Under the blanket

Sometimes

I only want to lie

Dark shroud

My only sky.

Here,

I am 

Creator, observer

Seer, doer.

Time races,

Pauses or slumbers.

Under this canopy,

Calm days, 

Stellar nights,

Rainbows

Or

Sunset glows.

On my whim

Seasons flit

Storms rage

Lightenings hit.

Rain sings

and

Dancers fly, ji

Gravity defy.

Endless darks, or

dawn breaks

Insane trips,

down memory lane

Sometimes

It's enough

That this 

dark shroud is 

My cosmic sky

Reflections On A Retreat in Ladakh

I returned on Sept 1, after 11 months of retreat in Ladakh. I was mostly silent and alone during this period. This was hand written on 29/8/2017:

My period of retreat is coming to an end in Ladakh. I sit in the cold of the early morning light looking at the magnificent Stok range, blue and gold with still a little on the icy caps, in sharp focus, and spreading across the horizon. The Indus valley in foreground is dry, barren and dusty brown with splotches of village greens. I sit amidst such dense greens of poplars and willows, dancing to the slightest breeze, and I reflect, on days, weeks, months flown by - most of it already in haze, some lit up like crystal moments, bright and illuminated like gems, in my treasury of memories.

I realise now that I am a collector, of all things bright and beautiful. This is neither a conscious decision, nor a deliberate choice - only a recent recognition. It allows me to face the ahead with an eager anticipation for discoveries yet to be made, moments yet to be captured and savoured. I therefore gaze in attention, and sharp focus, that precious details not escape my Now, the Present. My time in Ladakh has harvested a small bounty that will colour my days and flavour my experiences with who I have now become.

I wandered the bustling market places, alive, boisterous, spilling - with produce from the land - fertile, green and abundantly bountiful in the brief of transparent summer days. Land and soil, rich and fertile from generations of tilling, turning, seeding, harvesting and returning it all - back to the soil - in balance and harmony between man and his natural world. Apricots, milk, greens in all shades, crisp and fresh off the earth. Also, there are jewellers with turquoise and corals, gold and silver; carpenters, ironsmiths, tailors making Gonchas of thick wool and brass buttons, dyers with dye vats in shades of deep maroons and finally Kashmiris - with their beautiful faces and alluring invitation to just step inside " to Look - not Buy"- into shops fragrant with saffron and spice, finest Pashminas, silk carpets fit for royalty, old silver and gemstones unearthed from lost worlds and always stories. One knows that to pause, is to be lost, and yet, one halts outside, entranced, and beguiled, to descend hypnotised to wafts of Kahwa into their mysterious Alladin's caves.

I have wandered amongst many lives, and listened - for each has had a story to tell. And my treasury of stories has grown, feeding and nourishing my life with a connectedness by a common human thread, coloured with dreams, aspirations, a need for loving and to be loved. And I have learnt of their myths - that source spring that connects us to the Divine, that mysterious, unknown, omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient to whom we reach out, by closing our eyes.

I have wandered through seasons amongst hills and valleys on such gigantic scale that one is physically hit with one's insignificance - constantly; where rivers flow serenely turquoise, jade, in winters but become deep, thick earth brown, powerful and swirling-enraged in late summer. I have walked days along shores of mystical lakes that change their colour and hue in an eye blink and under lapis starlit skies that guided my steps. And all this colour, light and immense grandeur is imprinted upon my spirit - to be recalled later - when heart gets parched. The immense cobalt sky has cracked me open and seeped within into a pool that is growing deeper in silence and stillness - for me to carry back - wherever I go, whatever I do.

And finally I have learnt to turn my gaze inwards - face the turbulent dark currents of cares that had me drowned, blocking off all light. I realised that all my answers lie within and I would be led by this inner gaze. Slowly and gently my spirit revived, nurtured in nature by silence and beauty, till I was healed and whole, transparent and light. I was insignificant, yet became indispensable and integral to the cosmic vastness that surrounded me with mystery which opened my days and filled my nights with star songs.

And, I learnt, to let-go; that human caring need not only be a burden, and to walk a solitary path is never in vain. My wavering faith in myself grew strong - like the mountains; and like them I shrugged off accumulated scree till my slopes were cleared - for pristine snows to clad it in silence, for grass to grow, flowers to bloom and streams to meander their laughing course. I am now these mountains - strong, resolute, poised and uplifted; balanced between earth and sky. I am now - me.

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?

Bus Moments

I am 55, female, grey, skinny, wear jeans and short hair. I also commute on bus - all over Bangalore. Here are a few bus moments I remember.

1. Every Monday I head out from where I live, in Kengeri, to a meeting in Shivaji Nagar.There is only one direct bus every hour or so - and occasionally this also skips a beat. So, the other day, as I was crossing the road near Kengeri police station, my bus whizzes past me, a couple of hundred meters ahead, to roll into the bus stop. I run. Very few takers for this bus at 3 pm in the afternoon - I realize this and race to catch this bus. I can feel the cool breeze on my face, and wear a Tin-Tin tuft on my head, and a silly grin on my face. I feel I have never run so fast before - and its decades since I last ran. The bus rolls out towards the road and moves as I catch up alongside, grab the handlebar as I have seen many reckless youth do, and swing myself on board with a single swing - the grin still pasted on my face, hot and breathless from the most exciting thing I have done in a long while - and absolutely Cool. 
2. The other day, I found a Ladies seat on a bus back home and sat there - slumped, gazing out of the window, when I felt a shove on my arm. A buxom villager with huge bags of shopping had got on at the City Market and was shoving my arm, asking me to get up and give her the seat. I was utterly confused and must have shown just that when I heard giggles and laughter all around. Am not great in Kannada, but followed the conversation to understand this much: the young women were telling her that I was really a woman! Now it was her turn to look completely blank - and the laughter turned into a roar!
3. What I am going to say now represents a collection of moments, it has happened so many times, and not just on buses. At Majestic, I run between buses, asking for my destination. People helpfully point out towards a bus; I run and clamber on - to be told - its a wrong bus; get off and the bus rolls away and I ask for my destination, to be pointed to the same bus - which has now gone. Another time, I asked for a ticket to Malleswaram, but the bus went through Rajajinagar and ended at Yeswantpur; my protests were answered with derisive laughter "learn Kannada if you want to live in Karnataka". Prejudice of an outsider lives on buses, RTO, telecom office, police stations - where I have heard the same thing. It has been suggested that I wear saree, bottu, and my hair long..I rather be who I am and hope for a world without prejudice.

The Other

Ever since the recent heinous gang rape in Delhi and its aftermath, I have been thinking.

I have been thinking of what causes such senseless violence, what causes people to fill streets, only sometimes, and what causes their blood thirsty screams for vengence, castration, and killing. And in each of these cases, I come upon an 'othering' - her and them, her and us, us and them and so on. In fact, now when I stare at the world, I realise that all social behavior relies on this fracturing duality of identifying and separation.

Kabir confronts this separation and rejects it when he sings:

"Ham sab maahin, sab ham maahin
Ham hain bahuri akelaa"

I am in all, all are in me
I am alone and together

or,

"Chalati Chakki dekhkar, diya kabira roye
do paten ke beech me,sabat bacha na koye"

Watching the two grindstones, Kabir cries,
between the to stones, no one survives (from here)

referring once again to the harsh dualities of this world and their grief.

In a similar vein, Advaita Vedanta is based on the realisation of unity of all - self with the universe and the concept of "you are that"; while Lao Tsu in his famous Tao Te Ching talks about a life of harmony when the dualities get unified following the Path. In fact, his successor "Chuang Tzu felt it was imperative that we transcend all the dualities of existence. Seeing nature at work and the way in which it reconciled these polar opposites pointed the way to the Tao where all dualities are resolved into unity" (from here).

I suspect, more and more, that it is this separation between the internal and the external, the within and without, good and bad, man and woman, natural and manufactured, separations of class, caste, language, region, food, culture and every possible fragmentation that we create, which also creates the violence filled society that we see today.

So in the dawn of this yet young year I resolve:

I am both a man and a woman.
I am a harijan, banya, kshatriya, and a brahmin,
I am a hindu, muslim, sikh, christian, jew, jain; I am a believer and also a seeker
I am the rich and the direst poor
I am oppressed and oppressor; victim and the violator, sovereign and the subject;
I am both profound and the profane,
Infact, I am all the other while I am also Me.

Let me live in awareness of this.

Jumps across Journeys

My parallel journeys are strange...they take quantum leaps across parallel universes defying notions of either continuity or rational forces. The journey continues, uninterrupted, but elsewhere in else-time with a else-me leading a life contrary to my spiritual needs or aching desires. Both these needs and desires are born of journeys previously taken or journeys awaiting the threshold of possibilities.

From Parallel Journeys that used to unfold and meander under infinite blue skies, across landscapes rarely stepped, sheltered in villages and homes of people with gentle smiles and enormous hearts - as large as their mountains, clear as their rivers, I have leapt unknowingly into worlds and paths - suffocatingly cramped with vileness and greed, of agendas devoid of the spirit, in spaces governed by the ambitions of a few and their power over life, land and liberty of many.

I awoke this morning in memories of parallel lives previously lived - of vast turquoise rivers and vaster inner expanse - of gompas perched on dome hills against backdrops of giant snowy peaks. I awoke in memory, as close as a recent moment, of dripping icicles and silent star songs suffusing all my simultaneous worlds with awe and wonder - alive and grateful for the opportunity - not even a speck in an infinite order, but still an alive, throbbing, integral speck of that infinite.

I meander now amongst the crud of the suffering - deliberately - and aware - both of my responsibility and privilege of choice - most of those who suffer have been bereft, by larger design, of choice. I journey with fellow human beings inflicted by their wounds, wounded by their sorrows - and I remain, here and now, in their different universe - to undo in certain measure my collective responsible wrong. I awake some mornings, like this morning, with the rivers gurgling in my heart, with oceans thrashing in foamy waves, with stars spilt milk across dark skies - I awake and reject with a smile the chance to run back - I choose today to carry it only in my heart.

Savasana

There is an adage in yoga which says that the benefits of hatha yoga are manifested during the state of rest, repose or savasana - the corpse asana. I realise now that this applies to all my non-yogic states as well. That the  rewards of living are in fact the very moments of suspended non-living. It is in moments of quiet stillness that we traverse towards our core. This silence is the muting of the chattering mind, the non-reacting to the animated, surrounding us. It is the act of death in the practice of intense living - the savasana of the alive. Loose limbed, unknotted, free - this is a state of singular attention which is not confined to closed eyes, padmasana posture, moving inwards...I grow when with attention I sweep, wash dishes, eat. I suppose this is what the masters say when they speak of Zen - walk Zen, sit Zen, work Zen.

Bunan says:
Die while you are alive
  and be absolutely dead.
Then do whatever you want:
   It is all good.
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