An Ode to a Mother - I

                                        

                                              The Source

It was a movie in which I came across this Buddhist riddle:

" How can one ever prevent a drop of water from drying up?"

The answer......
                 .........a simple one:

"By throwing it into the sea...."

                .......where it can be where it belongs, united with its source..

The answer frees you and leads to a journey of discovery. And the first enquiry leads on to another. And then without realizing it we are on the road searching for our roots.

Whether we love and revere them or in anger reject, the wellspring that we come from leads directly to our parents. Perhaps that is the reason why most Asian cultures tend to emphasize roots, and ancestors are revered and prayed to.

In the final moment of truth, when it comes, we can be fulfilled only when we are complete with them and warm in their caring.....

              The Mantle

One day

When I was eight years old, 

On seeing the stars

Twinkling above so gaily

I snuggled to my mother's bosom

And told her:

"I would like a star studded blanket

To cover myself with."

Today

Standing alone on the shore

Wrapped in that star-studded mantle

I feel the loneliness

And the need

For her warm arms

Around me.

GROWING UP - IV

                   INSIGHTS.....


And the insights slowly grew upon one ....

The music was always there. Its resonance however lived and reverberated only through our experiencing it. 

Each moment of bubbling joy or heartfelt grief, though poignant in itself, became eternal only when shared with another. 

A beautiful sunset could be enjoyed by oneself,  but attained grace only when gifted to someone who cared.


And so....




                   The Lonely Path to Togetherness




The music, when I lived it
Had no limits
Except the ones I set;


Though alone
The ones I belonged to were many;
And
The Ones I could choose to belong to
Were limitless. 


And then
In a moment of deep contemplation
And peace,
The realization:
There is no one I could not belong to,
No one really outside of me.


        *            *             *            *


And birthing from there
In togetherness
Those few moments:


My twelve year old son 
Sitting on my lap,
Holding him close, gently,
With my cheek against his shoulder.


And smelling him growing up
In his quick and genuine smile
At his seventh class teacher
Being promoted along with him
To the eighth.


Moments of quiet joy and peace
Shared, fulfilling.


A few moments
Of growing up together
And being at home.