Love Letter

We laughed together. This is what I like to remember.

I loved it when you came to my house and we passed hours giving each other a massage, having a warm bath together, or making love. I loved it when you were soft and your kiss tasted of love, and when you took me and made me experience the wildest side of my human nature. I loved it when we would play-fight and giggle and laugh until our stomachs ached and we collapsed in embrace. I loved it when I would go run an errand and come home to find you at the cooker, making us a dinner, and then we would talk for hours about anything under the sun.

And sometimes it tasted bitter too, and tears would crawl across my face while your frustration would vent in anger. We might have fought back in anger, but really we were covering the sadness that we were not loving each other, and being loved.

And our own pain made us forget what we could give to each other.

And now our ways are parted.

Although it might appear easier to forget the sweet memories and just feel the relief of no more bitter emotions, I prefer to remember the times when we shared such beautiful energy and connection. I feel grateful for the whole experience I was able to share with you and it makes every tear worth having fallen because I cannot separate the desireable from the undesireable... it was all part of knowing you and sharing with you, and you remain special to me.

It is a beautiful gift to be able to remember you in this way, and it is possible only because of the connection we share and how much affection we continue to feel for each other.

I miss you, and I know you miss me too, however letting go of each other was itself an act of love: for love of our selves as for love of the other. We have been a remarkable reflection for each other, and now it is time to find the love in ourselves that we were searching for in the other, for only when we truly have love can we truly share it.

In this part of our journeys, while we walk separate paths that may lead us afar, may our hearts remain warm with sweet thoughts of each other. When we long for each other we can connect to the warmth of the experience we shared and the gratitude of how we have grown together because of it, and bless each other's course in life as we are blessed by a trust that if, by Grace, there is more we will to share in the course of time, then it shall Be.

Well-wisher, friend, lover... whichever one the future holds for us, we can smile in the knowledge that after all is said and done, in some way I love you (and you love me too).  

We will never walk alone...

"Happy happy joy joy" I wrote some days back in my facebook status. Within minutes it was tagged with many "likes" and even a few happy comments. People love to share happiness. But are they equally quick to share difficult times?

Several years ago, while backpacking through India, I was sitting in the clothes shop belonging to an Indian friend of mine. The small town of Gokarna was frequented by tourists so when a young French woman walked into the shop, I paused the conversation with my friend to allow him to do his business.

The girl looked a little withdrawn, and when she saw me there she hesitated. Latif attempted to introduce us... apparently she had been in there before. I smiled but did not attempt to make conversation.

She left quickly, with Latif telling her to pass by again for a cup of tea later.

Then he turned to me and looking me in the eyes, questioningly, he said, "You people are strange!"

What was this about now?

He continued, "If Maya walk in shop with smiling you sure to be smiling also, and want friendship. But she sad and you only polite and not care for that."

I was startled by his straight-out observation. He was right, of course, although I'd never have thought about this instinctive reaction of mine.

He added, "In Indian culture if sister looking sad we are asking what help can give. Why you not ask her if she need help?"

I reacted, "Well, I don't know her... she might feel like I was invading her space if I asked her troubles. Normally in our culture we do not like to talk about our problems with others unless they are very close to us."

That was not quite a satisfactory reason, as far as he was concerned. "Nobody want to talk about problem because nobody want to listen. I know you people, I see you every day for many years."

I knew Latif was not judging me. Rather he was making me aware of our cultural norms which were rather inhuman in his eyes!

Later in the day I was sitting in a restaurant for some lunch. Maya walked in. She looked as withdrawn as she appeared earlier. I waved to her and invited her to sit with me. She came. I began light conversation, now more conscious of her need for affection though unaware of the reason why. I soon learned.

She loosened up very quickly and poured out her life story - about being raised by an unloving aunt when her mother left her, and living with the constant bullying by her female cousins... so many difficulties she has had to face in her short life. She was only 19, and fleeing to India was to her the last hope she had to escape from her world and find something different. But she discovered that she was carrying the weight of that world with her. It did not make a difference where she was because of how she was feeling inside.

I was surprised at this outpour of such intimate details of her life. I remembered Latif's words, "Nobody want to talk about problem because nobody want to listen." What an important lesson life was presenting me today!

I decided I wanted to give Maya my friendship, regardless of what she was able to give me. Day after day we met and spent time together. In this relationship I was consciously taking the role of the giver, but in reality, by this experience I received more than I could have imagined.

A couple of days before we were due to part ways and proceed on our journeys, Maya and I were walking on the beach under the light of the moon. We were playing about and giggling as we made our way back to our beach huts, which were not far from each other. Suddenly, she just turned around to face me and, becoming very serious, she said, "All the women in my life have given me nothing but suffering, but you have changed that for me!" Her eyes penetrated me deeply.

As I looked back into her eyes, I could have sworn that I could see her face changing forms. Perhaps it was the shadows from the moonlight, or perhaps it was too much oxygen in my brain from all the giggling, or perhaps it was her energy changing so suddenly that it was strangely visible - or maybe all those things put together or maybe it was something else. I don't know.

But what came to my mind was how, according to Hindu mythology, the name Maya refers to the illusory material energy, which is considered to be feminine, and how this aspect of divinity is said to manifest itself in so many different forms... and I remembered the Indian "Paramatma" philosophy whereby it is told that divinity pervades everything. The Divine was manifest within Maya yet I had not realised that until now.

“I owed it to you,” I said. “Thank you for what you have changed in me.”

The illusion is that we are separated from each other and thus we all live on our own individual mental planets. The unifying factor is love.

If only we could see how we were all connected on the absolute divine plane, it would be so much easier for love to flow naturally regardless of whether the divine Self was being expressed as a tree, a fish, a bird, an animal or another human being. That was what came to my mind.

It is that same feeling of separatedness, caused by the false identification of the ego, that makes us feel alone in our miseries. Admitting our short-comings or our fears feels like admitting defeat in a world where all are taught to strive for the control, power, wealth and fame that belong only to the Absolute.

However, as a friend pointed out, dwelling on our problems and in our expression of them may also be egotistic. Indeed, but perhaps this is born of a feeling of fumbling alone, which nourishes a desperate and forceful need to reach out: Is there anybody out there?

The curtain will some day be lifted and we will never walk alone....

Dog Eat Dog in a Dog's Life!

Five cute puppies were born to Sundari this season. Sundari was just one of the many skinny, flea-ridden strays, until she wandered into the compound of our community about three years ago. Now she is the only dog in the area that has a name.

Affection is something most dogs in India simply do not know. A dog is considered one of the lowest and dirtiest life forms, and the vast majority are forced to scavenge for a living, dying young from disease or brutal fights over food or territory.

The sickening image of that dog... a patch of raw flesh to the bone instead of an ear... returns to mind.

But these puppies are fortunate. They will not have to grow to be so tough, I think, while I watch them from my window as they play on a pile of small rocks used by the builders.

One finds a larger stone and takes possession of it, inviting the others to steal it away if they dared... little growls warning of his superiority, yet continuously teasing.

Another manages to playfully trick him into letting go of the stone then, picking it up himself, he takes off with it. The first puppy takes chase.

Suddenly they both stop. I cannot see why. The clever one drops the stone. He looks shocked. He whimpers in pain. He turns and limps away, looking sorry for himself.

The one who had been out-done makes for the rock, looking pleased with himself.

It dawns on me... and I relate to the shock and sorrow...

He had been bitten. By his own brother.

I realise that it is not quite circumstance, but Nature, that dictates.

Sadly, it sure is a dog-eat-dog world.

Money Can't Buy Me Love

What to do when, gone to the roof to take your washing off the line, you find it on the ground covered in grime, black fingerprints and white, woolly monkey-hair????


The gits have had a whale of a time playfighting with my underwear... grrr! Okay, granted, I'm not really angry... more just like: OH WHAT TO DO?! Like when a kid does something naughty, and it's 20% frustrating and 80% endearing!

But this episode leads me to contemplate the things one could take forgranted. While I'm happy to be in India, and would not choose to be anywhere else at this point in time, I find myself momentarily appreciating more than usual that land with automatic washing machines and no pesky monkeys, which I usually call home. In fact, that place has so much material comfort...

* Glass on windows - especially when it's 10 degrees outside and you want to bathe!
* Hot water in a tap, or simply running water! (But you learn to love the dodgy immersion heater, honest.)
* Electricity, 24 hours a day!
* Shops having fixed timings, or the 'closed day' being on a fixed day of the week, no matter where you are. Did I mention finding the shop-keeper ready to serve you rather than napping on the floor of his shop?
* Really good pizza!!! :-S

Well, the list goes on... but why bore you with reminders of the material oppulence of the West? It might even give one the wrong idea that I may be of the opinion that those things really matter.

Because when I have all these things, I miss so much of MY India, this other place I also call home. But it is not anything superficial, like the plentiness of vegetarian food, or the natural balance of humans co-existing with nature, that really attracts me.

It is because, as a wise Indian sage once said, 'Western materialism is like a blind man while Indian spirituality is like the lame man: the former has a fit body but cannot see the best way to utilise it, while the latter has all the wisdom available to mankind but not the means to utilise it to its full potential.'

But if we place the one who can see on the shoulders of the one who can walk...?

In India, what we tend to see as strengths (money, power, women, name and fame) are considered the weakness and downfall of a man. I recently heard this story about a village named Satya, meaning Truth. All its inhabitants always told the truth.

Once a traveller came by. He came across one man who owned much property and land. The traveller asked, "How much money do you have in the bank?" The man replied, 7,000 Rupees (100 Euro). The traveller stared in disbelief, but said nothing.

Next he came across a man who was surrounded by his grandchildren. There were ten of them, all between the age of three and six years. "How many children do you have?" asked the traveller. "Only one," replied the old man. Again the traveller stared in disbelief, but said nothing.

Then the traveller came across an old man chanting mantras on his Japa-beads, and asked him, "How old are you?" The man replied, "Only twenty years old, my friend, only twenty years."

The traveller walked away, bewildered. He thought, "This is the village of Satya, yet all its inhabitants seem to be liars!" One man had observed all this, and called him to his side.

"That first man, he has much money but only recently has he offered his first 7,000 Rupees to the Temple for charity, so he considers that that is the only money he has well-invested.

"The second man has nine sons, but only one has become a monk, dedicating his life to the search of God, therefore he considers that that is the only valuable son he has.

"The third man is seventy years old, but only twenty years ago did he take initiation into spiritual practice, therefore he considers his previous fifty years wasted."

This is the sort of fairytale an Indian grandad would tell his grandchildren by the chimney fire on Christmas Eve (assuming that they had a chimney fire and were celebrating Christmas at all), hoping to educate them regarding what really matters in life.

I like to return here, to remember just that, what being human is about.

We all know that money can't buy you love, or life itself. So why place so much importance on that stuff that gets you stuff, or the stuff itself? If we cannot share deep-rooted affection with others, what use is a gift parcelled in a pretty bow?

I feel fortunate to be currently living in a community of people who aspire for these same ideals. This community is home to Indians, yes, but also many Westerners who have experienced how disappointing Western culture can be, blinded by its mountains of things that surround it. The residents of the community aspire to serve the environment, not to exploit it - there is enough of that going on already.

Adjustment to the right angle of vision is what will allow us to perceive Beauty everywhere... to see the monkeys as endearing instead of reaching for the pellet gun (if I had one!) Furthermore, seeing beauty everywhere is what makes a person beautiful, not anything skin-deep.

PS. So I happily live without my washing machine if this is the small price I have to pay...!