How temporarily relevant every material thing is...temporarily useful, temporarily pleasant, and temporarily meaningful...and yet at the
moment something in us feels that if only we can possess that particular object,
this one thing we could be so happy, so content.
And ultimately at some point
in time, that definitive moment comes when all our possessions, all the objects, all the stuff
we so meticulously collected over our lives stays here in this physical realm, as
our last journey out of this realm commences. What happens to all that stuff –
the stuff of our temporary lives? Do we ever wonder about this all the while we are busy collecting, possessing, accumulating? Do we ever imagine, even for a split second, how will our loved ones handle all that stuff we so carefully kept in our closets, cupboards, and drawers?
Perhaps the real focus of our lives should be on accumulating
the stuff of the hearts. The love, care, sweetness, tenderness, faith, trust, generosity and compassion we invest in our
relationships and bonds with all who enter our lives are what keeps us intimately connected with them even after we move to those other realms beyond this earth. That will be our true inheritance to our loved ones, our true legacy, our true connection with those we leave behind. That will truly be the Stuff of Our Lives...Lives Here and Beyond.
Thirteen days have passed since my last post on this blog.
A life-transforming experience has happened during this time.
One of the greatest, eternal truths of Life has revealed itself, in a very upclose and personal manner. A moment of acceptance, a moment of letting go, a moment of surrender, a moment of awakening - the moment gave so much as it took away so much. The moment of earthly goodbye became a moment of lifelong blessing. Witnessing the Journey toward Light continues to change so much...inwardly.
Death is not the opposite of Life. Death is the opposite of Birth. Life goes on. Only Form changes. The essence of the Departed One takes a Formless Form and continues to bless and love and be with the loved ones.
"The world we live in is not a meaningless accident that has unaccountably taken place in the void of Space; it is the scene of an evolution in which an eternal Truth has been embodied, hidden in a form of things, and is secretly in process of unfoldment through the ages. There is a meaning in our existence, a purpose in our birth and death and travail, a consummation of all our labour. All are parts of a single plan; nothing has been idly made in the universe; nothing is vain in our life."
Sri Aurobindo, Essays Divine and Human
In her memory, because she loved it so....
May the peace continue to prevail in the midst of the pain, may the rememberance of the eternal truth continue to give strength.
A series featuring inspiring words from various sources, words that speak of timeless truths, words that remind me of the deeper and hidden truth behind surface events and phenomena, words that shine light when all seems dark, words that are just what I need -
Diwali spirit continues....with a special post in the series - A Poem and A Song - VII:
A Series to Celebrate Art in All Forms
*****
It is actually quite amazing when you find the same thought being expressed through a picture, a poem, a song, or even a gesture.
Perhaps it happens because the thought has sunk deep into you, at least for the time being, and you just view a certain picture, read a certain poem and hear a certain song as expressions of that singular thought.
Or perhaps they really are conveying the same thought, but in different shades and hues.
And it just so happens that when that very thought captured your attention, certain pictures, poems and songs also appeared before you allowing you to delve deeper into the thought and let it reveal its deeper essence to you.
Regardless of how it happens, it is always a moment to relish and cherish the beauty. The beauty of the picture, the song, the poem. The beauty of the experience. The beauty of the moment.
*****
An alternative title to this post could have been:
How to have an Enlightening Diwali - in Three Easy Steps
Step 1: Light a diya or a candle in a quiet spot.
Photo taken at my home, Diwali 2012
Step 2: Light up the mind with a poem titled Diwali by Vikram Seth. So what if it is a long one? But it makes you keenly aware of the anguish and conflict of a mind struggling to integrate diverse cultural influences, including those resulting from the colonial history of India, and doing all this in the backdrop of what "home" means to a heart, especially around Diwali - a festival of love, light, home, family and all such good things in life.
Three years of neurotic Guy Fawkes Days-I recall That lonely hankering- But I am home after all.
Home. These walls, this sky Splintered with wakes of light These mud-lamps beaded round The eaves, this festive night,
These streets, these voices...yet The old insensate dread, Abeyant as that love, Once more shifts in my head.
Five? Six? generations ago Somewhere in the Punjab My father's family,farmers, Perhaps had a small shop
And two generations later Could send a son to a school To gain the conqueror's Authoritarian seal:
English! Six-armed god, Key to a job, to power, Snobbery, the good life, This separateness, this fear.
English: beloved language of Jonson, Wordsworth's tongue- These my "meridian names" Whose grooves I crawl along.
The Moghuls fought and ruled And settled. Even while They hungered for musk-melon, Rose, peach, nightingale,
The land assumed their love. At sixty they could not Retire westwards. The British Made us the Orient.
How could an Englishman say About the divan-e-khas "If there is heaven on earth It is this; it is this; it is this."?
Macaulay the prophet of learning Chewed at his pen: one taste Of Western wisdom "surpasses All the books of the East,"
And Kalidas, Shankaracharya, Panini, Bhaskar, Kabir, Surdas sank, and we welcomed The reign of Shakespeare.
The undigested Hobbes, The Mill who later ground (Through talk of liberty) The Raj out of the land ...
O happy breed of Babus, I march on with your purpose; We will have railways, common law And a good postal service-
And I twist along Those grooves from image to image, Violet, elm-tree, swan, Pork-pie, gable, scrimmage
And as we title our memoirs "Roses in December" Though we all know that here Roses *grow* in December
And we import songs Composed in the U.S For Vietnam (not even Our local horrors grip us)
And as, over gin at the Club, I note that egregious member Strut just perceptibly more When with a foreigner,
I know that the whole world Means exile of our breed Who are not home at home And are abroad abroad,
Huddled in towns, while around: "He died last week. My boys Are starving. Daily we dig The ground for sweet potatoes."
"The landlord's hirelings broke My husband's ribs-and I Grow blind in the smoke of the hearth." "Who will take care of me
When I am old? No-one Is left." So it goes on, The cyclic shadow-play Under the sinister sun;
That sun that, were there water, Could bless the dispirited land, Coaxing three crops a year From this same yieldless ground.
Yet would these parched wraiths still Starve in their ruins, while "Silkworms around them grow Into fat cocoons?", Sad soil,
This may as well be my home. Because no other nation Moves me thus? What of that? Cause for congratulation?
This could well be my home; I am too used to the flavor Of tenous fixity; I have been brought to savour
Its phases: the winter wheat- The flowers of Har-ki-Doon - The sal forests - the hills Inflamed with rhododendron -
The first smell of the Rains On the baked earth-the peaks Snow-drowned in permanence-- The single mountain lakes.
What if my tongue is warped? I need no words to gaze At Ajanta, those flaked caves, Or at the tomb of Mumtaz;
And when an alap of Marwa Swims on slow flute-notes over The neighbours' roofs at sunset Wordlessly like a lover
It holds me-till the strain Of exile, here or there, Subverts the trance, the fear Of fear found everywhere.
"But freedom?" the notes would sing... Parole is enough. Tonight Below the fire-crossed sky Of the Festival of Light.
Give your soul leave to feel What distilled peace it can; In lieu of joy, at least This lapsing anodyne.
"The world is a bridge. Pass over it, Building no house upon it." Acceptance may come with time; Rest, then disquieted heart.
Step 3: Light up the inner being listening to Deep Ki Jyot Jale by Pandit Kumar Gandharva. After all that intellectual exercise understanding the long poem, all that one needs is a quieting down. And this soulful rendition provides just that...and more. Experience the silence!
