Morning Moods

I am a big fan of many things Japanese.  And, Haiku - a poetic form of 5-7-5 syllables which 'captures' moments-moods, embedded within seasons, nature, and space, with a briefest rhythm of words, tops my charts as quintessentially the best in Japanese Zen expression. Of course, the language itself lends naturally to the emergence of this poetic form with their enormous mood-vocabulary expressed in briefest inter-connected mono-syllables.

For my month in Kyoto, I promised myself an attempt to do at least one haiku every day. Most days, I sit immediately after my morning coffee, looking out into forests that roll steeply down hill and try to think of words that express the moment. Morning Moods compiles this attempt so far, to express a mood-moments without complying to a strict rigor on the syllable rhythm - challenging to do in English. I have used Japanese seasons words, as a guide, where I could.

Summer departs,
mists descends down hills, forests,
wrapping my new day.                                              

momiji-gari (display of autumn leaves)
fiery colors ablaze within-
my autumn age.

Awaiting Koyo (display of autumn leaves)
no sign of Kitsusuki (woodpecker - autumn signature)
restless in Kyoto                                                                                      --3/10/17

Transparent cool days
Hints of fire in green forests
will I miss Koyo?

Golden harvest moon,
shibori clouds on indigo-
Kumano Jinja Mae ( a temple)                                                              --4/10/17


Hatsu Akashi (first autumn storm)
in reverence, trees bow low
rain drenched earth.                                                                                --6/10/17

Rain gusts billow mists
swathe tall cedars in pashminas
silence is now fragrant.                                                                                   --7/10/17

Watery sunshine
mists rise amongst Hinoki (Japanese cedar)
Earth lights incense to day                                                                             --8/10/17

Eye-doors shut; I dream,
play, sing, and dance - all within;
bird songs from afar.                                                                            

Warm, and sunny days
Koyo in Kyoto distant,
clear heart, I still smile                                                                         --9/10/17

Doors open, butterfly
flew inside, and cicada
chirped under my bed.

Aki-no-ame (autumn rain)
scraps of sky litter the ground,
suns ablaze all around.                                                                       --10/10/17

In bed, wondering
to read, to paint or to sing
days pass, seasons change.

A fall fly flies in,
finds food, warmth, my nose to perch,
who will move first?                                                                         --11/10/17

Still a week away,
Kurama himatsuri (fire festival in Kurama),
Forest flames kindle.

night rains, morning mists,
lonely birdcall from forests
I sit still, aware                                                                                 --12/10/17

Aki-no-sora (intense blue autumn sky)
washed over by red-gold dusk,
Geese fly south over Kamo(river)      

Incessant misty rains,
dark clouds blanket the forests
- a piercing shika scream (mating call of small deer in autumn)     --13/10/17

watercolor dawn,
softly washed land and sky
birds chorus in song.

waning harvest moon
dark Sumi nights, I sit, (Sumi = charcoal ink)
within my Enso.

Two inter-twined lives
irrelevant chains in space-time
part of cosmic mandala.                                                               --14/10/17

Dark green forest-hills
loom over golden paddy
feast days for sparrows.                                                               --15/10/17

aki-no-koe shinryoo( autumn rains, new cool)
forests wrapped in wreathes of mists
pine and cedar's fragrance.                                                          --16/10/17

Kyoto Days

I sit in silence
gleaning wisdom in small, slow measures
from subdued voices, that hum within,
of trees, sky, wind, rain and fire,
of distant ancestors unknown, unheard, but still whispering,
of poets and myths inherited or eavesdropped,
of humanity's songs, laughter, struggles,
for life, justice, peace - valued for itself and in respect of all dreams.

I sink even deeper beneath the layers of voices -
that move in currents of light and goodness-
to the still and rich ocean floor of the nothing,
unknown and unexplored,
knowing that I have finally arrived at my anchor
to that depth where all roots merge to
feed the trunk of our cosmic existence.

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.

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?