The Spark

                                     

                     

There has always been an almost sublime fascination with motherhood in life -  

- a strange reverence arising from the question - from where and how does life happen?

What is the source from where it comes - this spark? That changes dormant tissue into a vibrant, howling, kicking bundle of life. 
The methods are replicated but the final answer still remains elusive.

And within the halo of a mother we sense a selflessness and boundless caring that embraces all that is alive......     

    

                                

                                 

             A Birthing  

                         -   in the monsoons

It came

A whisper in the wind

A caress and a gentle kiss

On the cheeks,

Carrying a promise.

Cool, tantalizing,

Generating an eagerness in the thought

That the searing summer

Was coming to a close.

Mother

During those months

Nurturing her trees, fruit-bearing;

Letting them ripen

To grow sweet

And come to their full term.

Parched herself,

Yet content.

Opening herself

Under the rain-bearing clouds

To quench herself

Of a thirst

Many months old.

The earthy aroma 

Of a mother's thirst quenched,

Combined with gossamer spray

Wafted by the wind in frolic,

Pleasing, invigorating, rejuvenating;

Invoking

Beauty and joy, 

A bridge to the beauty and joy

Of another universal birth

Unbounded by barriers and boundaries

If we let it

Be so. 

It was not only a new child

Which birthed;

For 

With each birth

All mothers too are born anew

In all existence, around.

                                              Such moments of creation

                                              Cradled in love,

                                               Lie enshrined in our lives -

                                                                        The core, the essence

                                                                         Of what we are. 

                              

  

The Gifts

                                              

In sharing silences we learn to just be. 


And in the process allow the same to others. During such moments what is given away is insubstantial in the material sense. Yet within it lies the warmth and caring of the life-giving seed carried within a cocoon.


It is an invisible air-blanket of love that protects without stifling, encouraging growth, life and the freedom to be.....  




                             Twilight

When
In the twilight
I stand on the shore,
Another bulwark of mankind,
With the last departing rays 
Of the sun
Giving Benediction,
I reach out to stand where I want to be
And from there
When I look back at now
I say:


In our journey together
I came to know,
Understand and be
What I am.


By your being with me
It bubbled to the fore.


For me
It is a gift of freedom and love
Passed on
By your being what you are.


And now you set me free;


Leaving me
With the thrill of encouragement;
Giving me an unsurpassed confidence
That with our love,
Yours and mine
I could go beyond our togetherness
Without fear
To discover
The limitlessness of my existence.


Today
Because of you
I stand way beyond
What I knew of myself 
As myself.


And during our journey together
I discovered
One of the biggest treasures
I had always shied away from:


              'Mankind.'


           *               *               *
The gurgling streams
Cold, clear, drinkable;
The pine forests
Coming alive in the darkness
Which comes to them early;
The green mountains and the snow clad peaks:


All of nature 
Clad in a sublime beauty
Has been with me always.


Yet
Your being with me
During this journey,
Brought me to a place and time
Where all distinctions, all differences
Dissolved;
And for me
Mankind too
Became a part of inspiration
In self-expression and living.


         *             *              *



And
With it came the intuitive realization
That though
I had heard the music,
It could be harnessed 
To the song of the universe
Only when we were all together
As one.

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.

Growing up III

                  
                        The Re-birth


And it came back with a rush ......


Tumbling over thoughts, over feelings, rushing with a life which was its very own. Without the need of any external stimuli it flowed out as words in waves of joyous expression! 


It was tumultous and unstoppable - flowing around and over barriers, free once again.


And infected by it, life and the people around, seemed to dance to the wild music that flowed from it. 


                The Flowing River

Then
It became in realization
And in its in-substantiality,
So vast , all-pervasive,
That within it
I could hear the joyous laughter
Cascading in a waterfall
Of fantasies, dreams, longings,
First becoming possible
And possibilities turning into realities.
Transcending all self-made barriers
Returning each to oneself
And beyond.


For mercifully
Human beings do not,
Cannot change.


And in our struggle,
So unnecessary, so human,
For domination, for survival,
The essence of being
Cannot be.


For though the drumming raindrops,
The blue-black sky, the twinkling stars,
The raging blizzard are without,
Their song
With its subtle haunting music
Elusive, uncageable,
Springs from within us;


An indolent gentle breeze
Enveloping, embracing,
Intermingling;
Creating, and in the act
Generating itself, becoming more.


An environment, unlimited,
Except by ourselves.


And yet 
It is not ours to own.
We, as a part of it,
Go way beyond survival or domination.
A part which always is
And will be.


And to hear 
And be part of the music
We just have to sit
And listen.

Growing up - II

A Melding....

Those were periods when the moments seemed to fuse into one another and there existed only a swirling darkness. And the sound of my footsteps echoed in the silence trapped within the recesses of that darkness.

The environment, the skies, the moon and stars did not exist any longer.

A gentle drape of quietness born out of nothing covered all.

And from all that nothingness came the birth of a new beginning....

Tendrils of a Root -

The Re-birth

From what was all around

And within

There came to be

The tendril of a root.

A coming alive of a part of me:

Innocent, frail,

Yet much stronger

In it's insubstantiality;

A part of the music,

Equally subtle, haunting, will-o'-the-wisp.

Fertile, virgin ground

As long as I could help it grow

Within it

The essence of the possibilities

Dormant within and around.

The tendril:

Within me,

And yet not mine.

Carrying within it the hushed sounds

Of the sifting desert sands,

The cadence of the raindrops

Drumming against the windowpane

Under grey darkening skies;

The turbulence of a snow blizzard

Cupped in the stillness and silence

Of the towering snow-clad peaks.

And the songs,

Flowing in the wholeness

Not of the self

But transcendental;

A linking with all life around.

* * *

And then

In the whirlwind of life

It got lost;

Leaving behind a sense of loss

Undefinable, undeniable,

Devastating in its permanence.

Life swept into a whirlpool

Deeper and deeper

Accumulating more and more

And being

Less and less.

A lassitude

Drowsy in the sleepy warmth

A desire to curl-up and sleep

And in that sleep

To wander and probe gently

Into the remnants

Of the lingering loss and disappointment.

* * *

Then

One day

When,

From an innocent sea of frustration, anger and despair

A tear welled out

Then another and another

To become a river flowing from four hundred sources

Soothing and cleansing,

It came alive

Soaring into the skies on the rustling winds

Carrying the hushed sounds of the sifting sands,

And the haunting, subtle, will-'o-the-wisp music;

To be heard once again...

Growing Up - I

The Teens...


From the gentle caring shadow of a mother or a doting father it was a gradual movement away into an alien environment. We had all seen the power, the strength that was wielded by the elders and this had nurtured the desire within each to grow up and be like them.


And yet what was happening was all too different. Unable to understand, we had come face to face with uncertainty for the first time in our lives. And we had not yet learnt to cope.


The fear was stark - it was a period of raw vulnerability.


For some who had the strength of an emotional security handed down through generations it was easier. For the system of values was almost a 'kavaj' - an armor.


Almost....It was easier, yes, but the uncertainty still had to be faced......




                            NOSTALGIA


The long walks
Alone.
Hunched in a greatcoat  
Against the cold.


Learning to be alone
In an adolescent wilderness
Without adolescents.


Learning in those years
To be with myself.


Moments of searing loneliness
Shared
During those walks 
With the deep blue sky, the stars,
The waxing moon,
And the echoing footsteps
On dimly lit streets.


The beginning of a communion
Which was to last almost a lifetime.


Coming to know the music
Subtle, haunting,
With a will-o'-the-wisp presence;
And the slow blending into it
Of the skies, the stars, the moon
And echoing footsteps,
Weaving an invisible fabric
Of peace, tranquility and harmony.


Never realizing the gentle, quiet threads
Invisible in their incandescence
Which flowed into me from the two brightest stars
In my galaxy: 
Loving, protective, encouraging
Nurturing 
And letting me grow up into my own self.  








Photo: Courtesy - Night Colours by Rasins