spin-feet

Funny how one song can change your mood. I particularly enjoy listening to the waltz. There is something exceptionally flighty and carefree about it. Perhaps it is the beat; 1, 2, 3, 1,2,3 and the continuous flow of the rhythmic patterns. You feel as if the first and the last note of the melody are linked and inseperable. There is no time for one to breathe for the music goes on and on and yet one doesn't feel breathless. There is so much of energy being encapsulated by the spins and turns. As you swirl into the arms of another whether real or imaginary, the vitality in you discharges and rejuvenation takes place. As a result of which you become refreshed because you don't store-up unused power.

The waltz is always magnetic and to a certain level grand. Walk into a ballroom filled with elegantly dressed couples and they dance with assimilation to the sounds of a regal orchestra. As they waltz, the man gently wraps his hand around the curves of the lady while the lady in turn places her hand lightly on his shoulder. A sacred space is kept between the two whereby distance is respectfully maintained. But the other hand clutched each other tightly as if to bolt a ship to the ground. And they move back and forth melting into the music becoming united as they waltz the night away.

hugs

It is not easy to always look inside and be able to express what I actually feel. Very often I beautify or horrify the intensity of what I see. This happens when there is no understanding.

I remember very clearly how I felt when I picked up the phone to hear my father's stammering voice. I never expected that my mother would die despite being so ill. She was bed-ridden for almost a year after having her left leg amputated. A diabetic for nearly 30 years the ailments that attacked as a result of blocked blood vessels and dying nerves made her living conditions deplorable. With all the comfort money can buy, she couldn't possibly sleep for 1 hour without pains. She was on haemodialysis for 8 years and she died while the machine drew blood out from her body for cleansing since the kidneys mulfunctioned nearly a decade ago.

I can still hear it at night when all is quiet. Just at the back of my mind; the moans and the cries. I could still hear the murmurring of damning words but directed to who? I pitied and loved my mother dearly and I hated myself for not being able to do anything. I would cover my ears with two pillows and pretend that nothing had happened. After a while an unassuming guilt crept all over me. I let go of the tear-soaked pillows. I felt the warmth of the tears trickling down my cheeks. The water seeped into my favorite plush toy. I looked at its smiling bunny face and said, "Do you feel it too? You are crying as well. Let me get you a tissue."

There was never once that I would walk to my mother's room to give her a hug; to let her know that I am there and she will be alright. Maybe she was waiting for that, waiting for the support from her only child. But I failed to give her what was needed.

I recall the way she looked at me when she was pushed into the operation theatre, where they sawed off a piece of her limb. The procedure was delicate because my mother was a diabetic and her heart conditions were unfavorable. That last look as if she would never see me again. I still have visions of that when I close my eyes. When I sleep I dream of that too and I struggle to regain consciousness.

I spent 26 years in the house I live in now, with my mother. After her death I decided to renovate the whole house providing it with cosmetic changes. But it never worked for the essence remains the same. Her foot prints cannot be scrapped and removed. I can demolish the house and rebuild the entire structure, her spirit remains. It is not in the house but in every breath I take and every cell in my body; she is there. I am a part of her and when she died that part died too.

One should never take another for granted. Everything we have and embrace will soon be a passing age. Treasure each and every moment whether the moment is good or bad because sometimes a bad moment is all that we have left together.

the call

As we wake up in the morning, what is the first question that triggers our half-awakened mind? Sometimes it comes in a flash that we easily ignore as we rub our dreary eyes. But can we be alert as we come out of slumber so that we take note of the first call of light? Then in such circumstances we are alert not forced by a guru or meditation books but it is an act without the mind.

~~~

Whatever you do, make it an offering to me – the food you eat, the sacrifices you make, the help you give, even your suffering. – Bhagavad Gita

We can’t give anyone joy or security by increasing her bank account or adding to his collection of vintage wines. Of course, a well-chosen gift given at the right time is always welcome, but whatever the gift, we should guard against the nagging expectation of getting something in return. The moment we expect reward or recognition, we are making a contract.

Even parents and children suffer from this contractual relationship. Parents can help their children tremendously by avoiding the “I did this for you, therefore you do that for me” approach, encouraging them instead to follow their own star.

In the spiritual lore of India, it is said that God whispered only one word in our ears when he sent us into the world: “Give.” Give freely of your time, your talent, your resources; give without asking for anything in return. This is the secret of living in joy and security.

junction-Y

I was caught-up in a rhythm and cycle of life and death.
Some expectations didn't come true but some revelations shone through my battered eyes.
You and me, we are meant to be the way we are.
I shouldn't even try to change your character when your personality runs deep.
I shouldn't change mine to satisfy your demands.
It is healthy.