The mysterious guest

Knocking on the door of your soul,
Pressing against it with all her might,
This sad song you must not fight.
Welcome her with love
Into your heart's alcove.
She carries a secret treasure
To be bestowed at her leisure.
Apply no pressure
To change her or make her leave.
Dont let her become your pet peeve.
Gently allow her to be.
Open your eyes and see.
Listen to her lyric.
Shy away from being a critic.
Her words are ancient;
Remarkably prescient.
When her golden curls unfurl,
Read eagerly from her scroll.
Mysteries of the past
Are revealed long last.
Don't be in a hurry!
Do embrace her story!
If you stay with her for a while,
Her frown effaces into a smile.
When no longer under any duress,
She eases into your caress
In a time of timelessness
And the space of spacelessness.
The bliss of union permeates
Every nook and invigorates
As she seamlessly merges
Into the depths of your soul.

A tribute to Harpy's Child

The wounds of the body draw attention.
The wounds of the mind yield derision:
Festering, ever painful, hidden
Waiting to be healed and ridden
Of shards of rage and blisters of sorrow
Lurking beneath hope of a joyful morrow.
An aching heart cries out in exasperation,
Only to be banished in frustration
To a gloomy exile
Amidst words that rile.
These sad overtures are in vain
As companions flee to avoid pain.
"Keep your chin high," they say
"Get rid of emotions that overstay!"
Yet the heart does not relent
From the inner torment.
The veneer of respectability
Holds its own against every scrutiny.
At once a monster and a benefactor,
A killer of your spirit yet benevolent
Picture perfect yet malevolent,
Nursing you while crushing your heart;
Contradictions abound tearing you apart.
Tears well up unseen
In memory of actions that demean;
This pain too shall silently subside
For in whom will you confide?
If the hand that rocks your cradle
Be the hand that smothers your soul
What chance do you have of survival
Of finding support, of revival?
Who wil believe your tale?
Pull you up when you fail?
Don't look outside for hope
They cannot lend you a rope
In the dark night of your soul
Only you can make yourself whole.
Learn to dig deep
And gently seep
Into the treasures of your spirit
That exude wisdom without limit.
Ease into the peace of your being
That is the end of your suffering. 

People contain in themselves multitudes

People contain in themselves multitudes,
Of varying beliefs, feelings and attitudes.
Of a singular entity, there is no certitude:
At once nurturing and critical,
Alternatingly rational and irrational;
Suddenly rebellious, then compliant,
At times a Parent, next a Child,
Many facets drop in and out,
Through the mind's revolving door.
Fools chase after such passing clouds,
Hold onto old grievances and what nots,
A long lost love, a fleeting joy,
Life's enchanting ensnaring ploy.
Today I whisper sweet nothings,
Tomorrow I mete out cruel beatings
Yesterday I laughed, now I weep,
There is no permanent I to keep.
The wise know this simple truth:
People contain in themselves multitudes.

I

I long for solitude.
The world deems this a limiting attitude!
But I exist only
In the intervening quiet spaces
That elude them.

Amidst the barrage of tumbling words,
In the silence that hangs like a Damocles sword,
I find my salvation.
Neither an object nor a subject to be
I just am.

Nothing sticks to me:
Not even ties of love or hate
Not even the threat of an unknown fate.
I flow invisibly
Gathering no moss
Incurring no loss
Blissful and free.

An archaic letter

Dear grownup,

I prevaricate. Did u have to look up the dictionary to make sense of that? Ya, that's typical me. U hav to do a lot of hard work to decipher me. I speak in long-winded noncommittal sentences in low tone so that I can express myself but I don't have to face the risks that arise from being understood clearly. This is how I survived childhood. I was sure to get hurt if I expressed any emotion, opinion or need with clarity. So I made it very difficult for anyone to understand me. This way I could say what I wanted to but nobody would reject me for expressing myself.

I came upon this idea by chance. A few times I mumbled incoherently when mom asked me something. She couldn't really make sense of anything so she put her own words into it, made it her own and she was happy with it. This way I could say anything and she would be happy. Yay, jackpot, I thought. If I stick with this style, I will never get hurt. It was very funny how people read their own desires and needs into their interpretation of what I said. Grownups would come n ask a question and then they would rephrase it n say "so u said .....huh?" and I would nod. Or even better, I would repeat their version of it aloud. Mostly what they said reflected their own wants. Even then I was amused to note that. I learn a lot about people that way.

I do the same when I write. I use esoteric words. My dialogues are evasive. Poetry is even better. I have written about all my turmoils in my poems. My pain stares right at you in the complex imagery and metaphors yet you would not understand a thing. I hide in plain sight. Wil u ever catch me? If u do, wil u hold my hand or wil u reject me as they did?

Yours sincerely,

Child

Being ok with uncertainty

Ability to tolerate ambiguity is an essential part of every creative process. In that blessed moment at least, we are nothing but awareness examining the contents of our inner psyche or outer world with studied aloofness. Nothing is left unquestioned. Inner and outer worlds fuse together into one entity – content. All that is left is the process of being aware and the content it becomes aware of. Suddenly there are only two parts to our experience of life – awareness and content.

No thought is a hindrance unless it ossifies into an identity. Identification breeds attachment and with that fetters are placed on infinite potential. Suddenly the promising bubble of possibilities pops into a person. Limitations abound. Ideas are lost in the jungle of mundane ‘I’ thoughts. Reluctance to let go of any content becomes a stumbling block to the creative process. Ideas that overstay become identities that weigh down our options, cloud our minds. New stories can be written only on blank pages. Prejudices and pet notions are like overcrowded margins and ink-stained pages that mar any fresh writing. Attachment is a bane that suffocates the creative soul.

At the moment of creativity, we cease to be a person. All limitations of thought, feelings and personality are abandoned with compassion. We become okay with not knowing. We willingly fall into the abyss of nothingness. Floating free, we are pure awareness gazing at the work of the Creator. It is a moment of overwhelming beauty.

Happy New Year!!

Dear Friend,

It has been a great pleasure to have you in my life. Thank you. The past year has been part of the grand adventure of life - exploring, finding meaningful connections and evolving. I made a promise to myself some time ago to not take things too seriously and let life unfold unfettered. Have I honoured it? Well ….

There has been many a time when the business of life seemed overwhelming. Yet in part due to that earlier resolution, I have allowed events to unfold without too much resistance. This decision helped tremendously to stay grounded. As years roll on, I have become better at it. Now the thought of opposing the current of life seems so counterintuitive. The river of life flows beautifully with pristine precision and I am no longer a tiny speck of rock relentlessly trying to curb its momentum. I am swimming with the tide, cheering her on.

I do not remember when I made this cognitive switch but boy am I glad I did! I want to clear some myths that the idea of surrendering to life invokes in most people. I have not given up on making plans, being responsible, standing up for my rights, having fun or working hard to achieve goals. Being OK with life is just to stop wasting my energy trying to block something that has already happened. This leaves that energy open for effective problem-solving and so much more. This means that if something I don’t like happens, I don’t ruin precious moments of my life ruing over the injustice of it. I acknowledge the event and my feelings over it. Then I take creative action. A part of this journey has been the lesson of forgiveness.

Have I perfected this? Of course not. But I forget less now by God’s grace. So what now? Who knows? It’s a great mystery and I am all set to go. All I know is that I am in perfect hands. Ever grateful to the One who never lets go. And thank you so much for being part of this grand journey. Wishing you a wonderful year ahead full of love, joy, prosperity, peace and good health…

Thehseen