Happy does not always mean ‘not sad’
Silence does not naturally mean ‘peace and harmony’.
Disagreement does not mean ‘disrespect’.
Struggle need not mean ‘suffering’.
Anger doesn’t necessarily mean ‘hatred’.
Interpretation is the limitation of understanding.
Antonyms are not always
The opposite condition
Synonyms are not always
The same thing.
Wait….
because life is disinterested
in outcomes.
Its incorporation of time
is not for determining
gain and loss…
Time is the architect of change.
Nothing within its ambit
remains the same.
Art is not the created object;
Art is Creativity that is
In the process of searching
The beautiful, the meaningful,
The melancholy, the strange,
The wondrous, the banal,
The ugly…
The right and the wrong.
These qualities cannot be created
By will…by intention…by mastery of technique.
They can only be expressed as
An understanding-in-process.
The artist therefore, is not the creator
But the perceiver, the feeler and the thinker
Whose work it is to converse with life
Authentically; and therefore artistically.
We create concepts
To understand reality.
Yet the real can only be found
Through a direct encounter;
Devoid of all prior learning;
With no filter.
While concepts can pre-determine
And inform our observations
They can also keep us from observing.
To know is to know that
What you know is another’s seeing.
That which doesn’t speak to you is not real.
One may be well-versed with concepts
One may have earned degrees of learning
Yet all such knowledge will one day
Disappear like vapour
If it is not something that has found you
While you were on your quest of the truth.
What then is real?
That state prior to all creation…
The nothingness that precedes
Every idea…every speculation…every thought…
That which stands outside every conceptualisation…
Including this one.
Be–
Without trying to be
Or trying to make others become
That is not work…
The true meaning of work
Is to discover within your relationships
With ideas, ideals and people…
That sweet emotion of surrender and devotion…
Such–
That to serve
Becomes more incumbent
Than to be served.
And to ascend
To so high a faith
That you can stop
Your pointless pursuit of outcomes.
Knowing well
That the highest intelligence is spiritual.
And all that needs to be done will–
In spite of your efforts- get done.
Do not go into the night
With stains, residue, dirt…
Or the debris of collapsed hopes
And unfulfilled dreams.
Bathe… cleanse yourself
In the flow of time
Exfoliated by the roughness of sorrow
Realize that in your life story
You’re but a character playing a part.
Close the book of your life
Ever so gently…
What happened is now over.
Do not carry with you
Into a new dawn
What should be dissolved
In the nothingness of the night.
Time is a fabric
That we’ve all been given.
Fashioning it is our art.
Some of us proportion it
To the pleasures our bodies seek;
Some to the moods of the mind…
Some to the imagination of the intellect…
Some purpose it to be
An offering of love.
The art of fashion
Is an ancient art
Its actions and office
Pre-dating runways, designers and brands…
How we pattern, cut and stitch together
Our fabric of time…
And how we imprint our sentiments on it…
Or how we embellish it with our hopes…
Is a fashioning action that is imbued with intention.
The way we style our time
How we weave together
Our experiences and our memories
Or crochet together our prayers and dreams…
Or knit into a warmth
Our relationships…
Or layer into a look our old and new–
Is ultimately an expression of who we are
And also, what we are hoping to be.
If blame were a means
Of yielding remorse, realization
And then correction,
We all would’ve achieved an ideal world…
We wouldn’t be living
With old wounds still festering
Blame can only
Pin a problem to a person;
It cannot help him resolve it.
All he will see is that
For all that went wrong
It was he who was blamed.
What have we done with time–
Pathologically molested it!
It holds us now
In its crumpled bosom
Perpetually agitated.
In a curious twist of irony
Whatever man has tried to control
Has in turn, controlled him.
We stand today
Beggared
Impoverished of time
Given that we chose
Consumption over contentment
Money over wealth
Productivity over art
Activity over stillness.
Seeing you today–
So glorious… so beautiful…
Pausing to admire you–
Was a gift…
Precious… momentary…
I had to rush though–
‘Now’ had fallen off a cliff
Pushed over by ‘You’ll-be-late!’
Morality is not a garb
That you put on
To appear better than others…
Neither is it a yardstick
By which you measure others
And gauge their integrity.
To be moral
Is to keep intact your character
So that you may stand strong
Against the onslaught
Of all sorts of demands from the world.
Unaltered. Uncorrupted.
The question to ponder on
Is who or what
Determines your actions?
And are they, or those things
Going to be responsible
For the outcomes your actions will yield?
Morality is always intrinsically determined
And almost always-
Extrinsically challenged.
The world is a mirror…
But one that stands sullied
By the dirt and grime of ambition.
To be moral
Is to reject the surface
And seek answers within a quieter oasis…
And through a clearer reflection.
The world cannot guide you
It is not designed to give you direction.
Wit. Wisdom. Wonder... 