Long After You Left

Long after you left…

 

Your pointed words stayed with me

Often acting as effective antidotes

To the excesses of my own mind

 

All of my wild leaps of imagination

Swiftly cut down to size

By your pre-emptive acts of concern

 

Had it not been for you

I may’ve been lying fallen somewhere

Ditched by default of my own design

 

Yes, the credit for my salvation

Must be rightly accorded to you

And to the corrective power of sarcasm

 

For what could’ve otherwise been brutal

And left me hurt and wounded

Is now only a persistent dull ache…

 

I continue to exist- corrected, but wronged

Alive, but dead; breathing in a coffin

Shrouded in a symbolic spotless white.

Lost and Found

We are all in a sense blind

Without insight.

Understanding doesn’t follow the rhythm

Of day and night

And its own dawn comes after

Many troubled nights.

I walk on the earth

A soul tormented

By thoughts that are the machinations

Of an untruthful mind.

I know that I need saving

But don’t know who else can save me

But me…

This is the first time

I stand face to no-face

Challenging myself

To speak my truth

Or remain forever silent.

This is the first time

I wish to see myself defeated

By a higher truth.

For in that I know

Lies my return to a place that

I’m trying to create for myself

In an imaginary world.

My hands join in prayer

And a tear rolls down my cheek

Today I pray for silence

So that I may rest

And so that no thought

Can come in between me and myself.

Unpacking

It’s not about you

There is no ‘you’

There are only circumstances

So that desires may act

And through action

Be liberated from binding thought

 

But who do these desires belong to?

…They belong to me

‘Me’ is only a thought

A rather persistent one

It’s actually a misnomer…

There is no ‘me;’ but there is ‘am-ness.’

 

Sound, space and light

In their tireless play create

A world of forms, words and meanings

And become the experiences

That ‘am-ness’

Describes as ‘mine’

 

In repeatedly describing experiences as ‘mine’

It condenses into an identity

A limited being

Perpetually longing

For an abundance

That pretentious language has hidden away.

 

You and I

Can trace our ancestry to thought

The remnants of an inaccurate language

That didn’t have the words

To describe

The indescribable.

 

 

 

Yes, I know…

Yes, I know

That there will be suffering

For you

When you have to let go

Unwillingly

Of all that you have owned

And laid claim to

 

Yes, I know

That I too shall suffer

In your suffering

Attached as I am

To your heart

Yoked as I am

To your being

 

A separation

A severance

A theft

A murder

Tortures unleashed on pleasures unwilling to relent

It’s all inevitable

Yes, I know.

Reminder

I know you see me live

And ask of me all that I can give

But I’ve always wondered why

We don’t see each other die

Things often taken a turn

When the last remains burn

So easily we let go

Of all unworthy sorrow

And see clearly through moist eyes

That death  claims us…

 

Long before we actually die.

The Elite

I live in a mental asylum

With shadows for company

So powerful are my shadow-friends

That they’ve erected the walls

Of my asylum

For their existence

 

In its confinement

I yearn for friendship and company

Even if it is of the Unreal

The shadows beckon me to listen

Their amorphous forms speak in booming voices

That echo and resonate.

 

Their thoughts agree with my thoughts

That’s why we are friends…

We jog together in 10000-word dissertations

Or tickle each other with 140-character tweets

And I feel accomplished

That I now have friends in high places…

 

I now speak their slang

And their concerns

Are my concerns

Their outrage is my outrage

Happiness lies in the camaraderie

Between one bubble and another.

 

When you burst my bubble

I stand vacant

Alone in my madness…

And with this painful awareness

That I can’t see, or hear, or feel anyone

Outside of the thick walls

Of my mental asylum.

 

I have been shut in

To be protected from any contact with the breathing…

My walls are thick, impenetrable and safe

My shadow-friends erected them so that they could play

And oh yes, my walls have names

Please meet: Ideology. Fear. Pain. Self-loathing.

Desire’s Destiny

Within me

So many have lived

and scripted my story

 

Some have stayed

for decades

for years

 

Pined

 

Agonized

 

Washed away

by floods of tears.

 

Some come visiting

a month, a week

and leave soon after

they find their seek

 

Coveted guests

who appear

for a minute or two

Rejuvenate

Refresh and

Renew.

 

A residue of wisdom

on ways to cope

They leave behind

magical wings of hope.

 

My nothingness defined

by their very being

They’ve challenged what I know

of my seeing.

 

They’ve come to me

inhabited my space

They’ve shown their artistry

their canvas- my face.

 

Desires in search

for room, for chest

They’ve come to me

to manifest.

 

It’s in rare moments like these

I stand face to face

Watching in silence

 

My nothingness

 

My space.

 

I know now

I can clearly see

My space is nothing

But desire’s destiny.

 

 

Money

Money is that bone of contention that has created some of the world’s broadest divisions: the haves and the have-nots; the materialists and the spiritualists; the pragmatists and the philosophers. These divisions, however, are absolute only in theory and most of us find ourselves sitting on the fence- in between the two extremes of the money debate.  We understand the need to be astute about money but fear its corrupting influence. We’re glad we have enough, but would like just a little bit more. We want to help those in need but want to be convinced beyond reasonable doubt that they truly need it. How come we give so freely of our advice but tighten up in cautious knots in when expected to give of our money? How do we develop the right perspective on money? How do we measure its correct importance in our lives? Most of us have developed a socially polite attitude towards money, which is more often than not, at variance with how we internally feel about it.

Although it started as a simple instrument of exchange, it has become that very thing of value that we, wittingly or unwittingly trade our every thing for. It seems to have become the value of all values. We trade our time, our skills, our youth, our family relationships (sometimes) and our health in its pursuit. It has been the basis of many a friendship as also the basis of many a break-up. We see it as compensation, reward, power; as oxygen to our way of life, as a license to behave indulgently, as a marker of social status, as an expression of love and in the very least- albeit fundamentally- as a currency of trade.

The topic of ‘Money’ interestingly brings to the surface all possible themes of thought such as: ideas about right and wrong, just and unjust, beautiful and ugly, the sublime and the vulgar, moral and immoral, the astute and the naïve and the pragmatic and the philosophical. This only goes to show that money has penetrated deeply into all aspects of our lives. Money tends to cleave our perception. Through its prospect, our world stands divided into two halves, which are forever in conflict and tireless debate with each other.  And we find ourselves on a pendulum course swaying from one side of the debate to the other. Why is it that a simple instrument of exchange fosters in our minds such a perpetual restlessness?

With the exponential growth of industry and commerce, we’re all inevitably money-minded. In today’s world everything we wish for, for a comfortable existence, can be acquired- for a price.  The effect of such money-mindedness is that we’re always sizing things up; measuring their worth; pronouncing them desirable or undesirable and feverishly seeking profit over loss. Our economic system has permeated every other aspect of our being and has now also become our philosophical system. Everything we have, we believe is worthy of trade. In fact in a strange travesty of thought, we consider only those things about us valuable that we can trade in a market place. Money- in our lives- has overstepped its boundaries and today, it seems, everything has a price.

… But then, is such an occurrence or such a circumstance, unnatural? Is it really an indication of man’s sin and his deviation from his spirituality? Is the business of living at odds with man’s spiritual existence? Or is the entire business of living- with all its trials and tribulations- the mere working of an indifferent natural law? Is it possible at all- one wonders- to be misguided, even in matters of money and blind ambition? It almost seems- on close examination- that the law naturally corrects all excesses and that its ultimate aim is to arrive to a state of equilibrium and balance.

Money- as it always ultimately reveals itself – doesn’t have any attribute, worth or power of its own. It is we who give it its reputation. Some of us fear it; some of us worship it, some serve it, some vehemently deny it importance and some others master it. It’s very apparent that money behaves exactly as our mind prompts it to behave. If you prompt it to lord over you, it will. Money itself comes with its price and as such will extract that price. Sometimes we pay with our health, sometimes we trade our relationships and mostly we pay with our time.  Like the Merchant of Venice, money will try and extract its pound of flesh.

Yet, money it seems, is an instrument of trade on more than one level. Through its temptation and false promises and then through its inevitable betrayal, man is left to himself- at first lost in its pursuit and then heroically redeemed.

So why is it that everything must be paid for?  Why must man pay to discover himself? Every bright new day has to wait for the end of a long, lingering night. The transactions of money in our lives only reflect the working of another, higher natural law. Existence is never even. All highs are followed by lows; abundance by paucity; day by night and inhalation by exhalation. All that comes must go. And for all that comes, something else must go. Nature seeks balance; a repose in nothingness. Nature favors neither the rich nor the poor. She simply ensures and sustains the co-existence of both. There cannot be one without the other. The presence of riches in one area of your life is always balanced by an equal poverty in another. The problem really with the human mind is that the rich are blind to their poverty and the poor are blind to their wealth. Like a famous wit has said: ‘Success has made failures of so many men.’ When our self-esteem is derived from the weight of our wallets, it shows a dangerous dependence over money and a great poverty of spirit. Money is only a shadow. And gigantic as it may seem in a certain light, chasing it amounts to nothing more than chasing a shadow. The real work that we do, in fact, is in the least rewarded by money. Its higher reward comes in the form of greater self-reliance and a gradual independence from all things external.

In the final analysis, whichever way you look at it, the balance sheet of life always ends in a perfect tally. We’re all poor to only that extent that we’re rich.

Appearances

Even though it was clear-

She was dressed to impress

And to re-write more authoritatively

The tattered script

And the battered role

That was her story,

 

I remember not

How she looked;

Or how she felt;

Or what she said

Or what in essence

Was her sartorial sensibility

 

I remember only

An abstract arrest…

A loss of contact…

After touching upon

Her pathetic and desperate need

To impress and redress.