For a bowl of water give a godly meal;
For a kindly gesture bow thou down with zeal;
For a simple penny pay thou back with gold;
If thy life be rescued, life do not withhold.
Thus the words and actions of the wise regard;
Every little service tenfold they reward.
But the truly noble know all men as one,
And return with gladness good for evil done.
-Shamal Bhatt
Sitting in the airport just a few minutes from leaving this wondrous place I've come to know and love as a home over the last 6-months... Eagerly anticipating the next leg of this journey called life and relishing the one just past.
I wrote this stream-of-love poem in January during a pilgrimage, in a temple in Puri, near a tree over 500 years old, under which countless mysteries and miracles did unfold.
India, I will miss you and I will see you again. You have my word. You have my heart.
In India inside is out. And outside comes in. Whether or not you like it or want it or think you need it. Dogs, cows, men are dead in the street at your feet or above your head as the case may be. The weather is made to enter the homes and the homes are made in a meek attempt to keep it out and keep you cool. Darkness is light and light is so bright when the smiles of locals turn on. Even though their teeth which they brush in the early morning in the street are yellowed and crooked. Her streets will make you feel miserable if you are offended by defecation and smoke, noise, pollution and sewage afoot. If you can't dance around the tragedy don't come to her shores. You'll surely be tossed left and right in
your mind and slammed as by the waves of her ocean or frozen further as by the snow in her mountains or burnt to a crisp of nothingness by her sun larger than in other parts; but it will be for your own good. It will break you open like no teenage love can and it will let you bleed right on the street in front of people who barely bat an eyelash. But that blood will be the sweetest relief to ever seep from your veins and you'll be so far beyond caring if you're loved and needed because you will be in love with something greater than a person faking to need you to make you feel whole. So far beyond faking a role you thought was real for the sake of picking something up because you once felt so empty without the covering. You'll be so far beyond commenting on the dress or smell or events to fill the time, the air, the space between you and the rest of the human race because you will be so deep in it you won't need to point and stare like you never saw such a thing. It will see you and you might feel naked but no one will comment or care and there you might find a gap for freedom to slip in and your ego to fall down around your dirty, dust covered soul. And your mind will be silenced, will stop chasing the wind of emptiness you thought could fill you in, on and on and on again. Aloof to public opinion moreover your own voice of unreasonable dry and sterile vision will soak up the sounds that force you to listen to ancient truths in language that speaks to invisible energy inside you never knew lived, deeper than the sheen of newly found proofs, realer to your needs than justified closed-circuit cold n cut-up clues. She will make you understand. You will be attracted on the other hand. Your small soul might come out to play with the Supersoul in the light of day. And if you're fancy and full of buttons to push your machinery, God help you, will heat up and burn out and all the plastic guards you wield to protect yourself will melt like the trash piles of non recyclable matter -- dead and bringing you to the senses that quietly shake and shatter in your once empty now reality-filled head. You won't be holding on to your Louisiana purchase, clutching property with greedy need and seeking more through sight of dull eyes with a dumb sheen. She will force you to forget you ever thought you could possess anything more than the spirit that free love, true love reflects. That love will lift your consciousness so high you will finally feel good with humility brining you down with the top of your head on the ground, praying, praying, praying that you'll never forget how. She dares you to try and put your finger on it, hint: it's near your wrist where the pulse rests to show your heart is doing it, doing it all for the best. And chanting in the streets you will run into shy smiles too sweet and knowing to protest and hand shakes to send you on your way with a wish as blessings will pour if in a search for absolute truth you once did, still do invest. Let go. Roll in the dust and live a little more than you ever thought made sense. Steep in the source where it pleases that source. And if you can believe, if you dare believe, you might, for once, really be free
I wrote this stream-of-love poem in January during a pilgrimage, in a temple in Puri, near a tree over 500 years old, under which countless mysteries and miracles did unfold.
India, I will miss you and I will see you again. You have my word. You have my heart.
In India inside is out. And outside comes in. Whether or not you like it or want it or think you need it. Dogs, cows, men are dead in the street at your feet or above your head as the case may be. The weather is made to enter the homes and the homes are made in a meek attempt to keep it out and keep you cool. Darkness is light and light is so bright when the smiles of locals turn on. Even though their teeth which they brush in the early morning in the street are yellowed and crooked. Her streets will make you feel miserable if you are offended by defecation and smoke, noise, pollution and sewage afoot. If you can't dance around the tragedy don't come to her shores. You'll surely be tossed left and right in
your mind and slammed as by the waves of her ocean or frozen further as by the snow in her mountains or burnt to a crisp of nothingness by her sun larger than in other parts; but it will be for your own good. It will break you open like no teenage love can and it will let you bleed right on the street in front of people who barely bat an eyelash. But that blood will be the sweetest relief to ever seep from your veins and you'll be so far beyond caring if you're loved and needed because you will be in love with something greater than a person faking to need you to make you feel whole. So far beyond faking a role you thought was real for the sake of picking something up because you once felt so empty without the covering. You'll be so far beyond commenting on the dress or smell or events to fill the time, the air, the space between you and the rest of the human race because you will be so deep in it you won't need to point and stare like you never saw such a thing. It will see you and you might feel naked but no one will comment or care and there you might find a gap for freedom to slip in and your ego to fall down around your dirty, dust covered soul. And your mind will be silenced, will stop chasing the wind of emptiness you thought could fill you in, on and on and on again. Aloof to public opinion moreover your own voice of unreasonable dry and sterile vision will soak up the sounds that force you to listen to ancient truths in language that speaks to invisible energy inside you never knew lived, deeper than the sheen of newly found proofs, realer to your needs than justified closed-circuit cold n cut-up clues. She will make you understand. You will be attracted on the other hand. Your small soul might come out to play with the Supersoul in the light of day. And if you're fancy and full of buttons to push your machinery, God help you, will heat up and burn out and all the plastic guards you wield to protect yourself will melt like the trash piles of non recyclable matter -- dead and bringing you to the senses that quietly shake and shatter in your once empty now reality-filled head. You won't be holding on to your Louisiana purchase, clutching property with greedy need and seeking more through sight of dull eyes with a dumb sheen. She will force you to forget you ever thought you could possess anything more than the spirit that free love, true love reflects. That love will lift your consciousness so high you will finally feel good with humility brining you down with the top of your head on the ground, praying, praying, praying that you'll never forget how. She dares you to try and put your finger on it, hint: it's near your wrist where the pulse rests to show your heart is doing it, doing it all for the best. And chanting in the streets you will run into shy smiles too sweet and knowing to protest and hand shakes to send you on your way with a wish as blessings will pour if in a search for absolute truth you once did, still do invest. Let go. Roll in the dust and live a little more than you ever thought made sense. Steep in the source where it pleases that source. And if you can believe, if you dare believe, you might, for once, really be free
Today is my nephew Teo's 2nd birthday. Ugh just thinking of him makes me melt with love and happiness because he is the freaking cutest, cutest, smartest, sweetest, funniest, bestest, most beautiful being everrrrrr. Yes. Even cuter than me sticking my hand up farm animals' backsides, sucking on lemons and running around in one sock doing handstands as a baby.
So anywho. It being his birthday, I had an idea for a gift. I am so doing this for my future bebe... Create an email address and through the early years, occasionally send messages to it. Like, "Dear Veda [don't steal my baby name!!], Today you ate grains for the first time and finished the whole bowl!" Or, "Today you were a real baby asshole."
The whole family can get in on the fun. With grandad sending emails on fishing and powerpoint forwards of magnificent castles in the fog and grandma sending simple, heartfelt messages of love.
Then at 13, gift the kid with the password and a storehouse of memories.
Best. Modern. Time. Capsule. Ever!!
So anywho. It being his birthday, I had an idea for a gift. I am so doing this for my future bebe... Create an email address and through the early years, occasionally send messages to it. Like, "Dear Veda [don't steal my baby name!!], Today you ate grains for the first time and finished the whole bowl!" Or, "Today you were a real baby asshole."
The whole family can get in on the fun. With grandad sending emails on fishing and powerpoint forwards of magnificent castles in the fog and grandma sending simple, heartfelt messages of love.
Then at 13, gift the kid with the password and a storehouse of memories.
Best. Modern. Time. Capsule. Ever!!
We close ourselves off.
We find it annoying and disrespectful to visit one another's homes unexpectedly, inhibiting spontaneous expressions of service and love, instead of joyfully receiving the guest as if he or she were a gift. In India and the Middle East, the guest is God. And when cooking for large parties, they always make more and never waste what's left. Yes, it can be seen as a "cultural" difference, but as humans, what makes Americans more rigid, stuck up and uninviting?
We are obsessed with being in control of our image but ignore controlling ourselves, primarily the mind and senses.
We keep the world and each other at a comfortable distance, a space in which we can manipulate our images and pay shrinks to plunge in and figure it all out for us instead of dealing with our very interesting and real stuff face to face -- with one another, where you can't escape it, can't suppress it; eventually coming to appreciate it, even realizing that your mind was making the shadow bigger than it really was. Or, we deal with our stuff indirectly and ineffectively, via an elevated pop star or 10 o'lock news martyr.
We deny ourselves the opportunities to get in touch with the very essence of life and gorge ourselves on artificial substitutions -- TV shows, gossip magazines, endless images, credit-based buying of what won't last and won't satisfy; not you, who bought it to impress and not they who are too busy also self-obsessing to notice. It's a fake world we like to consume at a higher cost than what it takes to be honest and occasionally uncomfortable, naked of the signifiers we layer for fabricated meaning when we could be picking up and collectively validating what's got real meaning, albeit little monetary value.
We are the center of our own universe, aiming all of our efforts to please the body and senses, enjoying unilaterally.
We are accustomed to comfort for the body and stifle the soul's creative nature by unceasingly purchasing every solution, ignoring the pulse of life who's very purpose it is to seek and exercise those solutions. Convenience has made us fat, tired, lazy, taxed, disconnected, dissatisfied, deluded, entitled and uninspired. And any man in (material) control who is serving you this conveience, doesn't have the answer he's selling, is merely raking it in and investing in more of the same, just under a different name.
This so-called convenience has divorced us from the community of cooperation and love and enslaved us to the separating, capitalistic sense of (false) independence. We've all become dependent on the middle man, and from all directions seemingly inescapably, simultaneously serve this middle man to soullessly sell us slop while having forgotten the perfectly fine abilities we each have to depend on one another in economically efficient and connection-encouraging exchanges. And this can be seen at the simplest level -- making, serving and sharing foods; confiding our truths, needs, failures and hopes; giving a helping hand regardless of tax status and plate prices.
We create events primarily to glorify our names and make money instead of to learn something new, make friendships and speak of ideas higher and more uplifting than past gossip or "who are you wearing".
Running this charade is a false idea that the charade is where the happiness is. But get in a room, alone. Turn off the sound, the noise, the flurry. Listen to the silence behind the story.
Is it full like your heart?
Or terrifyingly empty?
Are you truly alone?
Or are you sharing in the presence of something bigger?
And for the really big question: Would you even know it?
(Hint: the media wouldn't have been the one to inform you.)
There is real goodness, light, truth and happiness. It's just not under the rocks we've been trained to look under...
*Edited to add: while these generalizations are not meant to address a whole nation-state of individuals, I am making a broad assessment of some habits and tendencies noted specifically in America. My critique aims to shed light on what stands out as debilitating in American life when compared to what I have observed and experienced in other countries where I have spent time (in Europe, Central America, Africa and India) and from what I have learned in exchanges with people from a myriad of cultures, religions and socio-economic backgrounds.
We find it annoying and disrespectful to visit one another's homes unexpectedly, inhibiting spontaneous expressions of service and love, instead of joyfully receiving the guest as if he or she were a gift. In India and the Middle East, the guest is God. And when cooking for large parties, they always make more and never waste what's left. Yes, it can be seen as a "cultural" difference, but as humans, what makes Americans more rigid, stuck up and uninviting?
We are obsessed with being in control of our image but ignore controlling ourselves, primarily the mind and senses.
We keep the world and each other at a comfortable distance, a space in which we can manipulate our images and pay shrinks to plunge in and figure it all out for us instead of dealing with our very interesting and real stuff face to face -- with one another, where you can't escape it, can't suppress it; eventually coming to appreciate it, even realizing that your mind was making the shadow bigger than it really was. Or, we deal with our stuff indirectly and ineffectively, via an elevated pop star or 10 o'lock news martyr.
We deny ourselves the opportunities to get in touch with the very essence of life and gorge ourselves on artificial substitutions -- TV shows, gossip magazines, endless images, credit-based buying of what won't last and won't satisfy; not you, who bought it to impress and not they who are too busy also self-obsessing to notice. It's a fake world we like to consume at a higher cost than what it takes to be honest and occasionally uncomfortable, naked of the signifiers we layer for fabricated meaning when we could be picking up and collectively validating what's got real meaning, albeit little monetary value.
We are the center of our own universe, aiming all of our efforts to please the body and senses, enjoying unilaterally.
We are accustomed to comfort for the body and stifle the soul's creative nature by unceasingly purchasing every solution, ignoring the pulse of life who's very purpose it is to seek and exercise those solutions. Convenience has made us fat, tired, lazy, taxed, disconnected, dissatisfied, deluded, entitled and uninspired. And any man in (material) control who is serving you this conveience, doesn't have the answer he's selling, is merely raking it in and investing in more of the same, just under a different name.
This so-called convenience has divorced us from the community of cooperation and love and enslaved us to the separating, capitalistic sense of (false) independence. We've all become dependent on the middle man, and from all directions seemingly inescapably, simultaneously serve this middle man to soullessly sell us slop while having forgotten the perfectly fine abilities we each have to depend on one another in economically efficient and connection-encouraging exchanges. And this can be seen at the simplest level -- making, serving and sharing foods; confiding our truths, needs, failures and hopes; giving a helping hand regardless of tax status and plate prices.
We create events primarily to glorify our names and make money instead of to learn something new, make friendships and speak of ideas higher and more uplifting than past gossip or "who are you wearing".
Running this charade is a false idea that the charade is where the happiness is. But get in a room, alone. Turn off the sound, the noise, the flurry. Listen to the silence behind the story.
Is it full like your heart?
Or terrifyingly empty?
Are you truly alone?
Or are you sharing in the presence of something bigger?
And for the really big question: Would you even know it?
(Hint: the media wouldn't have been the one to inform you.)
There is real goodness, light, truth and happiness. It's just not under the rocks we've been trained to look under...
*Edited to add: while these generalizations are not meant to address a whole nation-state of individuals, I am making a broad assessment of some habits and tendencies noted specifically in America. My critique aims to shed light on what stands out as debilitating in American life when compared to what I have observed and experienced in other countries where I have spent time (in Europe, Central America, Africa and India) and from what I have learned in exchanges with people from a myriad of cultures, religions and socio-economic backgrounds.
