I : Monologue From My Past

I came across these writings from my visit to Ladakh last year.

Plump sparrows swing from slender willows.

Utter silence - wind breathes in my ear to the rhythm of my footfall.

Wind gusts of petals,
Apricot blossoms rain all over me.

white butterfly, flits in hide and seek, amongst apricot blossoms.

Gnarled wood,
Fragile blossoms.
My heart?

Silence sings -
within or without?

Two days of Sun; Siachen river turns from slow clear turquoise to loud, fast and muddy.

Yak boulders sit around a white Mane.

Prayer flags fly over petty hearts.

I read " Buddha can be defined as one who has abandoned wrong actions and is in continuous quest for self knowledge". But self interest and query are pre-requisites to defining right and wrong?

Suffering is primarily a  human infliction, from within or without, rather than a Karmic expression.

More Musings....

Anchored on the sea floor
Dancing like a kelp
Fish swim through me,
Octopus cling to my back.

An Exodus?
Army of hermit crabs
Climbing up a slippery rock.

New moon night
I walk in light of a million stars.
Long wispy clouds ribbon out
- our Milky Way.

Lying on the sand and staring up-
Core of the Milky Way, gigantic, and
illuminated from within;
250 million years for our Sun to whiz
around that 800,000 km/hr!
I am a mere cosmic speck - I smile.

I swim, tread, facing a large wave
Trying to catch it right-
Leap at the last instant
To ride its crest, or dive deep in
To miss it's crash -
Playing with the ocean...
Thoughts meander and
I am whacked, tossed,
Flung and taught -
It is all about No Mind.

Could I live like this?
For my remaining Forever?
Eat, sleep, walk, play and sway
On my blue hammock,
Staring at the azure sky, turquoise sea
Under dense canopy of giant evergreens? What will I miss:
Can't think - No mind.

I worry - do I need little
Because I have too much.

I dive deep towards the ocean bed
Emptying out my lungs -
Crystal bubbles stream up.
So also in my inner search
Will have to let go, to dive deep.

Musings...

Today, ocean flew up
To land as scraps
on a flowering Didu...
Three kingfishers on a branch.

The ocean has stained me blue
I wade out to do my peacock dance
And in distance, megh rumble.

Like crabs, I run sideways
Along froth lines,
Searching for treasures
Tossed from the sea.
...and so also in life
I skirt, afraid to dive deep.

Moon waxes and wanes,
Tides tumble in cycles;
Earth hurtles through star fields.
Sitting still, I watch and laugh -
that I still seek a purpose!

When all voices die -
Will the silence in my head
Pound like waves,
And my blood
Course in crazy dance?

Sitting by the shore
I ignore the ocean;
A crashing wave drenches me
For my audacity...
I smile and return my gaze
Towards him.

Here, the Didu is light pink.
Wild almond is golden, red and russet;
Most are in shades of dark evergreen; and some are just barren and brave.
I too sport all seasons of my life - subdued spring of blushing pink; summer strength of vital greens;  fiery shades of autumn's passion, and coolness of winter nights.
It's all the same - without and within.

From Neil

We live in a tiny room - enough for a bed and a little space to walk on two sides, my son and I. The walls and door are of matted reed; roof is a tin slat. On the little veranda outside, hang our two hammocks - in slate blue and ocean green. We have a mat we spread out for visitors, for yoga, painting, braiding friendship bracelets, and crafting coconut shells - into planters, bowls, jewelry. This mat is white with green parrots on green branches. All our belongings are contained in two bags that easily fit under our bed. The family here feeds us, simple fare and very well. Most vegetables and fruits are from their own garden.

For most part we lie on the hammock, that sways on its own, tuned to the sound of the waves, just beyond, and the sound of the breeze, if we listen a little more, and our own breath and heart beat if we get really tuned in.

At other times we go to the beach, scavenging for shells or driftwood, or to ride the jade and turquoise waves, or to simply wander - up and down, up and down, aimlessly but centered.

There is little to do here, and little to buy or own. Slow life, gentle smiles, purpose less, yet complete. I have everything I need.

How will I ever return?

Packing

I am headed out to the Andamans...and I am packing all the things I should not forget. Turquoise blue for the ocean,  jade at the shore, white froths, and cerulean blue for the immense sky dome. On a whim, I add in a scarlet for the flamboyant sunsets, a deep carmine for the pre-dawns. I add in emerald for the snorkelling depths, a leaf green for the giant trees, a hooker's green for the rest. I add in gold and silver for the sands to walk on and the sun and the moon - and finally lapis for the inky star sprayed nights.

I pack in a hammock and I am done. 

Dancing Dhrupad

Its been fifteen years of failed struggle - this attempt to know and understand and produce a note - a correct Sa, in correct swara. Or to produce a sargam, a melody, a composition - in tune...I am not even fathoming an approach to the tala or beats - yet.

And then, recently it hit me - by watching, listening to Dhrupad; it needs to be done with all the senses - Dhrupad has to be danced to be sung. One sings Dhrupad with its taste inside one's mouth; with a heady aroma of a basant or a cool night breeze with frangipani notes; a visual feast of imageries dancing behind closed eyes, and the body swaying in melody - moving already to notes still at threshold of creation. Is one ready to do this? Then, one is ready to Dhrupad.