I want chaos and serenity stitched together like lovers. I want to continue shifting weight until I find the centre of my becoming. I want days where the only thing that matters is we remembered to breathe. I want lonesome nights. I want the courage and fear to be revered for lessons they each impart.
There is much about India that I love, and all you need do is scroll around this site, or my Facebook page, or read Lost & Found in India, or any one of the many articles I've written, and you'll know that my 15 years of living in India hasn't been under protest, isn't campaign-driven. It's because I love it, and I choose to live here. Besides, the barbaric behavior of humans exists everywhere, and despite what form it takes, it will inflict its violence on the residents around it. The West has a neat and clever trick of hiding it, but it's there. In India, meanwhile, everything is on display, up close and personal: there's no avoiding anything in this country.
Together they can walk and fly as whole and different, but in awe of what the other is. Proud to be there for each other with that certain thing between them, that makes us stop in our tracks with our jaws at our knees, mouthing off: I want to love like that! With that magnificent Wild upon my arm free to fly. How gorgeous and scary and humbling would that be? Reminding me of my humanity and how fierce or fragile I can be -- if he flew away forever from me.
“Beauty is the illumination of your soul.”
The birth of beauty, our sacred duty.
More than a decade ago, when I was too young to appreciate compliments, a friend said to me, “you’re beautiful, but in your own way.”
It was probably the nicest thing anyone could say, but it stung and I over-analyzed it for years.
Back then I was one-dimensional about my looks. Packed-full with existential confusion and childhood pain, I felt very alone in the world. And I was. But mostly because I had made it so.
I allowed zero reflection from the life around me, I resisted calm water, mirrors, and pretty much everyone and everything from… getting too close. It was all on my terms or I’d bail. And because of it, I couldn’t see, feel, taste, use or express my beauty.
I unadmittedly hoarded my diamonds and it stunted my inner growth and creative...
I was distant, shut down, and could feel nothing. I was like a robot on auto-pilot, just going through the motions thinking it was only me that was hurting when in reality everyone could feel the tension.
I sat on the floor crying as he dragged her down the basement steps. The door closed behind them with what seemed to me, a thud with finality. This wasn't the first time he had beaten her but it would be the last.
In the collective striving to better the universe, we all need each other to release our ego enough to share, exchange and truly listen to one another's experiences, challenges and requests. We will only be able to heal the wounds we have caused one another and the feminine earth when we stop perceiving this vulnerable discussion as a personal attack.
And, trust me, it is an eye and heart opening experience. I can say this unequivocally: there are not any bad people living rough (homeless). There aren't any people struggling with problems that are irrevocable or broken situations that are irrecoverable.
Imagine you didn't spend one more minute thinking about yourself in terms of something to describe or define, or something to make you happy or sad, proud or ashamed, but only focused on the experiences you allow yourself to have, the people you have them with, and the knowledge and enlightenment this world has to offer.
She kept me as a secret, a pearl that would grow and save her one day, an angel perhaps that would elevate them all to a higher ground and fly them to an island of love and joy where people were only sincere.
The world has become tiny and we have changed as The Age has changed. We have moved into this new age over the past couple of decades and transited from the patriarchal Age of Pisces into the 'golden age' of Aquarius.
She talks to me in an urge to drive until I run out of gas to see what exists for me there. She tells me not to live the damage I've sustained, but instead to devour it, absorb it into us to use as the fuel it's meant to be. To propel us forward into the wild. She rises up from somewhere deep inside, far beyond my soul.
By using my sense of hearing rather than my eyesight, I discover a new world of sensation and appreciate the minute details found high up in the tree canopy on a zip lining tour in Redwood National Forest, California.
It seems that the reason we resist pain so much, personally and collectively, is because it opens up so much feeling. We know that embracing it will ineffably, irrevocably change us, transform us. For it is only when enough of us are finally aligned with our hearts, will this endless cycle run out of steam; it runs on the combined hate and judgment of all of us.
Self-realization, on the other hand, is not only accepting (tolerating) who we really and are and who others are, it's understanding them and ourselves in our entirety. You cannot have compassion or empathy for someone (including yourself) by just accepting or tolerating them or you.
I arise again, a quick flash of my now open eyes left to right on the way up. Still no signs of life. Again I reach for the sightless sky, this time on tip toes, inhaling deeply a wide swath of dank air. This time my arms float to the floor like feather flight.
And yet I had the photos to prove it; squirrels and ducks could indeed be tamed. Therefore, to be Socratic about things, so could my own wild habits. It was simply a matter of feeding them with good ones.
You may look good on paper with your photoshopped partner, but that kind of perfection, the kind where you weed out every flaw, nip and tuck every time you feel a twang of pain and create a 2D image, is the kind of perfection within which breath and life simply cannot exist.
How can mankind feel so entitled? Shouldn't something so beautiful have control over its own being? I can feel the crumpled petals brush past my skin as I watch him slowly suck at my youth. I can feel him invading my territory as his rough hands sweep past my long hair.
Yes, words have power. And we should treat them responsibly. And a word only has the power you give to it. If a word (or a brush stroke) can so easily shatter the foundations of your belief system, it is not the word that is the problem. It's your fear of losing your belief system, your fear of a crack in the wall, that's the problem. It is not even your flawed belief system that is the problem, it is your overdependence on your belief system's infallibility.