Thursday, 17 August 2017

Excerpts from the yet-to-be-written book – Unheard Voicemails

“If I have reached your voicemail, will my message also reach you… the message that was meant to be a talk… a conversation… will it be heard by others… will you listen to it whilst storing the grocery… and at what time… surely not now, right? Don’t answer these questions… I have got the answers already, yet I continue talking, recording this message… and now I hope you’re not there, letting me go on and on like this… I hope you’re not there, lying on the sofa, thinking whether to pick up the call or not… I hope you’re not there… My mind’s is talking too fast for me to keep a record of what it is trying to say to me to convey to you via this voicemail. Hmm… So anyway, it was nice… nice voice-mailing you. I guess, I just wanted to hear your voice. Bye!”

“Hey! Me again, sorry for the bizarre voicemail… but not if you thought it was kind of funny… okay, bye!”

“Hi… about the voicemail, it was bizarre… but definitely true, very true… okay, ciao!” 

Wednesday, 16 August 2017

In A Rush/ Not In A Rush

Life seems to be in a rush
And thoughts blurry
Like passing an array of lights
On moonless nights

Timely, untimely one hears
What is not said
But is felt vaguely
And declared mandatory suddenly

One click, one blink, one tick-tock
And life is not the same
And I will happily testify to it
For I, unlike life, am not in a rush

Monday, 14 August 2017

What Made The Monk Smile?

The monk was tired, he drank the water from the rivulet, still felt the same. Like the dark heavy clouds that take over the sky so often, the monk had almost given up to such heaviness. If only he could just sit there forever and listen what stories the wind brought to him.

Thinking this he got up and moved ahead. One step at a time. The seamless pattern, the embroidery cross, squares, diamonds, chevrons on his sweater soaked in the sun; it was a parting gift, the monk couldn’t refuse the loving people of that small village.

Strong wind currents and his rough hard shoes made music together; often the pebbles added to it.

Lines on his forehead made him look tense. Just then he reached a fork in the road; the monk stood still and saw two things – the rough path ahead and a tiny little flower beaming at him, growing out of the rocky mountain. The monk walked towards the flower and stared at it.

He smiled and resumed walking ahead. His smile echoed in the mountain valley. 

Sunday, 13 August 2017

Saturday, 12 August 2017


Lines, full of an era’s touch, were written. Some read and understood. Some followed. They tried. And then, lines were drawn.

Lines drawn were stone-solid, iron-hard. But time can always seep through and can rust till it is dust. Thus, lines started to fade.

Lines started to change. Change bloomed. They so rightly say, whatever is unimaginable is imaginable.

Lines are narrowed down to a box. A box in the head. The head awaits to breakaway, not realising that because it awaits, it awaits.

Lines are pruned to look similar, to look contemporary, to look right.

Lines are shredded. Words crippled, meaning transformed.

Lines like a guide help a seeker. The one who is seeking life meets the mid-way end. The end is the beginning.

Are you seeking life? This very moment?

Friday, 11 August 2017

Seven Days Old

The precious ones also have to clear debts. It is always painful and quick, they come and go. Mysteries alone hint at what must have happened. Holding life so sincerely, the precious ones look no different from the rest. Tip toe-tip toe, crafting the time in hands, breathing the air as rationed, meeting the eyes as destined, the precious ones partly remain aware... the end is near.

Must it be so devastating, so random, so sudden? The precious ones acknowledge death wholly making it inconceivable for the others.

Like a quiet walk in the garden full of flowers, playing and making friends, acting the monologues, reciting life, the precious ones draw the curtain on their own.

Without walking a step, without eating a morsel, without knowing the ties, without seeing the whole world a precious one said goodbye just in seven days. Her eyes looked at bliss even after her body turned cold.

Glorious soul, seven days old.

Wednesday, 9 August 2017

Cid Corman’s Blue Aerogrammes

In a thin air-light piece of blue paper words were written, no space wasted, legibly shinning, beautifully written. It was for everyone, Cid Corman called it direct poetry.


If these words
dont remember you—
forget them.
The leaf at last gets
the drift of wind and so
settles for the ground.
I wear the mask of
myself and very nearly
get away with it.
There is no end and
never was a beginning – so
here we are – amidst.
Rain-drops. Each
makes a point
of silence.
You are here – just as
I had imagined –
imagining me.
Nothing ends with you —
every leaf on the ground
remembers the root.
We wear out
but the sky
looks as new
as ever

She keeps coming home
to me – of all things – and I
remain home for her.

Cid Corman wrote for and ran the magazine Origin. He followed a lovely rule, he replied to each and every letter that the magazine received within 24 hours, if he couldn’t, he didn’t do it at all. Lucky must be the ones who got his answer, that too in the form of direct poetry. The book, Famous Blue Aerogrammes, is about these replies. I have just read a few of these and still I can say that the magic continues… blue feathery magic that makes you smile.

Tuesday, 8 August 2017

Li Bo

Li Bo/ Li Po/ Li Bai 
"Drinking Alone under the Moon," by Li Bo

                       Translation by Paul Rouzer  

Among the flowers, a single jug of wine;
I drink alone. No one close to me.
I raise my cup, invite the bright moon;
facing my shadow, together we make three.
The moon doesn't know how to drink;
and my shadow can only follow my body.
But for a time I make moon and shadow my companions;
taking one's pleasure must last until spring.
I sing — the moon wavers back and forth.
I dance — my shadow flickers and scatters.
When I'm sober we take pleasure together.
When I'm drunk, we each go our own ways.
I make an oath to journey forever free of feelings,
making an appointment with them to meet in the Milky Way afar.

Li Bo overwhelms one with the powerful yet simple use of imagery in this particular poem. You’ll see him walking alone, with a pot of wine, the moon shining above and his shadow dancing along. Loneliness is what drives him, hope is what is hidden. Maybe he laments for the dead past or he cries to see the uncertain future, but he is definitely, truly in the present. The moon, his shadow, his two close friends, vouch for it.

(About the poem and the author -

Sunday, 6 August 2017

Seemingly Real

Stopping for a while, I look down from the bridge. I cannot hear the river flowing by, it must be very deep. I cannot see through the dense cold fog, yet I keep gazing. My footsteps cannot be traced, nor can I trace someone else’s footsteps. A skylark’s song breaks the reverie. What lies at the end? ‘Shush’, I tell my mind. What is the hurry, I question it back; the end is the end.

Taking a deep breath, I start walking ahead. The fog engulfs me for a moment and then disappears just to reveal the endless bridge. My eyes glistens, my mind speaks up, ‘seemingly real?’

With myself accompanying me, I continue walking.

Saturday, 5 August 2017

Moon, Moon, Moon, Moonlight

In the search of a Haiku, I found how beautifully a 21st century poet addressed to his favourite classic poet. 

... lifting my cup, 
I asked the moon
to drink with me ...
—Li Po

And if Li Po had
got the moon in his mitts
what would he have done with it?
—Cid Corman   

Today, I decided, I will stay with these words and leave rest of the search for tomorrow.

Moon was its usual self
Myself was the one lost and fuzzy
Moonlight still showed the way

Wednesday, 2 August 2017

The River

“Throughout the whole of life one must continue to learn to live and what will amaze you even more, throughout life one must learn to die.”
 - Seneca

The river knows it now, it chooses to learn consciously, to learn truly. It keeps flowing, it makes an effort and understands better. Earlier as a rivulet it stayed uncertain and still, once it almost died, it dried up. Revived by cloud’s mercy, the rivulet never looked back.

Accepting and changing on the way, the river gushes towards the calm sea. Yes, all the waterfalls celebrate constantly this very union – the river meets the sea.

Tuesday, 1 August 2017

That Black And White Photograph

Faded and hazy… old eyes can nevertheless make out who is who. They are all standing awkwardly still for the photograph. It deserves a lovely laugh. It achieves so every time. And moist eyes…

Black is disappearing into the white and the white into the off-white. Will the memory die soon? Or will it live as an anecdote?

An anecdote that is passed on, with number of ears listening to it adding flavours they find must be incorporated, by one storyteller to another. It becomes precious, a small piece capsuling time. Golden time…

Her old, wrinkled smiling face was so young once. Gush of euphoria hits my mind for a few seconds, while she stays as quiet as serene scenery, softly caressing the black and white photograph.

Your memory, liquid time solidified by a click, an era’s voice captured in the photographic paper stays alive… first in form, later as a story.

Monday, 31 July 2017

The Fall

If you fall and the fall resembles the fall of Macchu Picchu…  

The dust around you, the dust in you tells you the truth. Listen carefully. They blame the dreariness on the modern technology, but just open your eyes to see who is not moving. City streets shine blood-red and dead empty; finding fault is out of fashion now. Hiding is a fad, not believing is a fad, not feeling is a fad. You don’t check the time any more, the clock reflects grime all around. The war is also over, the hunt has ended, panic seeped within is now quelled and happily so. The dead ones are dying and the living ones are dying. You know nothing stays forever, yet you hope for a forever. Stale thoughts to no thoughts, you look outside the window, you imagine what it will be like to jump, to bring an end.

If you fall and the fall resembles the fall of Macchu Picchu, you will rise back.

5W, 1H and a question mark.

If you go through ‘Heights of Macchu Picchu’ by Pablo Neruda, you’ll know. If you believe, you’ll know.

Machu Picchu, Peru
( Heights Of Macchu Picchu translated by John Felstiner - )

Thursday, 13 July 2017

Not So Lonely Island / And I am with Jake

Not so Lonely Island
Me – Hey Jake, do you want some coconut water?
Jake – No, I don’t want coconut water, I just had coconut water, how much coconut water can a man drink? Okay, give me some coconut water.

And so, I and Jake drank coconut water.
Me – Sand, sea-shells, sea-shores, ships, sharks… ‘S’… aren’t you playing Jake?
Jake – Sea gulls, sea urchins and no, I am not playing.

Jake’s not a spoilsport.
Me – Nightingale knows the night and knows the stars.
Jake – Of course it does, it has been painted along. Painted all white, white in the night?

A classical realist, just generally I mean, nothing to do with international relations, that’s Jake.
Me – A word for me? Describing me? Like for you I’d say, Hvorfor Ikke that is Danish for Why Not.
Jake – Hvorfor that’s for you.

I won’t flounder and hence, I am super quiet. Dead quiet.
Me – Time’s so slow! (Laughing) That’s my joke, Jake.
Jake – Seems more like a taunt. Here, quickly, burrow my watch in the ground.

I took it and now it is in my pocket.
Me – Why so glum, chum?
Jake – Really? I have been yodelling for an hour. What’s wrong with you?

My chum’s so caring.
Jake – I see a ship… hurry, light a fire, fireworks, burn everything, now…
Me – But we are out of firecrackers… I used them while you yodelled and I danced.

Hey ya, my bad. Jake is all smiles.
Jake – No I am not, I am clenching my teeth. And stop adding these footnotes. I hate it.
Me – As you say, dear confidant.

Jake is awestruck.
Jake – I am more appalled than anything else.
Me – But no one can tell… I know you want to keep my morale high. Wait, where are you going? Oh, time for a stroll. This will be our 57th round around the island. Cool! Well, 57th or 59th?
Jake – (Talking to himself) God, kill me now.

Jake’s praying, god, just fulfil his wish, whatever it is.

Sunday, 18 June 2017

You Stardust

Step out you stardust, the door is wide open.

Why? Aren’t you ready? That table is your trunk, you packed it long back, ask the thick grime your feet are resting on. Lurking on the wall is a spider, is he your friend or not, don’t bother I tell you, he is on his own journey. For now the lamp is cold and dead, for now the darkness is not a thing unfamiliar, for now you have mourned too long, so just get up. Don’t you see the ants on work? You sulk and cough and spit and drink thinking life will just go away, but it doesn’t, not so easily. Get up, step out, it has been so long since you heard the sound of your own footsteps… deep resonance… connect once again to the earth. Shout or cry, dare or try and always happily fall… fall down for then you’ll learn to wake up… getup-getup. You turn away from the light, no-no it is not laughing at you, walk with it a mile, you’ll smile and shine too. The hands you’re resting, the head you’re swaying, the air you’re breathing knows better than you. Don’t worry for smoothly it will all come back to you, the sun rises and sets, the moon shines and hides, the wind plays and takes, the river nurtures and leaves, the sky stays yours forever – see up, get up. Witness, for the truth is waiting. Witness, for the time is calling. Witness, for your life is yours to rule. Aye! Aye! It is hard, bone-screeching, don’t listen to the stubborn emptiness, all it does is preaching. See, you’re up, take a step forward, one at a time. Push away the hindrances, let the mirror fall and break into umpteenth pieces, for you’re about to change into an image that the mirror cannot behold. Aye! Rub your eyes for now you'll see the world beyond. Keep walking.

Step out you stardust, the door is wide open!

Friday, 9 June 2017

Two Blind Crows

Ra-ra: Why did the window went SHUT… who closed it SHUT… my question is just HOW?

Ra-ra’s friend Coo stays quiet, looking absolutely nowhere.

Ra-ra: S-H-U-T right when I was about to pick my share and leave…

Coo: I believe you, it has been so many years since you first told me this story.

Ra-ra: (astonished) Many years you say, gone nuts… it happened an hour ago.

Coo: So you think.

Ra-ra: Coo this ain’t the time to argue.

Coo: This is.

Ra-ra: But we won’t.

Coo: We will.

Ra-ra: Hey, how is Will doing? Been a while…

Coo: A while? He died ages ago.

Ra-ra: O boy, you’re not in the mood to talk. Well… I… ah just forget it.

Coo: Forgetting is easy, a very natural thing.

Ra-ra: Hmm… (pause) Hey Coo, give me some space to stand.

Coo: You’re standing fine, 900 years have passed.

Ra-ra: 900? I came flying from the west port Oraffa city just now.

Coo: Oraffa city? Hah! Blind dreams!

Ra-ra: How dare you? I can see very well… you can’t, you blind ugly funny sounding bad crow!

Coo: I said blind dreams… didn’t call you blind.

Ra-ra: Oh, then let me apologise.

Coo: For what? We are blind, the world knows it. Yet…

Ra-ra: Blind we are, yes, yes… very much... (mumbles).

Coo: I’ll complete my sentence… yet we are still alive.

Ra-ra: (flaps wings) Death sentence, I have been given death sentence and yet I am alive.

Coo: Cool-cool yourself Ra-ra. We are together in this.

Ra-ra starts sobbing, mumbles again.

Coo: I am turning left.

Ra-ra: (softly) Left?

Coo: Turned.

Ra-ra: Wait for me!

Coo: Hey!

Ra-ra: I think I also turned left, unless it is the right or it is somewhere in the middle, who knows.

Coo: Not me.

Ra-ra: (laughs) You’re funny!

Both Ra-ra and Coo stand quietly. Coo speaks after sometime.

Coo: Hey Ra-ra, you never told me your famous window story.

Ra-ra: I didn’t? How come?

Coo: That’s the truth.

Ra-ra: Well, then listen… the window went SHUT... someone just closed it SHUT.

The two blind crows talked facing what they thought was the left.

Friday, 26 May 2017

Walking A Gatha

Walking straight, walking on the mountain listening to The Times They Are A Changin’ I saw nothing, neither the trees nor the rocks, neither the shadow nor the light, and just kept walking ahead. Mountain talked, I didn’t hear, until I bent a little. It said, ‘you will reach your destination, you will, for sure’, and happily I smiled, crossed my hands behind my back and continued walking.

Swiftly I moved forward, there was no stopping me. Dashing ahead I crossed jungles after jungles, I played with the shadows and the light, I didn’t even wait for the wind. Like a curse, definitely a curse, a disaster hit me - I started panting. It never happened all this while, why now? Then I remembered faintly of what the mountain told me… I pleaded it to guide me again, the mountain listened. It said, ‘know patience, know the truth and its power’, I bowed down and stopped walking. I stopped for the first time in my travel; I learned the art of deep breathing. Ages passed there; then I left in search.

In search of what I was looking for. I was looking for what I was in search of.

Familiar with the pace of the trees canopying me, stopping and listening to the rocks and their untold gathas, attuned with the shadow and the light, I kept walking when I reached near a ferociously musical river. It carried along ocean’s depth and waves’ nimble notes… ‘will merge with the ocean, I do not wait for anyone’, replied the river to my question - can you please let me pass.

So I changed my path and followed the river. Who said you can’t? Change… change and move ahead.

Right where the river met the ocean, where it all seemed to end, where trees, rocks, shadow and light all disappeared, music stayed by my side and showed me a narrow, slippery way to cross the river. I stepped in, the water was cold, but shallow and so I could cross easily. It was shallow for a reason.

Shallowness exists for a reason.

With joy and cheer I continued along, I danced on the way, I slept peacefully and then walked leisurely. I sang, the tune echoed. My mind envisioned a valley of flowers and pink clouds when suddenly I tumbled down. I was hurt. My dream shattered and cold winds bruised me badly. It started hailing. I shouted angrily for snatching my peace. Who knows at whom?

The weather opposed me and pinned me down, I accepted defeat. I kept lying half dead for the time to change… when it did, I woke up and saw as the fog disappeared that there was a huge mountain standing in front of me. I couldn’t stop smiling, a new journey was going to begin. Climbing the mountain I listened again to Dylan’s The Times They Are A Changin’. I didn’t know it, but I was free.

I have always been free.

The times they are a changin’ by Bob Dylan –

Friday, 19 May 2017

Unforgettably Yours

I dare you to forget not. Forget what not? Try to remember… remember that day when…

… for the first time you crawled… you struggled to walk… you hopped all along… you won a race… you tap danced with grace… you came in style… you left wearing a smile… you befriended the walking stick… you crawled for the second time…

… for the first time you were loved… you were pampered… you were jealous… you were told to share… you were lonely… you made a friend… you believed in dreams… you knew true joy… you hurt yourself… you stood up… you worshipped time… you quietly realised… you happily understood… you loved them back…

… for the first time you felt you knew absolutely nothing… you followed their path… you managed to survive… you built a new track… you knew right is right and wrong, wrong… you travelled in time… you accepted the change… you thoroughly read writings in brief… you said of course… you said not at all… you repented and laughed at the mistake… you cheered your take… you declared that you still knew absolutely nothing…

Everything is forgotten on the way, but the journey goes on… the journey that is unforgettably yours.

Monday, 8 May 2017

Let Go

Let go of it all. For once let it go. Your progress, your failures, your ideas, your hopes, your desires, your expectations, your beliefs, your treasures and those measures, consciously forget about it all. Keep yourself and your personality aside, make notions about nothing, pack the mistakes and parcel the troubles… to no one in particular, to no place known… after the mind finishes this task, say a happy goodbye to your mind. Be no one… no one you know, no one you dream of… just be… all this for a few minutes, right before you go off to sleep. Empty your mind and leave the body and sleep.

With time you’ll see how you can detach yourself from the game of opposites. You can be in a place above this and that. So let go, let go of fears and delights alike and know. 

Monday, 1 May 2017

Ik Onkar

Parvez it is familiar, because it is music… and music cannot be forgotten once the wavelength matches.
Parvez it is shining, because it is guiding… we all can follow, dawn to dusk, it is listening, it is reminding.
Parvez it is present, because it is true and timed for you… beyond measurements, answers and queues.
Parvez it is travelling, because it understands the journey is never ending… shimmering throughout, glorifying silence.
Parvez it is dancing, because it believes in union… one circle, two circles, circles resolve it all.
Parvez it is there, because you garnered patience.
Parvez it is talking, because you are listening.
Parvez it is knowable, though you still don’t know it.
Parvez look within.

Ik Onkar Sat Naam

(Read about Ik Onkar - )

Saturday, 15 April 2017

It said Why not? It said Once more.

The Daemon
- By Louise Bogan

Must I tell again
In the words I know
For the ears of men
The flesh, the blow?

Must I show outright
The bruise in the side,
The halt in the night,
And how death cried?

Must I speak to the lot
Who little bore?
It said Why not?
It said Once more.

So to believe that the journey shouldn’t be stopped, that it can’t be stopped… to believe that it is all knowable, understandable… to believe that slow or fast pace doesn’t matter… to believe that the one within is always, always listening… to believe that with patience comes the answer… to believe that the self is in making… to believe that laughter reaches out… to believe that everyone is rising… to believe that it is not just a mere idea, a dream, a happy wish or the mind’s trick… and to believe that everything happening is true, is true?

The Daemon replied with a simple nod.

Friday, 31 March 2017

The Archetypal Journey

“The contents of the collective unconscious are archetypes, primordial images that reflect basic patterns that are common to us all, and which have existed universally since the dawn of time.”
                               - Carl Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious

It is an archetypal journey. The action, the beckoning, the characteristic, the defined, the empowering, the foolish, the grand, the hierarchical, the idealistic, the justified, the karmic, the love-blind, the materialistic, the nurturing, the ordinary, the perilous, the quark-shaped, the resisting, the surviving, the tempestuous, the utopian, the visible, the wanderers, the X-catchers, the Y-believers, the zealous.

Collectively it is all done. But still the individual holds the absolute power to create… to create once again, to retell, to relive. And together we witness.

If you find the process as a slow one, then let the jester hit you with paradoxes. Understand, later you will, that every cell is wholly participating and it isn’t slow or fast, but magnificently beautiful.

This elemental connection when subtly enters the conscious, baffles and simultaneously glorifies us.

Nearing the known, reaching the unknown; beginning with a fear, ending triumphantly or vice-versa; thinking that it doesn’t matter, feeling that it does… each journey has a homeland.

Alone you walk ahead, collectively we follow. 

Monday, 20 March 2017

Silk Threads

Silk threads criss cross in high speed and after a moment’s patience it all slows down. The time stops calmly, the space lets you play.

You know nothing but brightness, you see everything in brightness. You breathe rhythmically.

Thoughts echo warmly until interrupted. Politely accept all the echoes, free yourself.

In this silence, when you hear the loud criss cross silk threads, stay and you will understand why.

Pranayama by Greg Dunn and Brian Edwards

Friday, 17 March 2017

The Map to Miyazaki

Well, the map in my possession is incomplete, I still have to collect many missing jigsaw pieces- Ponyo, Porco Rosso, Pom Poko and more. I am all AGOG!

Dominant colours– green, blue, white, yellow and red – on the map, endless stretches of farmlands, mountains, rivers, sunny days, foggy evenings, starry nights and cottony skies are fulfilling; colours reinstating you to the quiet you, making you sensitively aware. Wide EYES!

The map warmly takes you to different worlds; worlds you will strongly start to believe you belong in, you always did. Yes, each world on the map has that charm, each world is linked through MAGIC.

Magical creatures, seen for the first time as you follow the map, will become your close friends, the closest ones. Tell them your secrets to make them yours forever.

Princess Mononoke
The map took me to the magnificent majestic world of Princess Mononoke. I reveal, I confess I was afraid, threatened for my familiarity with, my memories of this life-journey disowned me and left. Alone I walked, met many Kodamas and I walked ahead. Alone and FASCINATED!

This world merges evil and good, rights and wrongs, anarchy and peace… thoughts and feelings of being in the centre with a grand forest and a grand iron fortress converging. I’ll return to this world, for I have to.

Do you know what Prince Ashitaka said to Lady Eboshi when she asked him what was he there for? Prince Ashitaka said - To see with eyes unclouded by hate. GRAND!

Spirited Away
In the world called Spirited Away, I was with Chihiro all the while even when she became Sen… or was I? She kept swinging on the threshold, meeting and understanding the spirits and their realm. 

With Chihiro I crossed the tunnel in the end, we turned together with a measure of hope, wanting, trust and belief. We left and the threshold disappeared, but the feeling stayed. The feeling is ALIVE.

My Neighbour Totoro
The map will take you, to your utter pleasure, both in the future and the past, in the known and the unknown, in their story and your story. Gladly I followed the dirt road and reached the world of Totoro, My Neighbour Totoro. All I did there was dancing, under the Huge Tree in the Tsukamori Forest along with Satsuki and Mei and Totoro and two small totoros.

[The music I danced to - ]

Déjà vu, dreams and fantasy fused together in this world and promised. A promise so DEEP, one never made before. 

Oh how the dreams never end, how we build on and on… maybe for the dreams speak to us honestly without any guilt, without shying from LOVE.

Howl's Moving Castle
I have been on Howl’s Moving Castle, what a wonderful world. But I warn you, it is like being in a dream, a lengthy dream, one which tackles evil and disgust and the power game; where love and compassion dimly shine and darkness shakes you from within, leaving you weak.

If you hold on, Howl the wizard fights back and casts a spell to restore harmony and balance. How well a spell can work? For how long will it preserve? Corruption spreads, how will it all end? Howl’s Flying Castle a dream like reality…

I left this world after learning how to make a castle fly – apart from Calcifer’s (the fire-demon) help you need to nurture freedom WITHIN. Voila!

The Wind Rises
And so the map showed me another beautiful world which was all about flying, The Wind Rises it was called. Know that flying and magic is a must in life. Abide by for there is magic WITHIN.

If you happen to forget yourself, truly forget yourself, may you be reminded as the wind rises, that you must LIVE.

Live to fulfil, to cherish, to create, to inspire, to love, to remember, to let go, to smile, to embrace the truth as it all ENDS.

I will continue to make the map to Miyazaki as slowly it is being revealed to me how the dreams are unfolded, how the stories are made, what it takes to truly believe and what a treasure living is.

Arigatou Gozaimasu!

P.S- My friend gave the first piece of this map, the one that took me to the world of Princess Mononoke; this is the tradition, I now pass it on to you.

Friday, 10 March 2017

Illimitable Splendour

A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true. Witnessing the colours dance by, I swayed along to see I am nowhere around.

Light’s brightness pierced through and through with love and warmth, permeating the space and beyond. Embracing it, I started to radiate, but didn’t see myself around.

The whole enchilada gathered momentum, passing and reaching the whole enchilada. I gazed and found the beginning and the destination to be the same, but I didn’t reveal it for I was happy and still, not present there.

Rhythm flowed through the grand wadis, deeply and rapidly it flowed to form a vortex. Whirling merrily in rhythm I followed without any wish for more or less, when I realised I am missing.

The sea of quietness fulfilled itself and the sound of stars falling enhanced it beautifully. I saw it in double wonderment because it was sublime and my presence there was a lie.

If not the gust of wind, what was so strong there, if not the heat of fire, what then burned majestically there, if not the heavens of this, that and all the worlds, what made it truly blissful there? I am not to answer, for I was undeniably not there.

I could never reach there, no ‘I’ ever did. One with the One, alive and in absolute existence, surpassing the limitations, one in union is the one with the answer. And once you get the answer you choose to forget it right before entering the door to illimitable splendour.

Monday, 20 February 2017

Loitering Mind

Minding the mind
It is kind of, sort of looking amazed and all it has done is talking… talking to itself. If thoughts wear colours then this mind is making rainbows after rainbows.

Mind’s petty issues
Whether a smoothie is meant to be always cold? If instead of right we had turned round and round? Why am I scared to say, ‘I said so’?

Mind’s grand tales
Oh, endless journey don’t you end… don’t you end before I set the hat right and check the change within and without with a smile. Don’t you end or change or stop or move or be false. Be happy.

Mind, when at peace
Waves, lights, colours ocean up and down for seconds, until the old stories return. Back and forth between peace and everything else.

Mind talks
And with enough repetitions dear mind, one is ought to remember it all.

Mind makes
The one standing under the shed, waiting or not waiting, unsure whether to wear the spectacles or not, is being made and unmade at that very moment.

Loitering mind
It rests quietly when one sleeps, but only to run wild and free in the dreams.

Sooner or later usher the mind beyond what it tells. Then have a laugh. A real laugh.

What and Where by Greg Dunn

Excerpts from the yet-to-be-written book – Unheard Voicemails

“If I have reached your voicemail, will my message also reach you… the message that was meant to be a talk… a conversation… will it be hea...