Reflections on a Deathbed. (360 repost)

I have lived. I know not if I lived well or lived badly, but live, I did. My Voice has grown soft over the years, for life doesn't need to hear me loudest. My voice has been tempered with what my eyes have seen, ears have heard and my heart has felt. My eyes have lost sight. My heart has taken over the job of my eyes and it seems to see better. My ears have hushed but my skin feels the heart beat of those around me. Life has been very beautiful, quite ambivalent and sometimes ugly. But Live, I did, this life of Mine.

I have ranged from being non-sensical to paradoxical to absolutely stable. To discover the whole range of things I could be was exasperating as well as joyful. I raised a garden, so I could feel the pulse of the earth. I raised the kids, so I could feel my immortality. I raised livestock, so I could feel the connectedness in the difference. I have nourished others, in the hope that, I have nourished their souls. I haved nursed the sick, so I could heal myself of hurts. I have laughed, I have cried, I have been angry, I have been patient and impulsive, I have fallen from grace and risen from it too. I have wished for death and I have wished Life Goes on forever. All the while, Living this Life of mine.

I may not be accomplished or successful the way you see it, but I have observed and experienced, where-ever I have stood. I have felt the snap of a breaking heart. I have felt the weight of gratefulness. I have seen the strength of Faith. I have felt the tallness of Intergrity. I have felt the freedom of giving. I have felt the joy of un-restrained laughter and the pain of un-cried tears. I have Hated and Loved and felt all the in-betweens. Most of all I have Loved- Loved the ones I came through; Loved the ones who blessed me with their friendship; Loved the One who set My heart on Fire; Loved the ones who came through me; Loved the ones who have shared short journeys with me. Yes! I have loved in My Life, and somehow, everything else seems inconsequential in the light of that one event. Yes, I have lived well, this Life of mine.

Why we read what we dont understand

I enjoy listening to languages I dont understand, its the only way to entertain my poor Bored ear. I try not to make my senses complacent. So sometimes during my everyday chores of cutting veges, cooking and cleaning, I end up with a cut on my finger or a burn on my arm or a blue mark on my thigh(nope I am not admitting I am a Klutz). If I continue doing the things as it is done everyday, my brain feels like its on automation. I dont like automation, I like to mark the difference between a Machine and ME...

oh where was I? Yeah! listening to stuff that I dont understand... Probably my first introduction to what I dont understand was the early morning Shloka readings I used to hear from my neighbours house. You could set the clock by the time that Uncle used to start the Shloka, it used to be regularly, without fail. At first it annoyed me that his shloka was waking me up... but over time I began to enjoy it. So I used to stand at the sink, eyes closed, with the brush in my teeth listening to the high and lows of his chanting. I never knew what it was that was that felt so nice but listen I did. After a while I used to know the variations if he made a mistake(I am presuming he did so). At that time, my mother was reading the Bhagawath Geeta in Sanskrit with its translations in Kannada(a language she could read write and speak fluently). Me, the one who prided herself in being Logical couldnt understand it. Why read the Sanskrit version and then read the translation when you could just read the translation and be done? Oh well! I should have known it will come to bite me in the future...I did it too in my 20's, reading the Bhagawath Geeta in sanskrit with translations in English. Makes me wonder... is there some pattern in the Genes for carrying over Mother's mode of behaviour? I never bothered to rationalize it.. it just was.. I like doing it. Yesterday, my cousin sends me this story which I thought gave me an explanation of why my mother did what she did... Here goes the story. Enjoy:

Why do we read Geeta, even if we can't understand a Sanskrit word???

The Story:

An old Farmer lived on a farm in the mountains with his young grandson.
Each morning Grandpa was up early sitting at the kitchen table reading his Bhagavat Geeta. His grandson wanted to be just like him and tried to imitate him in every way he could.

One day the grandson asked, "Grandpa! I try to read the Bhagavat Geeta just like you but I don't understand it, and what I do understand I forget as soon as I close the book. What good does reading the Bhagavat Geeta do?"

The Grandfather quietly turned from putting coal in the stove and replied, "Take this coal basket down to the river and bring me back a basket of water."

The boy did as he was told, but all the water leaked out before he got back to the house. The grandfather laughed and said, "You'll have to move a little faster next time," and sent him back to the river with the basket to try again.

This time the boy ran faster, but again the basket was empty before he returned home. Out of breath, he told his grandfather that it was impossible to carry water in a basket, and he went to get a bucket instead. The old man said, "I don't want a bucket of water; I want a basket of water. You're just not trying hard enough," and he went out the door to watch the boy try again.

At this point, the boy knew it was impossible, but he wanted to show his grandfather that even if he ran as fast as he could, the water would leak out before he got back to the house.

The boy again dipped the basket into river and ran hard, but when he reached his grandfather the basket was again empty.

Out of breath, he said, "See Grandpa, it's useless!"
"So you think it is useless?" The old man said, "Look at the basket."

The boy looked at the basket and for the first time realized that the basket was different. It had been transformed from a dirty old coal basket and was now clean, inside and out.

"Son, that's what happens when you read the Bhagavat Geeta. You might not understand or remember everything, but when you read it, you will be changed, inside and out. That is the work of God in our lives."

End of story.

I guess it goes to explain reading every holy book too. Maybe thats why they are considered Holy. This also takes me back to second grade when we learned the Multiplication tables without really understanding what it meant. We had to memorize it, so we did.. When I reached 3rd grade, as I was writing out the table on paper, I suddenly understood how the table was written.. I felt elated.. although thinking about it now, I wonder if I was a dullard at math(giggling).

Peace always

Mithuna

Decisions

Found this quote about Success that made me smile.

"What is the Secret of SUCCESS... ? "RIGHT DECISIONS"

How do you make Right Decisions...? "EXPERIENCE"

How do you get Experience... ? "WRONG DECISIONS""

The Last Gift -short story

With the children and school and husband at work, Ria sits by the window enjoying the sunlight. This is something she does for herself. Its her time to Bask, like a seal on a rock, doing nothing. For the next thirty minutes or so, she will not move from her chair except for sipping her coffee.

She wonders if she should let her husband and family know what the doctor has said. Dr. Gupta was surprised that Ria took the news so well. She was quiet for a moment after she had heard the prognosis and asked "How much time do I have?". "About 9 months" Dr. Gupta said. "Exactly the amount of time to prepare for one life, guess thats a good amount of time to prepare for one death" She thought silently.

Her thoughts go to the time her grandmother was ill and in the hospital. What did grandmother feel? Was she in pain? Did she want to die? Did she will herself to live? Did she blame God for the pain? She remembered being 14, sitting by her grandmom's bed. There was only steady breathing that she had heard. Once in a while she heard grandmom groan in her sleep, its the only times she heard anything akin to complain. Her grandmom had passed peacefully after having a really good day. On that day, all her children, grandchildren and her childhood friend had come to meet her during the day. She was so upbeat and smiling, like as if she had beat the cancer and the pain had been less. That evening after all had left for the night, she passed away in her sleep. It was like dying was a job she wanted to do alone, without anyone seeing her do it.

Ria wonders if she is like her grandmom, does everyone feel the same way when they die? Do we fight against dying or would we just accept it? Does it matter either way, fight or accept? After all Die, we will, no matter what. Shes always been curious about death. Death is such an unbiased thing. It arrives at our doors once life is done, never asking whether you lived well, healthy, wealthy or poor. Nothing that you did or said or felt or experienced is going to make any difference to death. After a while nothing about you really matters to those you left behind, except for memories.

Her husband was someone who spoke very little. Their conversations were mostly about what needs to be done or about the kids and other kind of formalities. In the begining, she had such grandiose ideas about Marriage and Husband and How families are supposed to be. But 5 years into the marriage, her ideas succumbed to the reality of life. She learned that Nothing really happens like the stories in the Romance Novels. She became a silent spectator of her own life, watched the death of her Ideas of life as she put them on the pyre one by one. Life was tough and she got used to it. "Whats the use of complaining?" thought Ria, "Either I should do something about it or I should learn to accept what is". She chose the path of least resistence, Acceptance. Now she wonders, would he miss her when she dies? If he did, would he tell anyone?

Two years into the marriage, the kids came and the chores increased. She watched the kids, their chatter, their loving arms, their silly stories, their laughter, she let them be for the most part. Disciplining them fell to her list of things to do, and so she did it. She smiled at the memory of defiance from the kids and then compliance. She hoped they would some day look back and say "I am glad mom did what she did". She wouldnt be there to hear it, would she now? Memories are funny things, they pop up without warning, they can make a perfect smile, tearful or a tearful face, break into a smile. Memories understand Irony perfectly. Leaving my children, thats more painful than dying, she thinks.

She wonders why she isnt raving and ranting at the prospect of dying. Why she doesnt feel very sad about it? But she isnt happy about it either. Is this what impeding death feels like? Total Numbness? Is something wrong with me? I am 40 years old, I should be living at least until 60, she thinks, yet I am not miffed at the loss of 20 years? She says to herself - I have done what needs doing until now and I only know that things need to get done before I go...Somehow along the path of life, she Understood Life to be Duty. Everything has a duty, the sun has to rise and set to bring in day and night, the earth has to rotate and revolve heralding the seasons, the water has to either flow or stay stagnant each serving its purpose, the wind has to blow or stay calm, the fire has to put forth warmth or burn, each in its station, each with a duty to perform, each has a purpose. So do animals, insects, soil and human beings. She wonders if she has served her purpose, and she quietly decides, she has, else she wouldnt be dying would she?

Basking done, she gets ready for the chores of the day. The family need not know, until they need to know. That way there is less brooding, less focus on her being sick, less of sadness and pity fests. Thats her last gift to the ones she loves, happiness with everything in its place as long as she can give it to them. She will continue with getting things done until she cant get them done anymore and then they would know. A sigh escapes her lips as she washes her empty cup at the sink.

Quote

This one made me smile.

What is the Secret of SUCCESS... ? "RIGHT DECISIONS"

How do you make Right Decisions...? "FROM PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE"

How do you get Experience... ? "WRONG DECISIONS"

Sharing Things I like doing

One of the things I have always enjoyed doing is dabbling in Scribbles and Paints. Of course, there were objections in my home for spending(nay, according to my parents "Wasting") time with such trivialities. But it was something I really enjoyed doing, other than reading books, dreaming and laughing. None are Original, I have usually copied something that catches my eye either on a Magazine or Newspaper or Brochures and catalogues( I have Junk which looks like piles and piles of Books ). I like to sketch, with the aim of seeing how close I can come to the original picture. Most times its close but not the same, it will be skewed somewhere if you compare it with the original. I usually sketch from either photographs or a picture, never real life(that is intimidating, I cant sit still and if its landscape, one blow of the breeze will make a shift in the picture my eye sees). As for paintings, I stick to the colours I see on the original, sometimes I do use my own version. It will seem disjointed and less cohesive than the original when I use my own version of colours. Here are some of the results. Hope you enjoy.

Now for the Paintings

Peace Always,

Mithuna.

You and I (360 repost)

What name could I give
To this thing that IS
Between You and I?
Try as I might
No words can explain,
That which is there yet not there.
Trying not to see
Or is it just Me,
Not wanting to taste
The truth between us?
Is it a waste of Time?
With so much
Happening within and with us
In our silences
Keeping our cold exteriors
While Lava fills the interiors
Anonymous behind the screens
Glad for the Distance
Listening silently
To the same songs
We both like
Afraid to see
How much we're alike
You and I
With our impenetrable walls
Our invisible smiles
Our lives on a Groove
Would we someday perhaps
Cross each other's path
Recognize the other
In some corner of our hearts
Would we then Know
What we are, to each other?

K P Rashmi- August 2007

Inter-caste/religious weddings

This came in the mail from a very good friend of mine.. I Loved the read, so I had to share it with you. I have my own stories about Inter-caste/religious weddings, some day I will write about it.. Hope you all enjoy this one until then.

The Story

Grandmother was pretending to be lost in prayer, but her prayer-beads were spinning at top speed. That meant she was either excited or upset. Mother put the receiver down. "Some American girl in his office, she's coming to stay with us for a week." She sounded as if she had a deep foreboding.

Father had no such doubt. He knew the worst was to come. He had been matching horoscopes for a year, but my brother Vivek had found a million excuses for not being able to visit India , call any of the chosen Iyer girls, or in any other way advance father's cause. Father always wore four parallel lines of sacred ash on his forehead. Now there were eight, so deep were the furrows of worry on his forehead. I sat in a corner, supposedly lost in a book, but furiously text-messaging my brother with a vivid description of the scene before me.

A few days later I stood outside the airport with father. He tried not to look directly at any American woman going past, and held up the card reading "Barbara". Finally a large woman stepped out, waved wildly and shouted "Hiiii! Mr. Aayyyezh, how ARE you?" Everyone turned and looked at us. Father shrank visibly before my eyes. Barbara took three long steps and covered father in a tight embrace. Father's jiggling out of it was too funny to watch. I could hear him whispering "Shiva Shiva!". She shouted "you must be Vijaantee?" "Yes, Vyjayanthi" I said with a smile. I imagined little half-Indian children calling me "Vijaantee aunty!". Suddenly, my colorless existence in Madurai had perked up. For at least the next one week, life promised to be quite exciting. Soon we were eating lunch at home. Barbara had changed into an even shorter skirt. The low neckline of her blouse was just in line with father's eyes. He was glaring at mother as if she had conjured up Barbara just to torture him. Barbara was asking "You only have vegetarian food? Always??" as if the idea was shocking to her. "You know what really goes well with Indian food, especially chicken? Indian beer!" she said with a pleasant smile, seemingly oblivious to the apoplexy of the gentleman in front of her, or the choking sounds coming from mother. I had to quickly duck under the table to hide my giggles. Everyone tried to get the facts without asking the one question on all our minds: What was the exact nature of the relationship between Vivek and Barbara?

She brought out a laptop computer. "I have some pictures of Vivek" she said. All of us crowded around her. The first picture was quite innocuous. Vivek was wearing shorts and standing alone on the beach. In the next photo, he had Barbara draped all over him. She was wearing a skimpy bikini and leaning across, with her hand lovingly circling his neck. Father got up, and flicked the towel off his shoulder. It was a gesture we in the family had learned to fear. He literally ran to the door and went out. Barbara said "It must be hard for Mr. Aayyezh. He must be missing his son." We didn't have the heart to tell her that if said son had been within reach, father would have lovingly wrung his neck. My parents and grandmother apparently had reached an unspoken agreement. They would deal with Vivek later. Right now Barbara was a foreigner, a lone woman, and needed to be treated as an honored guest. It must be said that Barbara didn't make that one bit easy. Soon mother wore a perpetual frown. Father looked as though he could use some of that famous Indian beer.

Vivek had said he would be in a conference in Guatemala all week, and would be off both phone and email. But Barbara had long lovey-dovey conversations with two other men, one man named Steve and another named Keith. The rest of us strained to hear every interesting word. "I miss you!" she said to both. She also kept talking with us about Vivek, and about the places they'd visited together. She had pictures to prove it, too. It was all very confusing.

This was the best play I'd watched in a long time. It was even better than the day my cousin ran away with a Telugu Christian girl. My aunt had come howling through the door, though I noticed that she made it to the plushest sofa before falling in a faint. Father said that if it had been his child, the door would have been forever shut in his face. Aunt promptly revived and said "You'll know when it is your child!" How my aunt would rejoice if she knew of Barbara!

On day five of her visit, the family awoke to the awful sound of Barbara's retching. The bathroom door was shut, the water was running, but far louder was the sound of Barbara crying and throwing up at the same time. Mother and grandmother exchanged ominous glances. Barbara came out and her face was red. "I don't know why", she said, "I feel queasy in the mornings now." If she had seen as many Indian movies as I'd seen, she'd know why. Mother was standing as if turned to stone. Was she supposed to react with the compassion reserved for pregnant women? With the criticism reserved for pregnant unmarried women? With the fear reserved for pregnant unmarried foreign women who could embroil one's son in a paternity suit? Mother, who navigated familiar flows of married life with the skill of a champion oarsman, now seemed completely taken off her moorings. She seemed to hope that if she didn't react it might all disappear like a bad dream. I made a mental note to not leave home at all for the next week.Whatever my parents would say to Vivek when they finally got a-hold of him would be too interesting to miss. But they never got a chance. The day Barbara was to leave, we got a terse email from Vivek. "Sorry, still stuck in Guatemala . Just wanted to mention, another friend of mine, Sameera Sheikh, needs a place to stay. She'll fly in from Hyderabad tomorrow at 10am . Sorry for the trouble."

So there we were, father and I, with a board saying "Sameera". At last a pretty young woman in salwar-khameez saw the board, gave the smallest of smiles, and walked quietly towards us. When she did 'Namaste' to father, I thought I saw his eyes mist up. She took my hand in the friendliest way and said "Hello, Vyjayanthi, I've heard so much about you." I fell in love with her. In the car father was unusually friendly. She and Vivek had been in the same group of friends in Ohio University. She now worked as a Child Psychologist. She didn't seem to be too bad at family psychology either. She took out a shawl for grandmother, a saree for mother and Hyderabadi bangles for me." Just some small things. I have to meet a professor at Madurai University and it's so nice of you to let me stay" she said. Everyone cheered up. Even grandmother smiled. At lunch she said "This is so nice. When I make sambar, it comes out like chole, and my chole tastes just like sambar". Mother was smiling. "Oh just watch for 2 days, you'll pick it up." Grandmother had never allowed a muslim to enter the kitchen. But mother seemed to have taken charge, and decided she would bring in who ever she felt was worthy. Sameera circumspectly stayed out of the puja room, but on the third day, was stunned to see father inviting her in and telling her which idols had come to him from his father. "God is one" he said. Sameera nodded sagely.

By the fifth day, I could see the thought forming in the family's collective brains. If this fellow had to choose his own bride, why couldn't it be someone like Sameera? On the sixth day, when Vivek called from the airport saying he had cut short his Guatemala trip and was on his way home, all had a million things to discuss with him.

He arrived by taxi at a time when Sameera had gone to the University. "So, how was Barbara's visit?" he asked blithely. "How do you know her?" mother asked sternly. "She's my secretary" he said. "She works very hard, and she'll do anything to help." He turned and winked at me.

Oh, I got the plot now! By the time Sameera returned home that evening, it was almost as if her joining the family was the elders' idea. "Don't worry about anything", they said, "we'll talk with your parents." On the wedding day a huge bouquet arrived from Barbara. It said......

"Flight to India - $1500.
Indian kurta - $15.
Emetic to throw up - $1.
The look on your parents' faces - priceless"

An Alien I am

Discussing Aliens
Intergalactic, not from here,
Not of my culture or clan
Sitting here, confusedly
Fighting for and against
An imagined squatters right.

Being the minds nomad,
belonging to no one or place
Taking what nature bestows
travelling unconsciously,
never resting for long
working with whatever works
A smile carrying an unseen burden,
I know not who I am,
A kite with a broken string
A bird with a broken wing
Going where the wind blows
To where the river flows
Totally alien to me, I am.
Should I look for other aliens?

Thoughts on our 60th Independence day

It was on this day 60 years ago that India became Independent of British Rule. My wish for all Indians is to become aware of what independence means for you. Does it mean having your own people to govern you? Does it mean having your say in what you do with your life? Does it mean more control and power in your hands? Does it mean responsibility? Please Look carefully, cause your definition of Independence will make the path which will lead our country into either a Nation where self-sufficiency and open-ness to new paths of life is in balance or it will lead to a cheap imitation of what we think we should look like to other nations of this world...Please pay special attention to doing things the right way, cause if the action isnt right then the results/consequences will also not be right. Look at your everyday life, cause no matter who you are or where you live, together, our collective behaviour as citizens will determine the Destiny of our nation. In all the work that we do, we have to remember the 3 d's Dharma(as in what is Good for all), Deligence and Dedication. Take stock of how far our nation has come, question if its headed along a path where the future generations can survive and live well. Visualize the kind of Nation you want it to be. Ask yourselves what is it that you can do within the limits of who you are, that will help it along that visualized path.

Temper your Joy too... in rememberance. For this was also the day that Pakistan was formed into a separate Nation. When we celebrate our Independence we should also remember how it happened. Remember our History - How many families were separated over the borders, how many people were slaughtered in the name of religion and nationhood on both sides, how many children became orphans how many men became single fathers or widowers, how many women became single mothers, widows? how many of those who are from that era carry a scar? Have we done any healing or do we walk in denial? Have we learned our lessons? I know there isnt any Memorial(Is there?) for those that died over an Imaginary Line on the soil. But it bodes us Well to have a Memorial in our minds.

Have a Happy yet Introspective day. For our nation, we can at least do that much.

Peace Always

Mithuna

Glass Bangles, potato chips etc.. etc..

Hehehe, pride go-eth before fall-eth? I was so happy no one tagged me. The universe decided it was time to land me on my derriere. I got tagged, visiting Aditi's blog.. So Here goes Seven Random things about me.

1. I am usually reading two-three books at the same time.. the subjects will vary. I used to read books in one stretch, but now its a priceless luxury. I love reading kid stories.

2. I Like to have my early morning cup of coffee alone in total quiet,*sigh* it is a rarity since marriage and kids.

3. The only cosmetics I wear is a moisturing cream, Kohl liner, bindi, an occasional lipstick and perfumes that are really subtle. I use designer bindi's only for an occasion, for everyday use, I make my own design with an eyeliner.

4. I love Glass Bangles. I have stopped wearing them now for safety reasons(kids around me most times). I have a collection from the time before Marriage, I couldnt part with it so it travelled with me from India.

5. I am an ambivert(thanks Sabiha for the new word in my vocabulary). I do take, according to my mother "my own sweet time" to warm up to people. I dont mind being with family and friends but I like my space and alone time very much.

6. When it comes to food, I prefer Indian food but dont really have a favorite. When it comes to snacks, I love spicy peanuts and spicy potato chips. It used to be my fantasy to have a comfortable couch next to a bookshelf in a room filled with potato chips, so I could munch on it while I was lost in the books. (yeah I was a foolish teenager)

7. I like watching people and make up my own fictitious stories on whats going on with them or what the expression on their face means, its my favorite pastime at large gatherings where no one knows the other except for the host.(shhh!!! dont tell anyone)

No, I am not tagging anyone(do I hear sighs of relief?), but I would love it if...hmm its your choice you could let me in on things about you if you so choose, no pressure...:) Especially those who haven't been tagged so far.

Random Question

If we keep tolerating everything that goes on in this world because it’s a diverse world and so its better to "Live and Let Live", what should be done when the ones we Let Lived make the life of the Live’s miserable?

Collections

Just because its possible
We indulge our foible
Collecting, hording anything
Making ours everything
Stamps, art, shoes, clothing
Purses, flowers and playthings.

What a beautiful life! we think
While collecting hurt and grudge
And feelings of hate and revenge
We inflict these, through life's trudge
Giving birth to more of the same
Yet, wondering where from, they came

Let Go, Let Go!!
Love yourself a little more,
Transform those thats no good
To something better than good
Let Go!
We do not need those
In the place of our return.

Entry for August 11, 2007

Random thought of the day - The best Gift you could give someone, is the Gift of Your Time.

Kids are having their vacation. Now they can wake at what ever time they want, do what they want, at least for the most part, of course there is a basic structure for the day with times for eating, playing, studying and cleaning up. I thought that once the vacation starts there would be less of hurrying to get the stuff done on time.

It would do me good to live up to the meaning of my name-Rashmi which is Sanskrit for Sun rays implying warmth, but for some strange reason, I tend to live up to the Pronunciation of my Name-Rush me. It has been my constant effort to not hurry. I have seen too many people succumb to hurry around me. They hurry so much that they can't see what is right in front of them. They can't appreciate their kids genuinely. They can't see the value of their friends or their family cause they are in such a hurry. Everything becomes a formality. Don't you hate it when someone comes over to meet you, like a whirlwind(stay for less than half an hour) because they are busy? If you are really that caring, why not give the other the Gift of Your Time? We hurry so much that we end up with stress related diseases, accidents, anxiety, worry leading to high blood pressure and diseases related to it. I try not to make that mistake, but it is not to be so. Most times I tend to hurry over something - "Oh! Hurry, you need to call parents before they go to bed(they being in India and me in the USA). Hurry! Hurry! finish cooking, cause the kids will feel hungry early today cause they didn't eat lunch. Hurry! else you will miss the start of the movie. Hurry! else you will - (ah put your words here)." I need someone to blame for all the hurrying I do, don't I? How could I say that I am bad at managing time? If I could get that person who invented the concept of measuring time, I think I will strangle them. But I will have to go back in time(oops I cant do without time can I?) for that, maybe to the Earliest Egyptian or the Roman Civilization. That's when someone decided that they needed water clocks and sundials to measure time. So noble they were that they thought everyone will be grateful to them for inventing those devices- Well, I am not pleased at all!!! They even have a name for the study of clocks- Horology - the study of the art and science of timekeeping devices. Horology.. hmm is it related to Horus, the falcon headed Egyptian god of the sky? I don't know.. just wondering.

I think life would have been better without the clock, at least it would make people really listen and give the gift of time to those around them. Instead of half listening with pre-occupation of what they need to get done next, feeling like a psychotherapist, "Your time is up, Next." The result is, I see kids who are needy for time from adults, I see elders who are lonely, I see friends who become cynical with the feeling that there is nothing called friendship, I see couples who havent spoken to the other all week-All from the Lack of time. I wish I could slow time down. I wonder if Einstein's idea can be implemented practically, so that we can actually slow time down. What would its repercussions be? Would our muscles weaken? Would our bones collapse at the slightest impact? Going to stop for now.. Take care of yourselves-Let your bodies get enough rest, let your minds float for a while, let your lips curve with joy and listen to your hearts sing. Wishing you all remember to give the Gift of Time to those you care about. Have a lovely weekend.

Off to where my feet are, taking my head away from the clouds.

Signing off

Mithuna.

Note to Self : Remember to Give the gift of time to your kids, family and friends. Don't worry about what needs be done next, the world doesn't end if you take a little while longer. Work on having a realistic expectation of what can get done in 24 hours.

Circle

Journeying the day
Not knowing the way
With Damned fears
And Dammed tears
Visiting life's fair
New masks to wear
Smiling, laughing, talking-
Couldnt be happier
While thoughts get sorrier
An ache unbearable
The tension palpable
Yet, acting so fine
Like the world were mine.

Ah! if indeed the world were mine
Every tree divine
No dammed waterways
No suffocating airways
Breath, fresh, free, flowing
Life loving, giving
Yet, there's knowing
On borrowed time - I live.
Upon borrowed earth - I walk.
With borrowed relations - I find comfort.

Living my desires and passions
Maintaining my stations
Building my illusions
Until that dreadful day
The day of my doom
And of disillusionment
Realizing, Nothing is as it seems
Nothing is really mine
Except for the drama of life
Me- the authoress
Signed contracts with actors and actresses
Making the world my stage
For a moment on Time's Page
Now the performance done
Experience gained
Tis time to move on
Time to Pack up.

--K P Rashmi August 2007

P. S. Does this seem like it is an addendum to the previous blog?