guilt for our mindless pursuits on the path of so called development. And try to feel the plight of these lesser species on earth who hardly stand any chance to survive in the imbalanced man-manipulated scheme of things.

Only this much of sentiment will provide a slim lease of life to the human soul in you. And if you manage a bit of moisture, it will absolve you of many a sin. Who knows even this much of selfless feeling for a creature in plight may douse the tinderbox in your life ticking to explode. Who knows the matchstick ready to strike the petrol of frustration inside, setting your life ablaze, may get doused under the teary moisture of this emotion.

Long before your good emotions and intentions affect someone else, they start doing the good work for your own self. So guys, don’t just avoid your eyes from the scene of plight, face your guilt, allow your sadness to strike at your conscience, look at it eye to eye. It’s a sacred start.

Washington Irving: “There is sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”

Draw you moral from the quote.  

It makes you a better human being, believe me. And how will you proceed to get into the world of action, unless and until you observe and feel, unless you become aware. Having your eyes and heart open to the miseries out there is not a waste of time. It’s as good as digging a foundation in your conscience on which you will take concrete steps to erect the structure of your remedial action, your selfless contribution, in future.

So all the good folks out there, keep your eyes open as you plod in the arena of life and living. Most of the time, we just overlook simply to avoid the pinprick from the conscience that we looked and felt helpless not to do anything. No dear brothers and sisters, this is not the solution. Apathy is a cloak we wear to hide our own shame from our real judgmental self that sternly watches us long before it does others.

So practice to be aware of the problems and bundles of miseries lying around. All things have an incubation period. And awareness is the incubation period of goodness. You become aware by observation, not avoiding eyes. Just by being aware of the plight of people, animals and trees around, you groom your loving self. So will you start now?