Monday, January 17, 2011

may a thousand mondays bloom



they seem to call out to me from where they are lying on the road. so i bend and pick them up. flowers, petals, colors, fragrance. i pick the occasional one up and put it on a tree, on grass, on soil, in the temple or in my pocket. why i do so i really do not know. and on the occasion it is a dangerous whimsy, especially if the flower is in the middle of the road. the act is spontaneous. imagine it from a car's perspective. one moment there's a professor sauntering down the road. the next, he's disappeared from plain view. vanished. where did he go?! (the blessed man bent to pick up a flower :-) and hey, there hes doing the boogie walk on the road again. where did he suddenly appear from!


i've been to this place before. in the days of our childhood, my cousin sister, vinita, had this habit of picking up empty matchbox covers from the road. it was a foregone conclusion. vinita sees an empty matchbox on the road, its time on the road is numbered! and she didn't even smoke! was a source of immense entertainment to us. how mercilessly we teased her. turned out that most of the matchbox cases had images of our gods and goddesses printed on them (at least in those days :-) and she couldn't bear to see them trampled. had a devout heart from childhood itself, this sister of mine. and sings like an angel :-)


so the sins of my past are visiting me now :-) and i bend down to pick up the occasional flower from the road because i cant bear to see it trampled too :-) so much beauty these flowers have brought into our life. effortlessly. just by being themselves :-)


a flower, a petal, a color, a fragrance. a single flower can transform a barren space. their collective presence changes our world itself! to walk down the road that leads to asb when the yellow flowers (asters?) are in full bloom is to be an emperor walking on a yellow carpet laid by nature, is to be part of a festive explosion of nature's joy. the flowers in yercaud bear especially vibrant smiles and their celebrations begin even as the bus is climbing those 22 hair pin bends to that little heaven on earth. each season has its hue, and how!


the joy of seeing the flowers bloom in your own home. the tenderness of the buds when they first appear (and the number of prayers it takes sometimes to make them appear :-), the freshness of the first flowering, the magnificence of the full bloom, and the sadness when they begin wilting. you are experiencing the flow, the deep mystery of life itself. all in a matter of a few days:-)


all in a matter of a few days. so much that the flowers are teaching us. the meaning of true beauty. the colors of joy when expressed without motive or striving  (look at how they smile :-). the fullness of a life lived without self-concern and without judgement (look at the flowers, the saints constantly remind us, how equally they share their beauty and fragrance. no one is excluded.). and the fragility of our very life itself. here today, and gone before you could say "please. i want a few more years! you've got the wrong person!" this evanescence, this freshness, this vulnerability is the very beauty of life. every moment matters, live it fully, for the next one may never come.

and when the flowers do wilt, when the bloom decays, when the fragrance mutates, it is no less beautiful, the saints remind us - for this is the very process thru which life is renewing itself, the sacrifice that announces that life will be blooming again. look deeply and you will see the compost in the rose and the rose in the compost. no i didnt say this! i first came across it while reading thich nhat hanh or "thay" (teacher), a vietnamese monk and one of shobhana's favorite contemporary spiritual teachers. i can't quite claim that i can see the rose in the compost. but it sure does ring true :-)


"thay" is not only one of this day's most inspiring spiritual personalities (he came of age in a broken, ravaged, war torn vietnam to become, like the dalai lama, one of the most powerful voices for peace in a world gone mad) , he is a phenomenal poet too. his poetry has illumined these mails before and i return to a very beautiful benediction as this weeks choice.


Disappearance
  the leaf tips bend
under the weight of dew.
Fruits are ripening
in Earth's early morning.
Daffodils light up in the sun.
The curtain of cloud at the gateway
of the garden path begins to shift:
have pity for childhood,
the way of illusion.
 
Late at night,
the candle gutters.
In some distant desert,
a flower opens.
And somewhere else,
a cold aster
that never knew a cassava patch
or gardens of areca palms,
never knew the joy of life,
at that instant disappears-
man's eternal yearning.
 
Walk and touch peace every moment.
Walk and touch happiness every moment.
Each step brings a fresh breeze.
Each step makes a flower bloom.
Kiss the Earth with your feet.
Bring the Earth your love and happiness.
The Earth will be safe
when we feel safe in ourselves.
thich nhat hanh

kiss the earth with your feet then. bring the earth your love and happiness and a thousand mondays will bloom for there is in us something that no power can take away. may we be that flower :-)

much love,
d&s

Thursday, December 2, 2010

......surely must be a monday today


theres a cold rain falling outside, the gurgle of hot dark coffee, shobhana's chocolate brownie melting where the tongue meets the taste, the quiet of this rare evening at home and rashid khan soaring. i've seen worse days :-)

surely must be a monday today in an alternate universe. otherwise why would i be writing you this email today?! the rains taken a curved line and joined the summer and winter and i'm not complaining. the weather has been incessantly glorious this year. and theres even a winter in ettimadai. well, almost! but the sweaters and the monkey caps are out (on some), and the skin occasionally starts singing when serenaded by the cool wind for a kiss. i like the cold! the lower the temperatures drop the more i enjoy my cold water baths (and the shorter they get :-)

i have enjoyed the winters of my life though they're almost a mist in my memory now, coimbatore not really having a winter it can boast about. that cold misty morning winter fog of delhi, calcutta and now, yercaud. and the joy of snuggling in just a bit longer under the blanket :-) the hot tulsi chais of the delhi winter afternoons and the hot lemon teas of the joka winter afternoons. that seeking of the winter sun and its slowly diffusing warmth. the gloriously colored sweaters and stoles of the delhi girls, winter shopping in sarojini nagar and connaught place, the vibrantly alive cultural scene of delhi winters, and that soft sooty dusk of winter evenings. as the temperatures dropped. and then the mist returned.

the misty fogs of winter. there were times in joka when the fog was so thick that you could eat it as ice-cream. there were nights it hung low, somewhere between the ankles and the neck. and we were all disembodied ghosts walking in the iim campus with just our heads visible. and if you were really short it could get really interesting :-)

and snow. i remember the way my bathroom slippers sunk into that soft white carpet on that first snowy winter of my life when i was visiting my brother in chicago. bathroom slippers! those were the days when nothing could separate me from my bathroom slippers, much to my families despair. that chicago snow cured that habit rather quick :-) but the snow that snow! when the snow first announces its presence in your world, it does something to you. as karan johar would say "kuch kuch hota hai"!

it was the last thursday of november the last week, and its a very special celebration in america that they call thanksgiving. wikipedia tells us that it was prinicipally a harvest festival in the us and canada, a thanksgiving for a bountiful harvest. much as in many of our own festivals in india. and as in our own festivals its a time when families get together, and feast! thanksgiving dinners are legendary, though for some reason not very popular among turkeys (:-). and we had our share of some too. wonderful multicultural memories these - american (peter saar), sri lankan (ammi), carribean-japanese (roblyn & yumi). beautiful friendships they were, that we feasted upon...

the soul of thanksgiving is of course in the thanks giving. and its a funny thing this gratitude. its taps are often rusty, they open slowly and with some effort but once open, the flow becomes unstoppable sometimes. where do you stop?! once you start truly reflecting, theres only thanksgiving, little else. shobhana just finished the book shes been writing and was working on the preface and acknowledgements recently. and that acknowledgements page just expanded and expanded! when i think of our times in ettimadai, when i really reflect upon them, then all the complaints and cribs slip away like thieves in the dark of the night. all that remains is an immense thanksgiving. how much love & respect this place has given us.

this weeks poem is yet another another return. to one of my favorite poets - e e cummings. already featured in the monday mails, e e cummings returns to put words to a familiar feeling, in ways only he can.


i thank you God for this most amazing...

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth) 

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e e cummings

and thank you too. to all of you who actually wrote in to ask "hey, what happened to my monday morning mail?!" i was beginning to wonder too! but you asked, and the mail returned :-) and even i get the pleasure of reading it :-) thank you and may these mondays of all the parallel universes of our lives always be filled with this. thanksgiving.

much love,
d&s