Sentence of sense!

Every aspect of our lives is, in a sense, a vote for the kind of world we want to live in. --Frances Moore Lappe

The joy of writing a letter

writing a letter always seems so real, so life-like force and so fulfilling. writing a letter after a long time, i realise how much i missed writing letters. i wrote. i loved the way it flowed and spilled over. the recipients were my students. well, the contents were mundane, here and there stuff but then, it had the imprint of the mind in ink and paper. words are magical especially when one knows that letters will be preserved, visited over and over and read and reread. it will always contain a part of me that was at that precise moment. in a way, the recipient partakes of what i had been when i wrote that letter. even years after, i will stand frozen in my letters and remain the person i used to be when the ink was spread on the blank paper at that time. i write because i like to write. i write because it preserves a part of me. i write because i know you will reply and not complain, 'i have no time for writing'. you will partake of me as you read my letter and then you will go back to it when you think of me. well, i might have changed from the person in the letter but my joy of writing a letter has not diminished.

await my reply as I await yours.

Places, People and Memories

That's a lovely amalgamation - places, people and memories! Many times the phrase 'I miss Bombay,' or 'I miss my school' gets me into a heavy duty thinking. Do the people miss the place because they miss the people or because of their memories of the place; do people make the predominant memories of people or is it the other way round? Smells, songs, food and many other aspects make memory but do all the afore mentioned qualities merge with people to give memories? Can't smells exist independently in someone's memory or for that matter can't songs exist independently? Well, its an intricate question which cannot be answered with a direct 'yes' or 'no'. Songs of a certain period are always connected to a love relationship of a certain age. Nothing can diminish the corny love song 'Nothings gonna change my love for you' by George Benson during the years when love flourished in school days which later gave way to 'Hello' by Lionel Ritchie and many more such songs. Now for places - certain corners where one cycled, certain shops where one had stick ice creams, etc are lovely memories which fade in and fade out (to use a term from cinematography). Now, the smells - the smell of the earth when it just begins to rain can conjure up the most romantic outbursts which is not age-specific. During various stages of my life so far, the smell of the earth has never failed to enthrall my being.

A recent conversation with a student of mine made me think of this topic. When he said 'The place X does not fascinate me anymore as all the people I used to know are no longer there.' Well, I asked him 'What about the place itself?' 'Does it not enliven you?' He replied with a blunt 'I don't know' and it led to a silence in the process of our conversation. Maybe both of us were thinking about places, people and memories.

An excerpt from a lovely love song by John Denver and something about memories too:

"Perhaps love is like the ocean
Full of conflict, full of pain
Like a fire when it's cold outside
Thunder when it rains
If I should live forever
And all my dreams come true
My memories of love will be of you."

The last day of the month

The last day of every month fills me with a sense of wonder at the bygone month and subsequently the months passed by. While passing the last day of each month, I look back and think whether the bygone month has made me any better than what I was, whether it has taught me things that I have failed to unravel before, whether I am loving someone less and whether I am loving someone more without that person even having a faint notion of my love. Well, one always tends to focus on the many things that could have been or could have been avoided. My list of things that could have been avoided always exceeds the list where I think that I have been right.

Coming to the things that could have been avoided, are aspects of time, which could have been utilised carefully, phone calls which I could have done without, tears which have been wasted over hopeless things/people, thoughts which have been eating into me (I perfectly understand that I could have mastered these thoughts but then . . .), impulsive text messages which never did what they had to do, repeated conversations which never yielded what I needed, et al.

Along with these are also various lovely moments, hours, days spent with the contented feeling of warmth, fulfilment and love. Examples are again as follows: unexpected phone calls which spelt out a lovely bonding, my dance lessons which fill my being with energy and liberation, sermons in the church every Sunday which enable me to delve deeper into the truths in the word, text messages which evoke love, respect and memories, blogging for me and myself, friends who never seem to tire listening, strangers who smile with great joy et al.

Well, every month is a step forward and backword. Every month has its fair share of joy, sorrows, love, hate, bonding, detaching and many other aspects. One thing: I am glad to have had another month to my existence and as always looking forward to another month with its share of lovely things and not-so-lovely things.

Getting through just one night

At the age of twelve, Milton Ericksson was a victim of polio. Ten months after he contracted the disease, he heard a doctor tell his parents: “your son won’t live through the night.”
Ericksson heard his mother crying. “Maybe she won’t suffer so much if I get through tonight,” he thought to himself. And he decided not to sleep till dawn.
In the morning he shouted out: “Hey mother! I’m still alive!”
There was so much joy in the house that from then on he resolved to resist always one more night in order to postpone his parents’ suffering.
He died in 1990 at the age of 75, leaving behind a series of important books on the enormous capacity that man has to overcome his own limitations.

- Something that inspired me from another post!!!

Loving unconditionally . . .

These last few days left me wondering about unconditional love. What is unconditional love? Does something like unconditional love exist between two mortal individuals? Love and pain are synonymns, someone told me but is it something true? Love for me always is a process of pain and more pain. Losing oneself in pain and then trying to gather those parts lost is a very very slow and doubtful process. Wonder why I use the word 'doubtful' - because one is not very sure of anything. Hope is a lovely word when one is in this context but isn't hope the other side of fear? In that is the case I shall still hope against hope forgetting the fear part completely. I am so very thankful that I have a faith where I can dislodge my mind's trappings and sojourn. I am thankful that the faith helps me in every step I take and assures me that 'All shall be well.' I am weak but yet I am made strong by the hour by the pain. When I wonder about the unconditional aspect of love, I know it exists but I am yet to see something of that sort in a mortal soul. One may think of Mother Teresa and St. Francis of Assisi - they are a class apart in spite of their own frailties, they managed something that I cannot.

I like to quote something from another blog:

“In all persons, all creatures, the Self is the innermost essence. And it is identical with Brahman: our real Self is not different from the ultimate Reality called God.”

If this be the case, then it should not be difficult for unconditional love.

I would like to give unconditional love with the condition that I would also like to receive unconditional love but then . . .