Life means movement and life means change where time is determined to achieve its aim. Image from Pixabay.
With the intense, ceaseless process of contemplating it all, fitting it into an invisible box, Leela stayed both certain and uncertain. This was no secret to her and yet it was.
Leela smiled, she played the game and enjoyed the Ferris Wheel ride. Leela preferred coffee to tea when she felt blue.
Life means movement and life means change where time is determined to achieve its aim. And so in the ocean of life, Leela sailed to the horizon and back to the shore.
One day when Leela sat down at the shore, sure of not going anywhere, sure about not waiting, partially quiet and calm, she realised that moment’s magic and thought ‘it is alright’. That is it, that is what she thought.
It is alright, the pace, the degree, the twists and turns, the faults and failures, the tiny victories, the awesomeness and overpowering nature of life is just alright.
This acceptance, this vision has often helped Leela to fly and touch the sky, and on those gloomy days, it has helped her to be herself.
Eyes could see that the mind was dreaming, yet it stayed attuned. The soft, glowing place might be the reason. And colours, crayon colours, water colours flowing smoothly. Glory ruled the place.
Such were the wonderfully true sights that my eyes beamed with pleasure. I then was beyond time and space, happy in the present.
Breathing deeply, quietly, I knew it all and I knew nothing. Bliss!
I woke up and with a quick, strong rush, lively sounds reached me all at once. It was time to live another true dream… it was time to be.
A way of life that knows simplicity and truth, that values every living thing, that changes with the changing time, staying focused all the while on the one who is beyond time, beyond space, the one who is eternal.
A life where every second is a celebration, where the soul sees the divine and dances with it, where the mind witnesses birth and death and yet continues. The drama of this wonderful life goes on.
A life that sees beauty all around, that values beauty, that breathes in beauty, that prays to spread beauty, understanding that the beautiful is the perfection is the divine… the divine which is within.
A life of action.
A life of responsibilities.
A life of renunciation.
A life of freedom.
The man who lived such a life was called Sri Aurobindo.
‘Kaun Buddha Si?’ (Who was Buddha?) by the wonderful Punjabi Poet Amar Jyoti.
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Who was Buddha?
Whose tale is it?
It’s left for you to decide;
Whether of Yashodhara or Siddhartha
Who repaired to the peace of jungle
Leaving Yashodhara behind
To bring up Rahul
Congruent with the royal
Customs and traditions,
Who made the glittering glass-house of her life a ruin
Behind the portals of a palace,
Where the seasons didn’t change,
Where life resided in silence,
Where her sight turned into an unending path
Waiting for Siddhartha.
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And when he returned from the quiet of the peaceful abode
As Buddha the wise,
Who was the wise one,
Siddhartha or Yashodhara?
*
English translation of the Punjabi poem by Jagriti Rumi.
Yashodhara, a princess, was Prince Siddhartha’s wife, who was born on the same date and year as that of her husband. According to a Chinese legend, Yashodhara had met Siddhartha in their past life where she took a promise from him that they will be husband and wife in all their next births.
This beautiful poem asks a simple question and gives a concealed answer. Quietly it is telling a forgotten story, forgotten but real, real and empowering.
The journey inwards was taken by both, Siddhartha as well as Yashodhara. While one left the world of attachment behind, the other stayed in the midst of it all and grew like a lotus. In waiting for her dearest, in bringing up her only son, Yashodhara knew trance, living every moment and trusting herself, comprehending spontaneously.
After she met the enlightened Buddha, after her Rahul became a monk, Yashodhara did what she had prepared for, she become a Bhikkhuni (Buddhist nun); then the lotus shone brightly.
Yashodhara didn’t search for peace, she gently nurtured it within, she didn’t live in seclusion, she found herself in the celebrations. Not in a ruin, she lived in every effort of hers to learn.
Yashodhara, which means ‘bearer of glory’, got enlightened not once, but many times.
He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass.
George Herbert
For it is a circle and you must learn to remember.
The stored memories, the cherished ideas, the endless thoughts, the proud emotions, the stubborn beliefs, the intuitive steps and the unknown, all of it nurtured by time. You learn to watch for the twists and turns, you accept the changes, sooner or later. You experience the journey.
And when those eyes are old enough, when that smile is true, that is when you are able to see another’s journey and that is when you are able to forgive… for life is a circle and you must learn to remember.
The parched land did give me an answer, but how? Doesn’t it fear barrenness? It answered me though I had to wait for hours and hours as I walked ahead, crossed that skeletal shape of an animal and at last saw a cactus flower blooming.
The falling sky did give me an answer, but how? Doesn’t it fear horizon? It answered me to just look up at it and smile. I felt like I was falling back or was I flying… The night sky presented me with a mystery, with the sparkling mystery. I smiled and realised that I have been smiling the answer all the while.
The elixir of life presents itself to me, but why? Doesn’t it fear absorption? It answered me by flowing and gushing and filling up the planet and mankind alike. By giving itself up, it prospered in all forms and all life. Every glass of water now tells me why.
The sun’s fire doesn’t burn anyone, but why? Doesn’t it fear the cold end? It answered me ferociously by reaching every nook and corner and nurturing every universe. The epitome of supreme action and fiery hope, it burned all the questions and answers, leaving a pure residue alive.
The wind carries all life on its shoulders, but how? Doesn’t it fear burden? It answered me not, rather played with kites, the dry leaves, someone’s scarf, whistling in the woods, chiming music all around, lightly o lightly giving life, life.
The grand truths, moulded in Nature, by Nature, don’t know any fear.
They support answers and questions, I support fear. Silently walking down the approved pathway, I never dare to face a fear. Walls of doubts, plastic wallpapers, radio playing endless talks in a loop, I sit and I walk at the same time in my automatic red shoes. When I stay absolutely quiet, I count it as a good conversation. Fear of everything rules a life.
But when death strikes, in the end or the beginning, it surpasses everything. Death comes without any motive or desire.
Fear of fear confuses me, shackles me, blindfolds me, stupefies me, breaks me… but oddly, never stops me to act.
If fear fears anything, it is action. Action requires knowledge. Knowledge gives you experience, experience makes you wise and a wise person fears nothing.
A journey by air, by road, by rail to reach the ocean started with me sitting cross-legged, looking through the window, and thinking about myriad things.
While the world around me appeared to be the same – it smiled when I did, it passed a dull nod when I did – it was secretly weaving a plot.
I got to know about it when I wore my sunglasses.
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The unbiased tracks. Image – Jagriti Rumi
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Live wave-like. Image – Jagriti Rumi
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Everything then moved in a wave, including me.
Immersed in one colour, we were all attuned to do the Samba, and Samba we did.
When the ocean wind joined us, it enthralled us, we chased the beats faster to match its incessant flow.
A heavy old bridge tried the same, corroding swiftly, meeting the ocean wind in rhythm.
*
Standing steel solid until… Image – Jagriti Rumi
*
I saw the iron steel heavy ocean wind, dancing, through my sunglasses.
The fishermen left their boats, swung their nets, and summoned all the others to sing and dance, to be one with the wave.
*
Rowing is knowing life. Image – Jagriti Rumi
*
I hopped and tapped along and beamed, my smile touching my sunglasses.
At night or was it at dawn, what did the quaint temple said to me? It spoke of its time, the artisans ritual of worshiping their tools, shared an epic tale and sang good old folk songs.
What they say about its static avatar is not true, for the temple sways with wind and sings and adds to the music.
Luckily to see this, you do not have to stand at the ticket counter or wait for hours in serpentine lines.
All I could see was a few small trees and one big grey building. Shades of black, patches of dirt… the peeled paint made it look more like a sketch of a building…
A sketch of an old building that has seen eras pass by.
An era that changes almost nothing, but still does. Change that life awaits. Life that holds colours. Colours combine to form black, if it’s light they combine to form white.
Remember the prism experiment? Black and white…and grey. Grey characters say a lot. A grey building says a lot.
Endless footprints following footprints/
When suddenly a few of them rise/
To bloom like a flower.
Greetings!
A storyteller, following the ancient tradition of cave chroniclers, standing in vrikshasana (the tree pose) on a hill top (it is sunny, but windy), breathing in and out stories (relishing it all, but at times overwhelmed), declares animatedly that she will continue to – tell stories, share rare story gems, and connect with the pacy universe while also keeping the website ad-free.
Big thanks to my readers. Stay tuned!
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Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
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A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
