A dogs’ life isn’t long enough for many things. But long enough to do just one thing right – to love unconditionally!
Not a selfish kind of love we humans are accustomed to — where give and take is quantified and measured and the terms of the same are renegotiated every other day.
A dog’s love is playful, fulfilling, & unconditional. Sometimes I feel that the purpose of my life is to create such love and spread it to every being I meet.
But then, I am not a dog ! A fixed dose of judgements, calculations, defensiveness enters my conditioned brain, once I try to become a “Dogable person”.
The dreadful irony is that “mankind” believes itself to be so superior to its earthmates, that even the image of God – a universal energy that created existence – is carved out of the image of a human being, preferably a man.
Even after declaration of the creator God in its own image, a human is incapable of selfless love. Even when one loves one’s kids, it is with an ulterior motive of finding a helping hand in the wretched old age.
All the other species love & protect their offsprings just as much as required by nature, without expections in future – the kind of love that is self- sustaining, courageous, & unconditional.
But for man, the downfall came when he decided to conquer the elements of nature, & in such a conquiring, imagined itself to be the master of universe.
Maybe a “dog’s love” is a gentle reminder to the decadent human race, of the kind of lovewe could have been capable of, if we didn’t stumble to the serpentine greed of power and self-importance – the original sin we all are culprit of !
Few can give the shock treatment a Sufi dervish is capable of. Not concerned with the intellect, or written words, a Sufi master will teach a lesson through the most unexpected manner, through a commonplace story, rather than choosing big words and complex ideas.
Here’s a beautiful anecdote immortalised in the poetry of Rumi, an immortal name in Sufi line of prophets and poets:
“A dervish knocked at a house to ask for a piece of dry bread, or moist, it didn’t matter.
“This is not a bakery,” said the owner.
“Might you have a bit of gristle then?”
“Does this look like a butchershop?”
“A little flour?”
“Do you hear a grinding stone?”
“This is not a well.”
Whatever the dervish asked for, the man made some tired joke and refused to give him anything.
Finally the dervish ran in the house, lifted his robe, and squatted as though to take a shit.
“Quiet, you sad man. A deserted place is a fine spot to relieve oneself, and since there’s no living thing here, or means of living, it needs fertilizing.”
You haggle and make jokes to keep what you own for yourself.
You have forgotten the One who doesn’t care about ownership, who doesn’t try to turn a profit from every human exchange.”
Here she is – adorable but lazy at times, my hooman (human). Lately my hooman has been kind of low in energy. Sometimes I feel she is sad. Or maybe she’s what they call “bored”.
Ya, “bored”! A word I picked up from hooman vocab. When I was with my mum & bros & sis, I didn’t know the word, or what it feels like to be bored. Though one of my fat brothers did prefer sleeping , and used to get annoyed if asked to play or share his stick, everyone else was playful in my family and never compained of being bored.
We would randomly run around in circles, pulling our mum’s tail and ears, and scratching her face. A rather lil in size sis of mine was so naughty, that she literally galloped like a deer, & didn’t know how to walk like a lab girl.
To 7 of us boisterous siblings, it didn’t matter if it was a stick to chase, or a shoe ( my personal favorite), we created play out of just everything life threw at us ( A labrador’s trait) . It annoyed my mum occasionally, and dad all the time.
Well, my hooman was pretty lively too for the first 6 months. She would take me on awesome walks, jog with me, & play fetch (like 3 times a day).
But recently she’s been a lil low. Sometimes I see her all down and quiet, so I bark my lungs out to snap her out of it.
At times, it gets really annoying, especially when she digs her eyes into that black toy with bright light. I literally scream at the top of my girly high pitched bark to get her to leave it.
What does she try to find in it anyway ? I just don’t like the vibes that come out of it. Anyway the stuff looks pretty toxic to me & I keep a safe distance from it. Yet on good days, strange noise comes out of it and she dances like a happy gal! 🙂
Oh how I love her when she asks me to dance with her. Her all time favorite track is a delight to my ears, “Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful phrase”. It’s pretty adorable when she changes it to , “Hakuna Matata what a wonderful daze”. Well that’s me, a short name for “Daisy”!
Also, I absolutely love it when she looks deep into my eyes, and tells me that I am so so so pretty. And that she loves me. And that she’ll do whatever it takes to always protect me.
Well at that moment, she seems cuddly labradorable (labra-adorable) & kissable to me. So, next day, I wake her up by planting random kisses on her face, & pulling her hair with love. It’s a pretty cool partnership going on here , with my messed up, but in a tolerable way, hooman. 😀
It’s like a magician’s maze, just when you think you’ve found the true way out, another ugly path opens up. And you’re back to where you started – no where!
But a mountain brings back sanity to your life.
It’s like meditation, when you’re on top of one – breathe in the fresh life-air, and breathe out the stifled – bad air.
There’s something about mountains that sticks with me. If it’s not the sheer size, it’s the resilience that oozes out of its pores.
A mountain, when you climb one, whispers to you like a living-breathing being.
In its own mysterious manner, it narrates that age-old story of bravery, of always holding one’s head high, even when the cobwebs of life-circumstance try to pull you down.
A mountain to me is coolest example of eternal timelessness.
Just when you think that you’re just climbing one physically, the internal struggle-climb takes you towards a higher state of mind – where the constant wheel of thoughts takes rest, and the creative life-force pervades.
Climb one, and sit in silence.
Shout at it if you want to!
Listen in deep meditative silence to what it echoes back.
It’ll gently whisper the secret mystery of what life is made of – fortitude , resilience & unperturbed individuality under all conditions!
A lot remains to be said. Yet, there’s no time! No time at all to tend to the tender heart. We create a life cycle around what doesn’t matter, what won’t last long, what won’t enrich the heart.
Layer on layer, and the heart becomes a hardened cocoon.
Life becomes a living lie ! We lie every waking second of every single minute… lie on what it means to feel happy.. what it means to feel whole with ourselves and, and with existence.. not-so-innocent lies on the perfect wives and the perfect families…
The fragile heart, the ever so bold heart that smiles inwardly, is the first casualty of the concooned existence.
But it knows the truth, that it sometimes gently whispers into your ears, slowly and cautiously. And it’s blunt and casual in its judgement – you’re not happy, you’re not whole, your being is but a sad vibration of accumulated lies – from parents, loved ones, and the society.
But you go on, holding on to those lies that you now believe to be your reality.
One fine day, when the clouds are sombre, and the mood is melancholic, the quiet heart plays a note of love, of memory, of stillness, of the age gone by, when you were free. And you REMEMBER!
The remembrance strikes a hammer into the hardened cocoon, and creates a small crevice… Small enough to let fresh air in..
The innocent heart catches a beat of respite again & plays that LOVE SONG again, the one we forgot while “growing up”. The delight is same, the excitement is same.
Wrinkles on the face may hide the delight. The light in the eyes shows so.
So, whenever that moment catches on to you, it’s your “calling”. In that moment, run away from anything that binds you from that ancient call. Run away from everything that bound you in the name of duty or convention or even love.
For there’s no age to be perfectly free, and happily joyous!
No age to release the soul-butterfly out of its caged cocoon!
A handful of people are known ‘Sufis‘ – mystics who rather prefer to live in seclusion.
A small percentage of Sufis become revered Sufi saints.
And an even smaller percentage of Sufi saints are known worldwide for their poetry.
Mevlana Rumi is among the smaller percentage of Sufi mystics, whose mysticism tears down the walls of religions, whose poetry inflames a deep fire we run away from daily, whose love for God and his master is deep and soulful.
Simple, to the point, and lyrical, the fountain of poetry exploded in Rumi’s heart when he came in contact with his master, Shams-e-Tabriz.
As it turns out, Rumi was a popular scholar turned poet, whose poetic genious was revealed to him after his unquenchable thirst for God was ignited by his master.
“I used to want buyers for my words,
Now I wish someone would buy me away from words”.
Story-telling, a craft used by Sufis, offers an amusing lesson to the reader, in the most shocking way.
Nostalgia is a sweet ailment. Only twisted minds savour the bitter-sweet taste of past. But, sometimes, it is all you can do. Especially when you get to stay in your home town again.
Staying in this idyllic city of Nangal made my childhood an extraordinary experience.
But, I didn’t know it at that time. I was busy daydreaming about the “perfect adult life”. Yet, I still had moments of absolute calm and happiness:
an adventurous hike to the school, cycling around the beautiful town lined by the gigantic river Satluj, the hospital nearby where we played hide and seek (maternity ward is the safest spot!), a passionate Biology teacher who took us to multiple bio-hikes (he could tell the name of each and every plant in the town and beyond), and a teacher of English literature who didn’t just read poetry.
He savoured every word of a poem, created a big spectacle out of it, and made me fall in love with English literature every single day.
I remember a poem that he narrated to us. It felt like the poem was the only thing that mattered at that moment.
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes:
“The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding— …”
“The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor”, has stayed with me for longer than I imagined. But the best was yet to come;
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
I can still hear the suppressed giggling of my classmates when he decided to dramatically blow a kiss.
I guess that’s what nostalgia is all about! Many of my classmates have gone ahead, and became engineers and doctors.
Yet I still find myself there, sitting in that class over and over again : awestruck, giggling, trying to memorise every single word in the “Oxford dictionary”, and falling in love with poetry as we know it.
The epic movie “Dead poet’s society” is as close as it can get, to the kind of passionate childhood we got to live. Sir Prasad to me, is an epitome of the art of teaching, and in his own ways, he clearly conveyed the “secret” to those of us who were listening:
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute.
We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.
And the human race is filled with passion.
And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.
“To quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?’
Answer. That you are here — that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.
What will your verse be?”
The question is still relevant,.“What will your verse be?”
A whirling dervish… Ecstatic music… A state of no dimension !
I never thought I’ll ever witness a whirling Dervish for real. Let alone, whirl myself!
Least of all, didn’t expect it to happen in Osho’s meditation center.
But wonderful things happen, especially, when you least expect them!
On the last day of a 4-day camp at Osho Nisarga center, the instructor, Pragya Ma, introduced us to the techniques of “No Dimension” meditation.
“Using the breath and a series of coordinated body movements followed by whirling, your energy becomes centered in the hara, the “life energy” center below the navel. From there you can watch the mind and experience awareness and wholeness – the body moving in all directions, the center unmoving.” – osho.com
Not only could I whirl without feeling dizzy, I felt a new connection with the universal energy; a connection which was always there in the first place!
It felt like a “spring of awareness” has blossomed in my heart, pushing away the dark wintry clouds of “chain of thoughts”.
Tears of gratitude flowed from my eyes, realising, for the first time, that the only hinderance between me and the universal energy is the entity “me”. Once “me” leaves the place, only God resides, even if, momentarily. 🙂
Located in foothills of The Himalayan range, Himachal Pradesh, Osho Nisarga is a lush green meditation commune. Vibrant flowers, gentle murmur of the river water, and the enchanting view of Dhauladhar mountain range, Osho Nisarga’s vibes surely takes the meditation experience to another dimension!
“The whole existence is a temple. The trees are continuously in worship, The clouds are in prayer, and The mountains are in meditation… ”