LOTUS FEET

It’s birthday time for Jashan.
It’s birthday time for Anhad.
It’s birthday time for Ritali.
It’s birthday time for Christina.

It’s birthday time for Zeina Glo.

It is time to feel.

Our coherent thoughts are limited by words. The depths of the ocean seem to express themselves in the rush over rocks, the endless journey of the waves crashes against the cliff bank and makes roaring sounds; but the feelings are inside, in the silent hum of the deep, in the surge and ebb and the rolling on, in the endless expanse of noiseless feeling.

It is time feel the beauty; to break the bounds of vision created by the distractions of wealth and comfort and colour and light; to perceive the beauty of the darkness which allows us to see beyond the limits of our sight.

It is time to feel the gifts; not just the ones that we think we have, but the ones we miss or the ones we disregard - the gift of poverty which throws up helping hands and compassion, the gift of illness that gently eases out many an idea of infallibility from our minds, the gift of death where we are thankful for a loved one being spared suffering, the gift of uncertainty where we know that we are lost and can come to terms with the surrender of being led.

It is time to feel the wonder, to hold in awe; not just to stop at analysing.

It is time to open our hearts to the footfalls of the Lotus Feet.

LOTUS FEET

They walked the sands before me; as travellers, soldiers, farmers, shepherds, cowherds, weavers, tailors, carpenters, cobblers, thieves, dacoits, princes, kings, dancers, consorts; as children. Rolling plain, icy mountain, endless desert, deep woods; they touched. They blessed. Trees and forests still stand in whose glades They rested, tethered Their steeds; lay bleeding. Streams flow where They bathed Their wounds, springs where They quenched Their thirst.

Baba, Guru, Lama, Shah, Fakir, Peer, Paigamber, Paatshah, Parvardigaar, Messiah, Saviour, Gopal, Shepherd.

They walked. They sang. They walked more. Sand, sun, thicket, thorn, river, sea, snow, wind, rain – all felt Their passing. They breathed the air; and consecrated it with The Song Divine; as dusk darkened to night, and as dawn lightened to day; as sun, moon and stars traversed their passages. The fragrance of the air They perfumed lingers on till eternity.

They grazed cattle. They watered fields, They drank the water from wells and tanks, They bathed in the streams. Rivers still flow that They forded.

The water They sanctified is eternal in its cycle of snow-rain-mountain-field-river-ocean-air-cloud-snow-rain…

Charan sparsh, kar sparsh, shwaas sparsh, vaani sparsh, nigaah sparsh, khayal sparsh, karam sparsh.

I cannot sully the land They trod. I cannot poison the soil that caressed Their Lotus Feet. I cannot contaminate the waters They drank. I cannot befoul the air They breathed. I cannot spread disease where They spread healing. I cannot sow hatred where They spread love.

Dare I contaminate the waves that carry the sounds of Their Song Divine? Dare I defile the forest glades where They swayed and sprang in The Dance Celestial? Dare I dishonour the trees in whose shady canopy They sat in contemplation and banished ignorance forever?

Ahh! I had better give up the delusions of Me and Mine! I must learn respect for the sanctity of Their legacy, for the blessing of Their being. I must understand the value of the gifts They have bequeathed to me – blessed land, consecrated water, untainted air, divine sound, pure thoughts.

Unclean thought, unkind word, unworthy deed would be a direct assault; a desecration of the mercies bestowed.

I must walk in respect. I must drink in awe. I must live in overwhelming gratefulness.  

It is time to bask in Their radiance, to delight in Their cool shade. It is time to dance, to rejoice, to celebrate the opportunity of walking the path They enlightened.

GUZARTI HAVAA SE MOHABBAT

A very poor attempt at a different language. Apologies offered in advance, brickbats welcome.... Mulaiza farmayein...

Toofan se bachne ki khwaish mat kar;

Toofan teri taqdeer hai.

Na faryaad kar ki Toofan tal jaye;

Kya yeh taqdeer gair ko mil jaye?

Gale se laga le us taqdeer ko

Jiska Allah mezbaan hai.

Murshid hi daryaa paar utaarega

Chaahe tu aaj ja ya kal ja.

Na keh tu Allah ki marzi se

Ki “ai Toofan, aaj tal ja”

Kashti hai aitbaar ki
Maujon ka maalik Maula;

Charhega to tarega

Majhi hai tera Maula.

Bharosa rakh us maalik pe

Taqdeerein jo likhta hai;

Toofan bhi uska apna hai

Bas tujhko vairee dihkta hai.

Maujon se tujhe ladna nahin

Maujein bhi to uski hain.

Kar de khud ko us ke havaley

Taqdeerein jo likhta hai.

TIME TO TURN

My God, by whatever name, is best remembered when I am afraid; when I am apprehensive, uncertain; scared; when I am in need.

As soon as he lifts me out of the pits of despair or pulls me back from the brink of panic, His presence fades away. Even a temporary respite from anxiety is enough for me to put Him back into the darker closets of my consciousness, to be retrieved only when I-I-I-I am in need again.

And then again I grovel and squirm and beg and beseech.

Yes, I deserve the bad times. I need them.

My God, by whatever name, is also remembered when I am overwhelmed; when the beauty of a moment is beyond the comprehension of thought limited by words; when Feelings hold sway; when the desire to express is overshadowed by Wonder - and I feel, I absorb, I imbibe, I dissolve, I die.

At such times there is a magic working which belittles Me, negates Me, dissolves Me, finishes Me.

And when I am not, He is.

And I Wonder, I Wonder, I Wonder. And again I melt and lose my form and flow, this time in a great flood of Feeling; of not having to be in control; of knowing in my heart that He is.

I must learn to scale it all down. I must learn to tone down my apprehensions and believe – know - that He is in control. I must learn to lean on Him, trust in Him. I could do that so easily with my father when I was a child…. When did I grow up?

I must learn to scale it down; to not be so full of myself; to not let those warped concepts of responsibility and guilt and failure fool me into thinking that I care more than He does.

It’s His world. It’s His game.

I must appreciate my part in the game. It’s such a complex drama; each individual thinks that he is at the centre of the plot, the kingpin; the purpose of it all.

That is it, the complexity is so simple!

My role is perfect, as is everyone else’s, because the whole plot is Perfection itself.

I need to scale it down, this being blinded by the towering mountains of my own problems, needs, desires, fears, apprehensions.

The only difference between Man and God seems to be Time. My problems and dreads are BIG to me because they are defined by time; my perspective is bound by the passage of hours or days or years. Therefore I have targets and deadlines and needs and fears, because I have everything but T-I-M-E.

And God? God is God because he is not strangled by an ever-tightening noose of time. He is eternal. His game is eternal. This plot is eternal.

It is time to turn away from this hysterical contest with Time. It is time to stop and stare. It is time to be awed and overwhelmed more easily. It is time to appreciate more of that which I take for granted. It is time to see the beauty in the ‘small things’ more readily.

It is time to turn my back upon ‘my problems’ as easily as I choose to forget His blessings.

It is time to be happy… regardless …irrespective….notwithstanding….