Anaahat

"Anything can happen anytime, it is best to be prepared."  As I read the y oung Rahel and Estha's theorem to live life,  a young me also internalized it as my life theorem.  To the young, this was a good enough method to deal with situations.  Making a bold placard of this, I pasted this on my bedside wall. I glanced at it everyday and  lived analyzing every situation and breaking my head to 'be prepared' for 'anything'. It didn't work. Because in principle, one cannot be 'prepared' for 'anything'. Life threw millions of surprises. At each instance, I scattered in distress trying to figure out how to best deal with the next one.  Eventually, I found shelter in spirituality - something I could hold onto that would not fail, that would not let me down, that would stand steady until the end. I read several theories and books and autobiographies by  wonderful spiritual explorers. Everyone harped on the same thing - the way to l...

The journey of self-exploration being difficult, is the least I can say. I was in a similar journey six years ago. So, I know the feeling of some external force taking over my internal house and re-arranging the furniture (that I have so lovingly gathered) inside me. Still, knowing of a similar 'feeling' of a difficult path years ago, is no respite in walking it right now. If anything at all, it just adds to the weariness. When this time arrived in my life six years ago, I resolved to one thing - that I want to live each day happily, and if someone cannot add to that 'happy day' then I don't want to interact with them. I also believed that sharing my viewpoint is important because 'if I change, the world around me changes'. I would have this image that 'I want to be like a room without walls'. But, now I feel sharing is a double-edged sword. If there is no response, it hurts. If there is a response, I am overwhelmed with this weight of spreadi...

These , my dreams and dramas my slowly evolving orbit suspended on the skin of time circling a star, priming for light as the dead moon breathes sunlight and the sea licks the shores of imperfection. Grant me these mistakes, these hidden scars, these pools of irises projecting forgotten stories on guarded eyelids. Indulge me this love this paradox of submission forming icicles of unspoken words churning deep waters spewing out garbage and treasures into these scars bending my fingers with the unending lines from my palms. This is my slowing evolving orbit suspended on the fragile skin of time.

Those eyes, a world hidden in them the meaning of existence or merely an acceptance of yours. A look that stirs you, a calling to drop the reigns to look within for what those eyes can see.

This is about the Narmada Parikrama. This is also about the several other journeys, people and another short parikrama. It has been two months since I returned from the two month long parikrama. When I think about it, I am at a loss of words to explain it. How can you explain this sights and senses and feelings that you are swept with during such a massive experience? But I will attempt because it has changed my life and has given me wings and was like drops of water on parched lips. The thirst has not been quenched, but it has left a taste of water. It is a more difficult place to be tortured by just drops after being toasted in the heat. I stood at his room door, unsure if I should step inside, he being a sanyasi and I being a young girl. But he called me inside. Another doubt of my safety crossed my mind, but I entered. He gave me his not working number lock in exchange of the one I gave him. I bent down to touch his feet. He blessed me and said something which has never left ...