Stepping Into The Unexplained – Dream Diary


I have not updated the dream diary since almost one year. Last year had been very disturbing at many levels and I am still coming to terms with various aspects. Though there was always a certain kind of fluidity in my dreams all through the year and the nights were always live with  dreams that were more real than reality there wasn’t anything that struck me very strongly. Mostly the family members feel I sleep soundly but the brain is active or maybe I should say wandering. It is usually not connected with the daily living. The people are unknown, so are the places but there is a feeling a feeling of Déjà vu.  The accompanying male figure in many of my dreams is my elder son. Maybe because he too is very receptive to the unknown or maybe because he is an emphatic match.

This constant fleeting between dreams and wakefulness has actually disrupted the usual sleep routine but now this seems normal. Some may find such dreams crazy or even macabre but that is what makes them so profound. I feel I am always at the threshold of consciousness. I thought my long term insomnia has become a gross feeder for such events but then I do seem fast sleep to others which is intriguing. I’ve had dreams that have left very vivid impressions on my memory. More vivid than the physical reality we experience. I believe that the depth of the experience and the alternative reality is limited to select few but most of us are never able to validate it as we would an event in physical reality. We are never able to bridge the gap.

I have a strong feeling that science, society, religion has boxed us in by limiting our thinking. There is a lot that is unexplained and unexplored with regards to human brain and what we term as “real”.  It is evident that the brain does have some functions beyond what science has already examined. Society builds our box for us, we sometimes feel confined to it because we don’t want to look odd, feel silly or out of place. Personally, I love exploring and seeing what’s out there, beyond the confines of my box which is truly not defined. It may seem odd to others but to me that is  the essence of life. I don’t know how to articulate it properly but in my thinking there is a connect between the universal energies and us. That is why some people are psychic.

Every living thing has consciousness has a connection to everything else in the universe. We are all sort of wired together and sometimes we go beyond the realms of physical world. There may be many reasons for the sensed presence, intuitions, out of body experience or such other things. I read about quantum mechanics of brain and it is fascinating. “When people have a near-death experience, all that quantum information leaves the brain, yet continues to exist, which is why some people report out-of-body experiences and lights at the end of tunnels. I think it says a lot about other such experiences too. One needs to explore. Having said that, it may be the confirmation of our perceptions too.”

We all carry a certain energy within and around us and many of us can sense that. It is an intuitive quality which is inborn but many of us lose it because of the conditioning of our minds by the environment. We are programmed to think and feel in a certain manner and anything that does not subscribe to it is frowned upon. Just as the women healers, psychic, clairvoyant were termed as witches and killed since ancient times.

Some places / people drain you out or make you happy, you feel comfortable in some homes or rooms and not in others  that is because you can feel the energy they emit, it is the same with things that we are unaware of or which are beyond the realms of our understanding. The law of attraction.

There is a fascinating world out there and within us and we know so little.

I remember someone telling me that I may be turning schizophrenic or may have a neurological dysfunction that I am not aware of. I don’t think so. Some people are psychic, intuitive, they have transcendental out of body experiences.

I have felt presence around me many times but they aren’t what the stories tell us. Not shadow beings, transparent apparitions with cold air around them, mostly there is a warmth. Some may say it is dues to the lack of it in the real world for me but I have felt the reverse too. It isn’t scary but it is definitely something I haven’t experienced before and yet there is always something which can relate to my physical life.

Some life energies take more than usual time to crossover and cling to this plane. They even feed off you at times. They prefer to stay earthbound. The reasons could be many. Sometimes they choose to stay  and at others they just hover because of some unfinished business. Energy can not be destroyed, it just changes forms and it is these forms we experience at times. We are like cosmic magnets and our viberational energies attract other energies from spaces around us. I think it is based on our thoughts and emotions and our receptiveness in finding our  matching energy. Our bodies are aligned with nature and the universe in the larger sense.  I am no expert so these are my personal beliefs. I think I never fitted in the norm and was always a little bit of an outsider. Maybe wit ha little bit of sixth sense.

This post may seem like a rambling and it is that. It is a portal for discussion for you. The dreams, the sightings, the intuitiveness,  precognition in a very limited or discreet way are some of the aspect of this being different.

We were having an interesting discussion about the two simultaneous photographs I took last year in the dinning area of my house and I just felt like sharing it here.

Here is the pic and it is open for interpretation. Play or light and shadow or something beyond that ?

 

These two pix were taken on a lovely sunny April afternoon around five o’clock. I was flirting with the mobile phone camera around the house and taking shots of light and shadows. When I focused on the wall in our dinning area I was rather surprised at what I saw. The chair was empty and yet there was a shadow image on the wall. No one was in the room except me. I opened the phone gallery to examine the pic again and could make out an old/middle aged man’s figure so I looked again at the wall. Nothing was visible to the naked eye. I positioned the camera and took a pic again. This time there was no figure. It could be a play of light but I was intrigued. A dream I had day before and a discussion about keeping the ashes of dead family members brought me back to this picture. So I leave you to ponder over this and one more question, is it proper to keep the ashes in the house? Is it proper to flow half of it in the river and keep the other half at home? Is it okay to divide cremation ashes? Are these beliefs tradition/ religion based? I know about keepsake urns etc.  

I must say again that I am not superstitious, just curious…

.  

Enter The House Of Stories


I live in a house of stories. In a phantasm. Here everything is made up of words. Said and unsaid. Written and unwritten. Heard and unheard. Familiar and unfamiliar. Words that are still in the nuclei and others which are decaying and dying. Dead words and their ghosts. Orgasmic words exploding at touch of a thought. All encompassing all including words. Tainted words. winged words- magical, ethereal.  Then there are the creative trouble makers. Words that will bewitch you, cast a spell and posses you. They will become your fingers and write the stories for you. You will have no control, no power. Drugged by them your stories will rise from the belly of your mind and float out of the house while you watch in helpless trance. They will be your masterpieces. Your finest creations.

Cast a net  catch a few starry words, look for those glowing words hidden in the crevices, sniff the pain and  joy, vulnerability and  passion, death and rebirth if you have a nose for it. Allow your senses to indulge. Let the words have their way with you. Let them tickle you like a soft feather, undress you slowly down  to the wire syllable by syllable, consonant by consonant. Let them undo you one vowel at a time.Lend yourself to them. Surprise your tongue as they gently push past your teeth , rejoice in the deeper play they create inside you. Watch their sweet swell. Taste the salt on their skin. Dance to their symphony of lust. Let them feed you a story or two in bite size morsels. Be part of their stories. Always searching, always needing, always wanting. There is  a beauty in staying incomplete. Hungry.

Do not be afraid. Open yourself to the house of stories and it will sing you its  siren songs, it will string together and weave fascinating tales.  It won’t lie, It can’t. It isn’t capable of deceit.

No emotion is superfluous here, everything is an all engulfing whirlpool. Everything is larger than life. Raw, naked, stripped off of all inhibitions, everything is free of boundaries reality imposes.  The boundary between the animate and inanimate is in itself animate. Walk that line.

While you do all this always have an escape route. Don’t let the words hold you captive in the house of stories. Slip away the moment you feel the cage closing in. Escape. Heaven is real but so is hell. Sometimes the word wall will crumble like cookies and the winds will scatter them. Do not despair. Other words will take their place and those flung far and wide will take roots there and lay the foundation for some other house of stories. There is always a birth in death. Nothing actually dies.

There is also a dark world lurking in here.  A house within a house where you can cut yourself on words, bleed. Weapons- sharp, loaded. Silent cold words with sharp jagged edges. Gleaming daggers. They can ravage your heart, pierce through it, nibble on it or tear it like a carnivore, throw you off-balance and hurl you down a narrow, gaping hole. They can strip you naked and whiplash you till your skin burns crimson, black and blue but as I said do not be afraid. Let them hammer on your pain points, slump you like a deflated balloon but remember it is all a part of love-making, of self-awareness, of  becoming aware.  Be aware, let them scribble on your heart, accept, relax, surrender to them as they surrender to you. Let the house of stories take you in its warm, moist fold as you take it in yours. Stay joyously drunk on them. Enjoy the fluidity. Ride through it, plunge, rise, drown and rise again. Meet those unmet passions, unbound desires, celebrations and raptures, slaughtered dreams and rejections, the end of the rope and secret shame, discover the road map of scars, heal them , touch them with love as they throb inside your being. Let them bring you to your knees as they take you on a roller coaster ride called life. Watch the swing and swirl of words as they tangle with human emotions.

Be a relentless seeker. Seek the stories hidden in the nooks and corners of this house. Reach out to them. Reach for the void at the end, look for spaces between for it is there you will find yourself. Listen to the echos of your heart. Curl up and retreat in those empty spaces. Don’t be in a hurry to fill them for they add meaning to all that is around you. The spaces between tears and laughter, silence and words, between the pieces of yin and yang that lie in your path. Nestle in the light that seeps through the spaces of darkness and dark that quietly descends between the light. Be there in the spaces between your breaths, give yourself to the space between the rising and the setting sun, slip through the spaces between your fingers, sit quietly between your illusions and delusions.

Find stories hidden in the spaces between awake and sleep, between birth and death,  in gaps where the warmth meets the chill, where yearning meets the indifference, Don’t occupy it , just be there. Dig deep into yourself. Feel the intimacy of being with oneself in these miracle moments.

This house is ever reinventing itself. You can’t live here as a whole. You are split into a million nano particles, each as complete as the other.

You are the house. The house is you. It is a maze. It is an extension of you. Add your stories to it. Write. Create. Co create. Love its solitude and yours within it. Be in love for that is what writing is all about. Become your writing and merge into the house of stories so there is no physical self, just words. Let it be an excavation site where every moment is a mystery revealed. Where in every crack lies a spring waiting to launch forth just like your heart. Don’t box yourself in for the true blossoming can occur only when you have set yourself free of everything that restrains, restricts. Explore, take risks, question, allow yourself.

I live here, in my enchantment. 

Would you like to come in? 

I am large, I contain multitudes


I have a contemplative self and an impulsive self. A short-term self and a long term self, some distant past selves and distant future selves. At present I am in conflict with myself about the imaginary selves and the so-called real self.

Which of the self is actually me? Who am I?

No, it is not dissociative identity disorder, though at times one may think it is. Mind is a devious creäture who makes us believe who we are and is aided by the powerful emotions – anger, guilt, sadness, desire, pain, longing etc. Within our brain are different selves who pop up in and out of existence, each one with different desires, and each one wanting control and planning, scheming, plotting to get hold over others.  Walt Whitman said it aptly, “I am large, I contain multitudes.”

I think I have a strong coping system to deal with all my selves.  The idea is to maintain a balanced interplay between all the selves, a balance between long-term contemplation and short-term impulse.

As the time span increases I feel we have more multiple selves. I feel that I shift from one self from another smoothly; there is no clash, no conflict, no overpowering of one over other. Sometimes these selves that we create protect us, help us cope up with daily life situations, help us emerge from some deep hurt or realize some desire. They also help in making us strong. I see it as therapy.  I feel that different selves are brought to the fore by different situations and it is a continuous process.

A friend once remarked that I come across as a shy, introvert, scared, insecure person and that does not fit the image I have as a blogger / writer in virtual world. People who read me and know me from there expect me to be that gregarious, extrovert, bold and outgoing. Both these selves are me. One what I wanted to be and maybe was from within and other which people saw in me as a person who interacted with them. These interactions also differed from situation to situation and people to people.

I noticed over the time that I was able to merge the various selves to create a new stronger self, shedding the weaker aspects. From the moment we are born, we wear a mask and a robe of who the people around want us to be and the layers increase with time and under all this the true self in subtly forcefully buried.

I felt that under this entire role-playing I developed some overpowering selves which took control over those which initially existed. As the awareness increased the conflict also did. Maybe, to combat that, I created more imaginary selves, one of them being my virtual self. Most of them are various “me” in complete harmony and control over the situation they are in.

I realized that this creating imaginary selves  helped me to become what I am today and by that I mean to uphold what I believe in. Enjoying fiction requires a shift in selfhood and I think participation in what is unreal is the best way to spend the leisure time. To take on different identities makes takes much of sadness and hurt from the real-time experiences. It helps heal. I find creating alternate identities or selves, interesting and harmless.  My imaginary friends and selves have a lot of fun and adventures. I am fully aware of these imaginary situations and selves and often joke about it as I love my schizophrenia J  . I guess they have made me more socially adept than before. More confident and secure and most importantly helped in “being myself” and not a shadow of what others expect me to be.

Most of us from time to time hold conversations with people who are not actually there. Conjuring up people or physical props is common and with me creating selves to match these props or people comes easy. As I said before maybe I have a strong coping system. Internet is interesting place for creating the alternate self and many people indulge in it due to its relatively safe environment. I know people who have created different avatars to explore or release different aspect of them.

It would be remarkable if all the selves coexisted and worked as team inside our mind but they clash and create compulsions and addictions. If one can keep them under control then they can prove beneficial too. In my case to an extent they did help me get out of a messy life and change my path.

Self binding helps to contain oneself from dominating the other self. Both the short-term impulsive self and the long-term contemplating self are essential for growth, the conflict continues and sometimes one wins, sometimes the other.

I define my self as what I stand for and believe in, sometimes visible and at others camouflaged.

I remember a short verse from Rumi which says it all:

 “Anyone who knows me, should learn to know me again;

For I am like the Moon,

you will see me with new face every day.”

― Rumi

This post is in response to week  #54  (5-27-12 to 6-2-12): Self  BGE 2

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell…


The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.
~Rumi
There is such a beautiful message in this 13th century poem of  Rumi. Sometimes it needs a special person to connect the dots and awaken you to realize the true essence of what you read. I have done affirmation and healing techniques like EFT etc since some time now. Doing daily affirmations has changed me from within. I am not saying that I don not go into low mood swings or do not get emotionally upset over things but I am able to get over them and move on quicker than before.  We all know that there is an energy source within but rarely do we pay attention to it or focus on it.
Rarely we communicate with our inner child, rarely we look within and look at. We find it hard to forgive, hard to appreciate others and harder to forgive and appreciate ourselves.
This post isn’t a discourse on positive thinking or healing and transformation nor am I pushing you to go do what I am doing but simple little things sometime are life changing. Reviewing life, changing thought patterns, writing a new story, letting go of anger, hurt, pain directed towards people has helped me get out of negative weak fields and given me courage and clarity to make conscious choices which are rid of guilt. I have been able to make that shift in my priorities and consciousness and feel the improvement.
Forgiveness has helped me raise my awareness towards myself and others. It wasn’t easy, still at some point of time I slip back but the moment I do I realize and make an effort to rise again. I have not been consistent in re-balancing my energies and it showed greatly on my physical and emotional health.  But, they say, when you ask for it , you are given. Something changed dramatically the moment I got connected with this thought.  Everything began to fall into places. The process has begun. What I desire is on its way and I very strongly believe universe will guild and help me get it.
Sometimes change happens gradually , over a period of time. Nothing is a waste, we have our rooting years and then we bloom but at other times it is sudden. It is essential too to release the blocked or interrupted energy and make it flow.  I have seen how effective it is in body healing.
To some it may seem silly but I have seen that when faced with something I have no answer to , I just surrender it to the universe and the solutions come on their own. May be not at that moment but they come when it is time t act on them. The problems dissolve naturally if we don not make a fuss about them.
I also feel that if you are passionate about somethings, you are propelled towards it. That great feeling of doing what you want to and doing it right becomes the motivational force. I am not quoting any of my teachers here, it is something I have experienced since sometime. Nothing can stand in front of a passionate desire to achieve something. People cooperate, co create , door begin to open, It works if you direct your energy towards what you want so much.
Someone asked me , if that is so Why did it took you so long to take a step in that direction ? I said, I did not want it so badly I guess.
Everything has its time and it happens in that time frame, you just can not hurry the process. It is something we never learn from nature, maybe because we never look.
When I heard Dr. Wayne Dyer’s  recording of  ‘Inspiration‘ among many others I realized how my desire to connect was manifested. How I was shown the path by a friend.  How I discovered one link after the other. There is nothing more blissful than friends who connect to show you the light. Sometimes you know them, sometimes  you don’t but they appear out of no where and change the scenario, they help you set the stage , to chart your path.  One is suddenly more aware and able to grab the opportunities , to see the signals and use them.
I am  immensely grateful to all those who helped me and are still helping me in my journey of life. Do listen to the recording of Dr. Dyer’s  Inspiration- your ultimate calling by clicking at the above link.
The fact that I wrote this and you are reading it confirms the belief that somewhere the universe wants us to connect and find our calling. Each of us is just a tool. For those who think this is all a gimmick and money-raising activity by motivational teachers or metaphysical healers , all I say is Never judge . You never know who opens the window for you to reach out to the real  “You”. It is all about Believing  and rising above the ego.
Rumi’s poem came as an answer to a question I was pondering on since last few months. Why do I always wake up between 3AM to 4 AM  most of the nights , sometimes half an hour ahead or before too ? We call it “Brahma Muhurat”  , a time best suited for meditation and connecting with self and the source energy from where it all began. Usually I would say some affirmations and try to go back to sleep in vain. So, I would toss and turn and log into internet or read. It just did not strike me as a calling to step out and meditate on oneself. To recognize this body clock and body rhythm and know what it’s telling.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell, do not go to bed .. 
 
 A time for cosmic connect. Time for inspirations to flow in. Its been three days since I have started to get myself out of bed  the moment my eyes open ( it’s always around the same time between 3 to 4 am) and stand in the balcony. I haven’t ventured out of the house yet.  There is something miraculous in spreading your arms to the early morning sky , breathing deep and relaxing the mind ,. body and soul in that tranquility of pre dawn.  It is a feeling to experience for it may bring a new meaning to each of us.  I never felt so at one with myself , so calm and serene within. There is this magical hue in the sky, a deep silence and immediately one closes the eyes and is inward bound.  I really felt closest to the source energy. Many thoughts kept floating in my head and with them came many solutions. I was able to let go of many of people and things , accumulated hurts and regrets from the past. The first morning I felt tears roll down my cheeks but I was not in pain. I knew it was a cleansing process.
The breeze does have secrets to tell.. only we have to be receptive to listen to them. I think this is what a fully awakened state of mind means. Each day is a different experience. It comes on its own. I have had such moments during nights, when I get this sudden drive to write something. It is a compelling force from within. The reason I keep a pencil and notebook next to my bed. These thoughts never return.
I have made this a routine now.  What ever time I wake up between 3 to 4:30 I just let go of myself and surrender myself to the universal energies. It really is helping me to have a much calmer and peaceful time with myself and others.

Don’t need no memories hangin’ round


I want to offload. Offload all the clutter from my head. Offload the memories. Who wants to remember  anyway?  Spit, gargle, scrub, wash .. I did everything to clean the scars that my life got when it touched yours but the scars settled in the corridors full of memories won’t fade. They take monstrous shapes and explode inside my head. Isolated snippets that becomes larger than life , uglier, gruesome as they flash past inside my head like lightning.  Wounds that cut themselves and come alive in flesh and blood only to drag me down the past I want to run away from. There is no healing with memories lurking inside oneself. They appear out of nothing, damage and vanish. Just like that. 

What wouldn’t I give to forget these memories, wipe them off. I am tired of  tossing and turning each night, I want to get back my sleep? I would give it all up even if it means losing the good memories from another time , another place , of some other people. Yes, I would, if it means I won’t have to remember all the crap that scalds my inner, which gags and chocks my heart.

With my life going the way it, the things I have known and those I come to know whether I want it or not, the images that I am unable to shake however I may try, the mental trauma and heartache that wears me out on daily basis, the words that resonate inside my head however I may try to shut them up, the good memories too are slowly turning rancid.

Actually there isn’t anything good about your memories to be frank.  They are nothing but poison ivy clinging to my brain and sapping life out of me.  In fact I shouldn’t have let you in.  I pay the price with loss of face, faith and everything. I left the house that once I called home ( I wonder why coz it was never my home ) but the memories tagged along. I remember it all. Every bit of it. And that is the part I hate most.  You encroached my space then and  won’t let me have it now. 

I want to  gladly clear it all.  Give up , the good, the bad, the ugly.  Just don’t need no memories hangin’ round. What am I going to do with memories? Am done with sob story memoirs. I don’t wish to dig up the graves. Am done with all that. Am done with wanting to remember. Done with you. Please Leave. I do not need a fucking rotting fungal infested tumor of memories in my brain that is You. 

I want my mind spot clean.  I want space for new beginnings to flourish. I want  peace.  I do not want an inner tumult to wreak havoc in my outer world. I don’t want memories of old hurt, anger, loss, love anything  influencing my judgement and making me read the signals incorrectly. 

So you ask,  what about “happy memories” ? Memories that warm you on winter nights and give you company in loneliness? The beautiful sunsets and the walks in pathless woods?  Well, there is nothing happy about them, they hurt big time. These attention seeking narcissists. They bring a sense of loss, a void. Some people may have them, I am not denying that but for me , I can do without them. This cocktail of bitter-sweet nostalgia and pain. I don’t wish to go on vacillating between past and present with the noose of memories tightening on my neck. The events that were , were happy , full of warmth but as memories I can do without them. I will have many sunsets and many such walks in woods in present to fill the empty spaces.

I want to “die to the past” and ” live to the present”. 

Maybe I will find a stability later sometime in life to not let mind take over but right now, Oh man! I need an escape route.  

One need not be a chamber to be haunted;

One need not be a house;

The brain has corridors surpassing

Material place.

~Emily Dickinson, “Time and Eternity”

Dreamscape, Imagination, Mindgames And The World Within


Everybody has a secret world inside of them. 

All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they’ve all got unimaginable  magnificent wonderful   stupid   amazing  worlds.

Not just one world.

 Hundreds of them.

 Thousands maybe.

Quote copyright-Neil Gaiman

Dreams make me endure the reality. Imagination lets me stay sane. The world inside my mind is where I retreat at times when the world becomes too much to bear. That is the world I live in most of  the time.  A private dreamscape, a virtual reality world where time has no meaning. Where the five senses work magically unrestrained. It is a world where dreams get realized, even the wildest of them, where passion are fed, love blossoms, fears take shapes and walk around. Where there are deep crevices full of secrets, dark alleys where thoughts stumble upon each other, strange voice glide past each other, there are ditches that reek of pain. A world where ghosts from the yesteryear wander freely rising from the graveyard of memories buried over the time.  It is a world where I am invented and reinvented driven by uncontrolled fantasy, a world where stories are born.

 A world with constellations of wants and needs, hopes and dreams, laments and longings,  a surreal universe of uninhabited stars yearning for life. No emotion is superfluous there, everything is an all engulfing whirlpool. Everything is larger than life. Raw, naked, stripped off all inhibitions,  everything free of boundaries reality imposes. I live here, in my enchantment. protected by own fairy tale, by love. Here time is different, unmeasured. It’s sunsets and sunrises painted in celestial colors. It is a world where I can smell, touch , hear, see everything that can not be smelled, heard,seen or touched in real life. I can give each object, each person, each place any dimension, any form, any kind of existence that I desire. The boundary between the animate and inanimate is in itself animate ( says KS) and it holds true here. Here I am the master weaver, craftsman, a dreamer, a storyteller, a lover with a raw sort of vulnerability, a woman I try hard to be in reality and manage only a fraction of it and sometimes I am just me, a form, unchained by sexuality. A shape shifter.

Here love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke. Bodies are chiseled and carved in shape of desire. They feed on each other passionately, ravenously, sensually in the midst of all the silent noise that surrounds them, unaffected.Here love is not flowery, poetic, measured and hesitant. It is fierce, pulsating, graphic, full of fluidity and madness. Nothing comes close to the love we make inside our head. Ethereal, adventurous and wildly stimulating all at the same time.

The mind also has a dark world lurking to suck you in. It is devious. It can rage passionate fires and it can also drown you in the deepest of oceans full of pain. Shred you into tiny pieces, cut your veins and bleed you to a slow death. It can ravage your heart, nibble on it or tear it like a carnivore, it can throw you off-balance and hurl you down a narrow, gaping hole. It can strip you naked and whiplash you till your skin burns crimson, black and blue. The wounds it gives don’t heal, they come alive and spit lava. It cuts you down to your size more effectively than reality does.

Then there are dreams, you won’t understand if you aren’t a dreamer, lucid dreams filled with pieces of super reality which ooze out as revelations, a world within a world. A gobbling kaleidoscopic. It is amazing how we are tricked into believing reality of these world within by our mind. It is the creator. I think my mind has highly optimized memory channels which store data for later review. Vivid, lucid dreams where one is in control of that which in fact is just imagination, is something not everyone possess.

It is here that  the reality’s image is mirrored in absurdity & strange connections, I try to link them till I the find the pattern I seek. The process is continuous.

There are callings, revelations, symbols, voices and spirits. leading to inner deeper layers of this world which is a merger of dreamscape and imagination. One lives and dies and lives again here. Time travel becomes a reality. past, present and future merge. Mind becomes a canvas where every micro second the patterns change. The fine line between imagination and dreams becomes even finer with people like me.

And if you thought that is the end of it, you are wrong.

There are those demonic depths of mind where world as sensitive as a lunatic’s mind form and dissolve. Where revenge is plotted, throats are slit, where occult resides in its most primal form. Sometimes one is sucked by it at others it remains quietly breathing under the more calmer serene layer. The paradoxical existence of both and our ability to create a balance is what life is about, in real world or in the mindscape.

These are not the only world within, every moment new worlds are conceived in the mind womb ready to launch forth at any given time and take control. Everything emerges from three base emotions – Love, Hate and Fear.

Everything one runs from is in the head lurking in one of the worlds inside.

If I could just stand one night alone in my mind…. The thought itself is orgasmic.

Death Red – Dream Diary


Gaily I lived as ease and nature taught,
And spent my little life without a thought,
And am amazed that Death, that tyrant grim,
Should think of me, who never thought of him.
~René Francois Regnier

Someone slit my throat last night. I felt blood ..warm sticky ..slowly collecting at the nape of my neck and getting absorbed in the soft pillow. RED.

RED ….The color of our root chakra located at the base of the spine and allows us to be grounded and connect to the universal energies.. RED ….energizing, burning.  RED  color of poison, strength and aggression …RED…..Warm scented metallic taste  of  blood.

RED….   the highest arc of the rainbow, rebellious tainted love, the scarlet letter. Blazing red sunsets, sun stabbed skies.

Day before yesterday I mumbled something during my Reiki session at night. I did not know about it till my Reiki master told me the next day. Since some time night have been blotting paper for many sorrows and a bed for illicit desires, hopes, dreams and dark longings .

I am amused how death like a desirous lover shadows me each night relentlessly. Sometime lurking among the deep dark crevices of my mind at others trailing me from a safe distance. I feel it presence. Gentle , persevering she stays close. She ? Yes I know night with all its beauty and glorious charm can only be feminine.

It was an ordinary room with folding iron grill doors on both ends . Windowless. Sparsely furnished. A comfortable bed with soft white quilt duvet and a large frilled pillow. Spotless White.

I am draped in a sari. Thin floral Georgette in pastels. It has taken my shape.

I remember the bangles, glass bangles. I get the whiff of  roses but there aren’t any flowers.  No perfume.

The caretaker, a middle-aged woman  urges  me to go with the rest of the family. I ignore and  point towards the three fox-like dogs at the door and tell her to close the grill doors. They have pleading eyes. She lets them enter.

The animals look at me with intense eyes , pause for a moment and go out through the other door. The gaze stays.

I hear voices of other family members in the next room. laughing, arguing , debating and packing. They are ready to leave. Voices from a distance sound strangely mysterious. I try to catch the words as they drift through the thin walls and dark corridor. My caretaker too is set to leave. She continuously reports how others are irked and exasperated by my decision to stay and wait. Wait for someone to fulfill a promise.

Slowly the voices die.  Hush.

I lie awake and ask, ‘Where have I gone wrong?’  A voice says to me, ‘ This is going to take more than one night. More than one life ‘

I close my eyes.  Someone pours red-hot lava inside my head. I shudder and  lie suspended between dark and light. An ache begins to numb my throbbing body.  I move my hand to my neck. It’s been slit. A neat cut. Sharp and precise.

I moved my hand slowly and touched my neck. Eyes still closed. I felt blood. warm and sticky.

Slowly I opened my eyes. Death stood there wearing midnight, her eyes cold as steel and yet I was alive.

I was amused. I still am. This tryst with death was unexpected. Unexplained. Liberating and calming instead of scary and suffocating. I watched the soft gray sky from the mesh doors. Stillness of soul helps one to have those rare flings with reality.

Red is also color of LOVE.  Sensual , stimulating color of  passion and seduction.

Red is Cupid and the Devil.

My heart explodes.

Love doesn’t come easy to me, Death does.

I know not what causes this  fervent rush inside me…. Is it  my heart surfing the Californian sunshine or is it my body bathed in sweetness that is Indian summer ?

The rain may have the answer or the wind.. or maybe

la petite mort

Phantasm


A vein opened and words began to flow, something  I have no control over .

Spirits, voices, callings … I don’t know what flows in my veins and make my fingers tap the keys. Delirious and feverish with something beyond my knowledge I flow. Out of a swirling black misty dream a path emerges for a while, then closes within a dream. Did I tell you I am a dreamer, a seeker ?

There are times  one needs to change the  path and move on to a different road. A more exciting road,which emerges out of nowhere and just goes on.  A  dangerous and mysterious road. Unknown, Unseen.That’s when you cut yourself loose.  Shed all inhibitions. Just be yourself and listen to silence of the spirits around you.

Am I fooling myself , they ask. Is it that I create these visions around in my dream space to feed my insecurities and fears. Who knows he reason. Who wants to know. They help me find myself.

I feel there are many ‘ Me’ inside this ‘ I’  that I am. They all reside in small little compartments waiting for their time .

We dream that is why we live or else we exist .

Someone asked me am I really what I say I am for I don’t connect with the poet me, writer me and my voice does not have the power to convince the thoughts I portray . I smile .

No, I am not that.

I have no idea who I am.

There is that Me which people see in flesh and blood but that’s just a body, a vehicle for my soul and a treasure chest that holds an unruly heart and a devious mind. I have the hell and heaven inside me.

I , is not defined .It is nameless orphan of silence.

Do not try to know me by my face or my aging sick body. It is nothing but a mirage. An illusion .

Look deep if you have eyes to see like I do.

Why is it that people do not believe when I tell them spirits and souls exist. They roam around and connect with right match.

You are plugged in with or without your consent . All is not love, sometimes you just get sucked in and have no place to run to and then they make you rise the storm , they spin you till all becomes a blur.

Battlefield

Unruly heart&devious mind at it again. Words as weapons are sharp. Loaded. I am watching from a distance. Scared of the result. This one time I trust the spirits around me. The storm is rising again. Swirling with great intensity every moment that passes. I try to see… just a blur. I know they are there. A vein is cut . I see the ink flowing like a river in rage. Red ink, the color of blood. What next?

The heart is unruly but very courageous. It bleeds so I can dip my pen and paint pictures with my words. The devious mind … oh never mind..

There is light and there is darkness. All within. There are monsters, demons and there are strong, courageous loving female spirits that ever walked in the universe. We just have to know the difference. A hard thing to learn.

I recently got connected with some beautiful souls animals and humans  each with an enigmatic aura. Reaching out from nowhere.

They just know and seek you out. Especially the female spirits. They have strong invisible blood bonds .

You break , you change , you expand and then there is a release . Sometime you reach that point of combustion and then  Nothing.. you wait .. it is not time yet.

Someone watches from behind the night’s curtains.

Some one I don’t know

A spirit which could be  manifestation of my imagination . A new birth of a crushed desire .

We take pride in knowing Love and affection .We talk about the beauty of it and yet we know nothing of it. Nothing at all. whatever you think Love is , is not actually .  Of course it is debatable .

We frown when words like Lust, passion and longings are spoken.

Hypocrites that we are.

Humans have made things so complicated.

Something life was never meant to be.

We have caged life in chains of so-called emotions.

When all it is to life is an uninhibited, unrestrained approach.

I long for that. The I that is really Me.

We are either spectators or exhibitionist and never ourselves. We are performer to please the rest and then we take our place in the crowd and watch others perform. An endless activity .

The dream catcher is meeting the word weaver and there is lots in store.

Spirits move around me. Silent Observers. Is there a calling ? Let them decide the path

I felt it again some days back.

A male spirit at my feet when I was fast asleep. Usual time around four in the morning. I was asleep yet conscious of its being there. It wanted me to get up and insisted to sit up. Shaking my feet gently. Normally I would have opened my eyes and looked for it but this time I could not . Eyes felt heavy, drugged. I did not want to take any journey with it this time ( this time because I had a feeling I had gone on one before) I just played tired and lethargic and in a flash of a moment I was pulled to a sitting position . As if  pulled by both arms . I woke up instantly but still could not open my eyes . No feeling at all, just curiosity. I kept sitting, no movement and then rolled back to sleep. Something that usually doesn’t happen.

I feel it around at times , a caged desire ?

Spirits , they show the path themselves  , they send souls to unravel the secret. I AM WAITING

Musings Of An Unquiet Mind


Silence of woods on a spring day

The heart is restless today. I am trying to calm my unquiet mind. A longing to escape is growing within. Escape to a world within. I rummage through an old diary tucked away among some forgotten pictures and notes tied with a lavender ribbon. Slowly I shred them and let the pieces of a long gone dream make a tapestry of words on the floor. Razor sharp edges of crisp paper even after so many years? I thank the person who invented email. READ, DELETE, TRASH AND EMPTY. Letters written on paper are difficult to destroy. They somehow manage to leave a mark. Burn, shred do what ever. They stay.

I discover these jottings at the end of the diary . There is no date . I copy it all here. Just as it is and light a funeral pyre for the memories rotting along with the pages.

Smudged words, blotted patches of ink crazily crisscrossed paragraphs.

I don’t need them now.

I need a  silent escape. My blog is the only place I retreat to at such times. I allow myself to flow with the words copied from the diary.

Silence of the woods on a spring day.

When the breeze sings the  symphony of pure silence and the sunlight filtering through the tops of the trees and lovingly touches the ground. The beautiful, magical dance of the flawless shadows on the forest floor surrounded by a mystical aura. Time floats free in the endless woods.

The silence in the rhythmic music of a mountain brook or in the  rustle of the leaves as the  tall elegant trees  sway like the dervishes  in a soulful dance. A green silence.

The fading moments of daylight dissolve into twilight bliss. The forest melts into an ebony haze. A soft misty nothingness is filled with serenity’s song of silence. Nocturnal darkness takes over silently seeping through the very soul of the forest wrapped in the essence
of luminescent splendor.

In nature – trees, flowers, grass – grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence…we need silence to be able to touch souls .Silence …to listen to the silence between the words, between the lines, in the gaps, to absorb, to become one with what you are doing.

Meditation or dhyan , silence of the heart and soul …It heals ..Creates a stillness and calm within …

It is when we are silent, we open up to life and it does the same for us.

Maun …. Embodiment of joy.
We do not always realize the implications of the quietness we unconsciously seek and enjoy when we take a walk in a solitary meadow or in a forest or on a mountain. By occasional contacts with silence, our nerves are soothed, energy is regained, and the total effect is bracing to our bodies and minds.

I enjoy being silent even if I am part of a noisy group, it’s not a forced silence like when you are alone.

For me keeping quiet and being silent are two different things.

When silent, one’s mind should be trained to become empty …you don’t even talk to yourself even in the subconscious …it’s a wonderful feeling which completely de-stresses you.

Once you start to enjoy silence you learn to listen to the unsaid, sounds you normally don’t pay attention to.

It increases your power to listen, makes you in tune with self and your surroundings.

Listening is a dying art.

Most of the time we just hear the various sounds without paying any attention to them. Being “maun” is also a method to enhance your will power . We always want to escape to a peaceful place looking for ‘SHANTI’  but that shanti lies within us, we just have to look inwards.

Silence is also very beautiful, I have experienced that by being completely silent I become one with nature and that’s a wonderful feeling. It has a calming effect on soul.

Silence has helped me take many major decisions in life, to do things in the right way guided by my inner. It has improved my concentration power and though still I need to work quiet a lot on it, it has tremendously helped me discover myself. So SILENCE for me is self discovery and a very important part of daily living.

For me

Silence is not

lack of words

lack of music

lack of curses

or  lack of screams

Silence is not  lack of colors

or voices

or bodies

or whistling wind.

Silence is Not  lack of anything

Silence is resting,

nestling in every leaf, every root, every branch of every tree,

it is in the breeze that nibbles at these leaves

or sometimes swooshes around them

Silence is the flower sprouting upon the branch

In the drizzle that tickles them

or the pouring  rain that drenches  them to the core of their being

it is also in the still air that hangs around them on a hot sultry day

Silence is the long winding forest trail  fragrant with the intoxicating aroma of sweet pine

Silence is mother’s song to her  newborn child and  her  cries for her stillborn one.

Silence is the roar of ocean waves and  the sandpipers dancing on the shore.

Silence is the vastness of  green rolling plains and it is a blade of grass.

Silence is the flight of a solitary eagle

A colorful kite soaring in the vast blue sky

A dog curled up under a shady tree on whose trunk furry squirrels run up and down.

Silence is sound And silence is silence.

Silence is love, even the love that hides in hate.

Silence you share with someone you love, so cold, so sharp, you could cut yourself on it. There is nothing so hurtful, nothing so bare and forlorn as the silence that falls like swords on two people who no longer know what to say to one another, and it is the kind of silence that tells you that you are no longer of any importance to that person, who really is no longer even there; it is a silence that renders you invisible.

Silence that hangs heavy in the air. A dark cloud of silence. Where the words strain to touch the  fabric of  someone’s silence. When words become strangers , the thoughts freeze and we are rendered speechless – silence of death of loss.

Silence of pain , physical, emotional pain that’s leaves you numb.

Silence of the suffering heart.

Silence  is  the eyes of poor, hungry children

It is the lover’ s sex exhausted fall into sleep.

It is the call of morning birds.

Silence is the lucid moonbeams kissing a wild flower.

It is a word, a hope, a flickering flame of candle at the window of a  home.

Silence is everything –

in the renewing sleep of Earth,

the purifying dream of Water,

the purifying rage of Fire,

the soaring and spiraling flight of Air.

It is all things dissolved into nothing

Silence is with you always

Sometimes as Shanti sometimes as khamoshi and sometimes as a mook cheekh ( a silent cry) a silent cry of a woman.

.

Cleaning The Closet : A Memoir


Yesterday was one of those days when nothing seemed to be going right. I needed a break but had no option but to sit at home. I scanned the empty room and decided to do the thing we always thought was a punishment as kids. Cleaning Out The Closet.

The moment I opened it something fell and whacked me on my head .I cursed under my breath. It was a GI Joe, its legs tied with a string and a battle cat tagging along with it which my little one must have hidden from his elder sibling.

knew it was going to be a time-consuming and overwhelming task but I had all the time in the world.

Two years back I was gifted a book by Louise Hay and it changed my perception of the clean up act that I had detested for so long. She says, “Cluttered closets mean a cluttered mind. As you clean the closet, say to yourself, ‘I am cleaning the closets of my mind.’ The universe loves symbolic gestures.”

It made a huge impact on me and now every time I feel out of control of my life or feel that everything is getting on top of me, I go clean out a closet. It is like decluttering our minds and our lives.

Slowly my bed was covered with piles of clothes, letters, boxes, trinkets I never knew existed. A soft bundle with a tag baby clothes’ and some paperbacks tied up with a red string lay behind the clothes. I looked closely “Albatross book of living verse” the top book said .I smiled. It was a gift from my mother. This book had been given to her by my grandfather when she was young girl.

Sometimes we find skeletons in our closets, things we never wanted the world to see. Buried in the deepest, darkest side of the closet, forgotten even by the owner, lie memories of yesteryear. Lurking in one corner of the shelf was an envelope tagged pix. I was not sure what secret it held for the writing was not mine. I decided to place it along with other to be checked’ stuff.

The closet was practically empty and I decided to replace the paper on the shelves too, under the last shelf were two thousand rupee notes crisp and new. I was ecstatic as if I had won a lottery. The shadow of loneliness was already replaced by the ray of hope. I grinned and tucked away the treasure in my pocket.

I made myself a hot cup of fresh coffee and settled down to rummage through memory lane.

First was the baby clothes bundle. I opened it and found little clothes. My dresses when I was one year old. I found my traditional lehnga (a long skirt) and a short blouse with it. There was also a lemon yellow sweater which had my initials on it. I fondly held the clove smelling clothes  and imagined how I must have looked wearing them.

Something was shinning under the second layer of cloth and I discovered my elder son’s first birthday dress, another traditional Indian attire, dhoti and kurta with violet colored tiny brocade jacket, with zari work on it. It looked lovely as the sun rays fell on its shimmering silvery threads. We had brought it especially for the occasion. I remembered how he had posed for the photographs, his dimpled cheeks flushed with joy.

Carefully I wrapped the memories back and tied the knot.

The kashmiri walnut box held some dried flowers and notes along with a few silver ear rings and old B&W pictures of my childhood. There were some letters which still had the fragrance of the love that I had shared and treasured even after it faded away from my life. I looked out of the window at the swaying laburnum tree and closed my eyes. A silent tear fell on the pink envelope. I tucked the things back in the box, tearing off the unwanted papers, some old bills, letters and statements of bank.

I undid the string to keep the poetry  book aside, deciding to read it later in the day. A book mark fell on the ground. A work of art by my little one. I placed the smiling faces and rainbow back in the book.

Now was the turn to discard the heaps and heaps of unwanted clothes. I had already planned to give them away to some NGO. Pants, dresses, coats, sweaters and skirts all went into a big bag.

As the French say,

“What you keep rots; what you give flourishes.”

In the process a lovely black dress emerged .Something I used to wear when I was thin as a twig. I laughed as I held it against me. It also had matching undergarments which seemed as if they were made especially for a designer Barbie doll. Laces and net and size zero.

A bag revealed assorted colorful socks and belts which for some reason I had not discarded for years. One throw and basket .They all went into the trash bag. I instantly felt better .It is amazing how a little act of cleaning up can change the way you look at life.
Neatly I arranged all the clothes, shoes, purses and bags back into the gleaming white clean closet and felt proud of my efforts. Once everything was set inside my eyes fell on the envelope tagged pix’.

Something was not nice about the thick brown paper envelope and I opened it with curious hands. Twenty four snaps of my hubby with his girlfriend stared back at me. I made a collage on the bed and stared at the colorful smiling faces without blinking my eyelids.

For a moment my legs went weak and I held the chair next to me. Then slowly, I collected myself and placed all the snaps into the envelope. Some things are better buried deep inside the dark realms of the closet. I tucked it at the deepest deep of the top shelf. I gathered the torn letters and placed them in a plastic bag, it was time to bury the past and move on.

I felt happy to see a neat and less crowded closet with more empty spaces just like in my heart and mind.