Thursday, February 27

Today: Failed

Have been unbearably, unimaginably unfocussed the last couple of days. What is wrong? This month it came early but timely, eating up the weekend but freeing the week, and yet what have I done with it? Nada.

Why is this a pattern with me? Why does my brain feel so empty?

Wish, at times like these, someone could come and run a test on me, and check the status of various chemicals and hormones in the body.

Why is there no motivation to haul myself to the gym, or do anything: why do I crave perfection at all times? In all moments? Why do I succumb to e-mailing? Why? Why? Why?

I don't know what zombies are like, but if they are automatons, then that's how I feel: without a brain, without agency, without thought: just blank. Empty.

Is this called a brain fog?

Edit: Exactly ten minutes after writing this, I gained inspiration and purpose. Maybe that's why we should write our state of mind. 

Monday, February 10

The Flight


I find something very oddly fascinating/interesting? about this sort of rhyme scheme...the rhythm of Teasdale's poetry. It sounds to me like a child speaking non-stop, or  verbatim, something memorised. I wondered if others get a similar sense.


 The Flight

  by Sara Teasdale
Look back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,
Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,
Let our flight be far in sun or blowing rain—
But what if I heard my first love calling me again?

Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam,
Take me far away to the hills that hide your home;
Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door—
But what if I heard my first love calling me once more? - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/23577#sthash.dpggf7ky.dpuf

Tuesday, January 28

Thursday, December 5

For the Angry Little Girls

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNk_AQZlEk8

Missing you...

Wednesday, June 19

Hola world!

Greetings.

Today I read a blog called Zenhabits. I had spent nearly the whole day watching shows such as So you Think You Can Dance. While the show had some really inspiring stories, watching it, was, nonetheless, an act of consumption, even a passive consumption, a time-pass if I may say so, happening mostly because I was unable to be motivated to do anything else.

Reading Zenhabits gave me a nice reminder and inspiration. I had spent the day checking e-mail intermittently, simply beating myself up, but not in any profound way for not doing, not producing, not being motivated, not not not.

Reading Zenhabits I realized it's so much possible to really make change. After all, that's what I had been trying to do, without much success until now. All I have been trying to do, for the past so many years, is change. 

From now on I have decided to do the following:

To wake up every day at 4 or 5. Ha. Setting myself up for failure?

To wake up every day at 5 - take a shower. Do Yoga. Meditation. And then? Walla! Write. I want to do these things the first in the morning.

So let's see. How will this look? Time-wise.


5 am - 5: 30 am - Shower.
5:30 am - 6: 30 am - Yoga and exercise.

6:30 am - 7:00 - write Blog.




I will then break my day according to tasks.

Tasks for tomorrow: the above schedule.

1) Books and authors
2) Test - question paper
3) Finish Long - Move to Alexander
4) Critical Theory
5) Glossary by MHA
6) Remembering Time/Dates
   Make Flash cards


Feeling sleepy, so goodnight for now!

Woohoo!


Sunday, March 31

Today


I long for a clarity, a change. I think I need to be back in a foreign land.

I feel like crying...There's so much I wanted to say in that letter, I wanted to write so much, but I have no voice.

I have realized that my voice has been so, so reactive. Almost always, it has come because someone else's voice existed before mine. Because someone was there, writing, speaking, or just listening, and I could respond to that. I knew someone was reading my words, and feeling them more deeply than I was. For a long time, the ability to write used to be a great criteria for loveship for me, because it was an opportunity to find my voice. I experiment with a non-writer, and although it was colorful in other ways, in that period I wrote very little. But in person I was very quiet. For the most part, I was also very passive, except when I was animated and enthusiastic. And now when everything has ended, I am remembering how I always wrote because I was writing to someone, a muse, a special person, a lover, someone who inspired in me a writerliness either because they themselves were a writer or because they had the same demeanour, the same quiet witnessing quality that a writer necessarily must have.  A writer must see. A writer must see what noone else can. A writer must put into words what noone else can manage to.

I want to rip open my heart and let my tears freeze into gels of meaning on the page, but that's not possible. I must coax them into something coherent, formulate proper sentences. It's always been a struggle. Such a struggle. Today, for the first time, I am feeling, how hundreds of others must feel on the cyberspace -- writing namesless posts to namesless visitors, writing for an audience --- each one faceless. Writing this way, because there is noone to write to. Because that is how sad and alone I am feeling today.


It is very frustrating that even after so many years of existence on this planet, I have not improved by more than zilch. At all.

I feel the lack has been due to my staying in India for so long -- it jades me, and I wasted time drifting through space. There's a tremendous, tremendous energy right now, a desire to experience - to really soak in a new experience, space, place, to be in a new language, land, environment, to live fully, newly, to let words find their own trajectory, to let them sleep while they are sleeping, hibernating in my system, hoping that one day they will rush out at the glimpse of a new look, a new road, a new sign, a fresh landscape. That a new place will wake them up from their resting place and give them an urge, a reason to jump out.

But is that new place possible in the old place?



I feel so much love  for my brothers.

I love them so much.

And I love my sister.


Although I have never told them.


I hope they know it.


I hope the universe knows it.


Universe, please make sure they feel it -- my love-- all the time.


Please give them so much happiness that they feel only humbled, and lighter by it -- so that they feel only strengthened to give it back.

And of course.

Make me a better person.

Make everyone what they deserve to be.

What they dream of being.

I hope everyone can have the courage to dream, and the luxury to dream.

I hope we can make our lives worthwhile in some way.


I hope we can all become sadhaks.

I hope we will all become disciples: disciplined and strong. Solid.

All my love.

To all.


--





Tuesday, March 12

If love cannot bring tears to your eyes.

http://www.oshoteachings.com/osho-why-do-i-cry-when-i-am-touched-by-love-tears-of-joy/


Osho – If love cannot bring tears to your eyes, then that love is dead in Osho on Love Question : BELOVED OSHO, WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO CRY WHEN I AM TOUCHED BY LOVE?


Osho : Anand Mumuksha, you are fortunate. If love cannot bring tears to your eyes, then that love is dead. It is a great misfortune that tears have become associated with sadness, with sorrow; that is only one dimension of their being. But their more significant manifestation is in love, in gratitude, in prayer, in silence, in peace. When you are feeling so full, tears are just the overflow of your contentment, of your joy.

Tears have to be given a new meaning, a new poetry and a totally new dimension – which they have lost because humanity has lived in misery and tears have become part of that misery. Secondly, because humanity has been dominated by man he has made it a point of his ego and pride that he will not cry. It is feminine to cry, it is womanish to have tears. It is not true. It is an ugly, male chauvinist idea – not only ugly, but unnatural and untrue, because man’s eyes have as many tear glands as women’s eyes have. Nature has not made any difference in tear glands.

It is obvious that the intention of nature is not to discriminate between man and woman, but man for centuries has been very egoistic and he feels that tears are a kind of weakness. He has stopped his tears, but he is not aware what the consequence of it has been. He has also stopped his love – and he has created situations for himself which are dangerous.

More men go mad than women, for the simple reason that man goes on controlling. A moment comes that the repression becomes too much and there is a breakdown. The woman does not control; when she feels like crying, she cries. She is more natural than man. That has given her a few more experiences that man has missed. The woman is healthier; she lives longer, five years more than man. She is more calm and quiet.

Less women go crazy, less women commit suicide, although they talk about it. Sometimes they even try it, but very half-heartedly. But man goes on accumulating, and a point comes where he is no more in control. Either he commits suicide or he commits murder or he goes mad. Just here is sitting one of my attorneys in America, Swami Prem Niren. He came into deeper and deeper contact with me when I was for those twelve days in American jails.

He followed me from jail to jail, and he was the only person who was seeing me all those days, almost every day. His eyes were always full of tears, and I could see how much he loves me and how helpless he felts. He was doing everything that it was possible to do. All the other attorneys were paid; naturally they were simply doing their job. He was the only attorney who was not a servant, who was a lover; who was not being paid.

He was one of my sannyasins; my life was at risk, and it was natural for him to fight with totality and intensity. The last day, when I was released from the jail, we were sitting in the hotel. We had our own hotel, our own disco, our own restaurant in Portland, in Oregon, America. In our own hotel, he was sitting by my side with another of my sannyasins, Isabel, and he was crying like a child. And just the other day he was sitting on this side of me and then I again saw tears.

Two years before I had left him in America with tears, and yesterday I found him again with tears. But perhaps he is not even aware about his tears. When he came here just few days ago, he talked to one of my secretaries, Anando: ”Why does Osho go on saying this, that ‘my attorneys had tears in their eyes’?”

When I heard this, I could not believe it – and just yesterday he was sitting here with tears…. Perhaps thousands of years of conditioning have blocked his awareness of his own tears, of his own love, of his own feminineness. A better world, a better humanity, and more people will enjoy tears. They are such a blessing. You are asking, ”Why do I always have to cry when I am touched by love?” What do you want? What more do you want? Certainly you are thinking that those tears are something wrong. Crying when touched by love is something wrong? – you are carrying a wrong conditioning.

It is absolutely right. When touched by love, what can you do? Words won’t help; only tears can convey what is happening deep down in your heart. Tears are the most valuable treasure that you have. But man has been distorted everywhere, man’s nature has been pruned according to the ideas of the vested interests. Nations need armies and they do not want man to be at all touched by love. Their tears have to be dried up and their love has to be blocked; otherwise they will not be able to kill and murder and massacre people – people who are just like you, and people who have not done anything wrong to you, and people whose wives, whose children, whose old parents may be waiting for them just as your parents, your wife, your children are waiting for you. But to create the soldier, man has to be destroyed completely.

He has to be made into a robot – and robots don’t cry, robots are not touched by love. Because armies were needed, man was distorted. Because women were not needed in the armies, they were left by the side. It was good for women because they have remained more natural. Never be ashamed of your tears. Be proud that you are still natural. Be proud that you can express the inexpressible through your tears. Those tears are your songs, unuttered. Those tears are your heart which cannot use words.

Never feel ashamed of your tears. Eyes which have lost their tears have lost their most beautiful, their most glorious treasure. I would like my people particularly to be absolutely natural, to be utterly innocent, uninhibited. And when tears are flowing, rejoice: you are still alive… because don’t you know dead people cannot cry, dead people cannot have tears?

And the people who think they are alive and cannot cry and cannot have tears, are living in a fallacy. They have died long before. The day their tears died, they also died, because their love died. Except love you don’t have any soul. Okay, Maneesha? Yes, Osho.
is sad...

Friday, March 8

Love with Understanding

http://agatheringofstars.blogspot.in/2013/03/love-alone-cannot-live-without.html

Sunday, December 2

They dawn slow -- trust only yourself

Realizations dawn slow. Life is lost in the process. Be alert. Be awake.
Don't give into kindness. Don't be misled by others' insistence. If your gut feeling knows the truth, trust it. Don't be misled by the rationality of others.
Have conviction in your gut, and have the courage to follow through with it. To pause and give into the other, out of kindness, and then invest yourself in it, is not worth it. Since you knew that they didn't know any better to begin with...they will not know any better afterwards. They will withdraw their investments just as unconsciously as they had invested in it.



Realization

It wasn't worth it. It was a waste of two (three?) years of precious time. It wasn't worth it at all.

Monday, October 22

Love!

Last days I've been thinking:
it's easy to love (those) (when) far away.
and hard to love what's near (here).

The mind needs a trick. It needs distance to love.

To love in nearness is to find a stretch of distance

in the
        short
               gap
                     of
                          a second.

Love! That's called Love.

Saturday, July 21

Rammed earth - Salt Spring Island

http://youtu.be/ra4Pldetd_M

I'd like to make a house like that!

Monday, July 16

Love is a verb


Love is a verb


In the great literature of all progressive societies, love is a verb. Reactive people make it a feeling. They’re driven by feelings. Hollywood has generally scripted us to believe that we are not responsible, that we are a product of our feelings. But the Hollywood script does not describe the reality. If our feelings control our actions, it is because we abdicated our responsibility and empowered them to do so.
Proactive people make love a verb, Love is something you do: the sacrifice you make, the giving of self, like a mother bringing a newborn into the world. If you want to study love, study those who sacrifice for others, even for people who offend or do not love in return. If you are a parent, look at the love you have for the children you sacrificed for. Love is a value that is actualized through loving actions. Proactive people subordinate feelings to values. Love, the feeling, can be recaptured.
-- Stephen Covey 

Sunday, July 15

Saturday, July 14

Once when John Holt was speaking to a school audience, describing his views on the their structured curriculum, a student asked him, "But surely there must be something important enough that everyone should learn it?" He thought for a moment and replied, "To learn to say 'I'm sorry', 'I don't know', and 'I was wrong'." [unpublished anecdote)

Saturday, March 26

Assumption of Capability

The poetry stand would require some of that: acceptance of a task no matter what, the assumption of capability, and tremendous empathy.

http://www.theamericanscholar.org/poetry-stand/

Friday, November 12

Poetry

It's laconic.

A magic space: stillness of the light, flavour of exile

 'When I walk into her home, it is almost as if another dimension opens up, a magic space in which I can work and think like nowhere else. It is the peace of it, the stillness of the light, the flavour of exile that seems essential to writing, the fact that everything seems to bend to the fact of it being a writer’s home. It’s the rhythm of a writing life that comes from 50 years of working'

Monday, June 28

Wednesday, June 23

why writing matters

'To have a great writer is like having another government'

Thursday, June 3

Living with a heart



'To be a poet is to have a soul so quick to discern, that no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick to feel, that discernment is but a hand playing with finely ordered variety on the chords of emotion—a soul in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, and feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge'. 

Thursday, May 27

-

' wrong to seal illogic with a kiss, but I do it myself all the time'.

Tuesday, May 25

Are you listening, Anastasia?

Anastasia has come and spoken.
Her new frock full of lavenders,
unperturbed by the dusty trails
the mud and ruckus of life.
in  withering times when
we aspire to hold, collect and gather light
she leaves her beauty drip drip for us.
we rejoice.
but what if it was all a dream? if serpents and kings
and damsels and this light were nothing but
an empty hollow.
solace comes in small pieces.
even when the world is translucent,
some opaque corners mock us.
we just want to live light, live in a tear, live in a gaze,
live in a stream, live in a hand, live in a morsel,
live in quiet splendour.

two i love but not mine

the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)
HE Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also, with the church's protestant blessings
daughters,unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things--
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
.... the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless, the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy



" i am not yours 
      - sara teasdale
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Monday, May 24

steep in or step out?


- kabira kooan ek hai -



कबीरा कूँआ एक हैं
पानी भरे अनेक
अरे भांडे में ही भेद है
पानी सब में एक


तो भला हुआ मोरी गगरी फूटी!
पनिया भरन से छूटी!

Thursday, May 13

para ti

This. :)

snow flakes...skinner...me, you & everyone we know.

Tuesday, March 16

The Secret



You are the creator of your destiny.



Let's LIVE! :)

Monday, March 15

spring



 it's spring.
 : )))






Sunday, March 7

:D

I got my haynds, my hay mah ahms mah toes mah liver
and haynds mah ears mah nose mah smahl mah mouth mah fingers
mah bloood
and bad tahms too lahk you
i gaat lahf gaaaaaatttttt laaaaf


'Ain't gaat no god! no earth! no food! no cigarettes! no job, no nothing!'



but what've i gaat? let me tell ya what i've gaat!
my heart and my soul

running' para una examen. wish me layk.
can we go to harlem? :)