​For the Night is Dark, and Full of Melody!

A cricket’s love-laden chirps adds a kind of mystic melody to the quiet night – an ancient love-call for the nocturnals to celebrate the darkened silence of the night.

Notice how the incessant chirping of the cricket is never a disturbing noise! It rather adds a sweet lullaby to the disquieted mind, that quietly numbs one towards a peaceful sleep.

It seems like the chirping adds a kind of  rhythm to the night!

 Like a pre-arranged agreement between nature & its elements, that allows the insect to add a sweet sweet melody to the quietness of the night.

 A perceptive mind can see that there’s a melody even in the constant murmur of a passing river & a gentle drowsiness in the splashing waves of an ocean. 

 Everything is perfect & in complete harmony in mother nature: the sounds, the noises, & the sacred silences!

 But it’s a complete reversal in a the chaotic human mind, a mind which brings disharmony and imbalance in nature & life of all the other beings on the planet.

If only a person could sit silently in the lap of mother nature, gaze at the magical canopy of a startit night, & understand that though the night is dark, it is still full of Melody:

a melody lost to the death-deaf human species ! 

a melody that brings a sense of belongingness to mother nature

a melody with which the ancients were connected to!


  Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.


 

Don’t Quit – An Inspirational Poem

Don’t Quit by John Greenleaf Whittier

” When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns
And many a failure comes about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow—
You may succeed with another blow.

Often the Goal is nearer than,
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the Struggler has given up,
When he might have captured the victor’s cup,
And he learned too late when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the Golden Crown.

Success is failure turned inside out—
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell just how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit—
It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.”

🙂

The Curious Case of a Writer’s Block

A writer’s block. A malady understood by only .1% populace. An incurable & inexplicable phenomena that afflicts both the wanna be & the established writers equally. 

So, what is it that causes the curious case of a writer’s block?

If creativity is a divine gift , is writer’s block a punishment by a not-so-happy divine hand? 😛

If creativity is 99% practice, how the hell is one supposed to practise the inability to practise something ?

Not-so-easy to answer questions!

Let’s start with the basic one. 

What is a writer’s block???

The exact feeling can be figuratively compared to a bad dream where one is falling down a steep hill without any bodily control & wakes up with a sudden jerk. 

The meaning of the phrase is the inability to; write a sentence,  possess a linear thought process /flow of ideas, or sometimes, a condition when the ability to write even the next word is lost, for a week, a month or, in my case, a number of months now.

It feels like the heart might give away completely the moment the next word will come out of my mouth/ pen. The thing is it is too lame to be expressed, yet happens to the best of us. 

“Writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all.” 🙂 

– Charles Bukowski

I can’t fathom the depths of failure that writer’s blocks brings upon someone. It’s different for everyone. And I’m sure the easy answer is to look at it as a technical issue rather than a psychological one (a reality of over-thinking writers). 

But here’s what helps me at times, & I’m sure the answer is different for each one of us.

  • Read a thought-provoking book
  • Solo travel
  • Meditation
  • Strenuous physical activity
  • The art of doing nothing

Any one of the above, or when I am lucky enough, all the above mentioned activities  slowly steer me away from the wretched blockage of creative energy,  & allows me to relax enough to write naturally.

I guess more or less, the lack of inspiration or monotony is why writer’s block manifests. And doing that one thing that always takes you on a “joy-ride” is the key to unlock the much-dreaded blockage.

Do share your ideas on how you get past your block in the comments section. 🙂

writers block
To write or not to write, that is the question?

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.

The lost cause of unconditional love

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 love we 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 !

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.

A Dervish at the door!

 

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?”

“Some water?”

“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. 

“Hey, hey!”

“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.”

– A Dervish at the door, Rumi

🙂

Diary Entry of a Labrador Pup

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.

IMG_20161103_113911

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. 😀

 

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.

Mountain of Fortitude

Ugly lies.

Vacant promises.

Torn-up relationships.

Life’s a confusing mess of lies!

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. 

Kasol, Himachal Pradesh

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.

Bir Billing, Himachal Pradesh

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!

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.

My calling !

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!

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.

I used to want buyers for my words

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”.

– Rumi

Story-telling, a craft used by Sufis, offers an amusing lesson to the reader, in the most shocking way.

Here’s an interesting poem picked up from “The Essential Rumi” by Coleman Barks .

It is about a Sufi mystic who is overtly worried about his old donkey, and requests the servant repeatedly to give the donkey a proper meal and care.

The assurances given by the servant were all in vain, when the Sufi later realizes that the donkey wasn’t tended to as promised.

The ordinary story is not so ordinary.

It is the lesson in the ordinary things in life that’s become the essence of Sufism.

And here’s how the poem unfolds, giving the reader an advice on life:

“There are such vicious and empty flatterers in your life.

Do the careful, donkey-tending work.

Don’t trust that to anyone else.

There are hypocrites who will praise you, but who do not care about the health of your heart-donkey.

Be concentrated and leonine in the hunt for what is your true nourishment.

Don’t be distracted by blandishment-noises, of any sort.”

– After the Meditation, Rumi 🙂

(Note: The picture has been sourced from the net. No infringement intended.)

 

Copyright © [Meru]. All rights reserved.