‘Mission: De-Complicate the De-Humanization’
Anything, and just about ANYthing, when pursued purely from the faith centre in thought and in action, has the potential to reach maximum potency in terms of this-worldly manifestation; let alone other-worldly manifestations (at more advanced levels).
And if you ask me, how does one reach that faith centre? Well, it’s already within you. Just direct your conscious thought to it, a little at a time: It’s that simple! 😊
Gazed deep into your misery:
Something white, cold,
shining, longing to be
to be free.
It was never black, your dark;
Never the black of death despair,
Never too blinding, never,
as I see.
Crumbling you, held in me:
My abyss, a whirlpool cradle
carried your absence
more wearily, than
the presence of your trials,
the salt of your tears.
I couldn’t see, what was to be.
Never too strange to appear
strangers, to the ever-speculating
eye: in unison of mad hearts;
in a flight of minds, minds
wearing out in chains
of amplified awareness.
I can be you one day.
I’m in the becoming
of your evolution; never meant
to leave you alone with
your demons: now my demons too;
forces raised from graves
l locked eons ago; presuming
I, the warrior, the mother,
had lulled them into forever slumber.
But, they dug tunnels to you,
to manifest yet again, to me.
In this chapter though, there is no fright.
Embrace you and our demons, till
they all turn human, till their venom
loses potency, in the womb
of this Reverend Mother.
The curls, Mother,
they get more troubled each day.
The black quietly fades into stranger grey.
A whisper evades….
Prayer as a melody:
a wordless melody of the aching heart,
escapes into infinite pastures of the gods.
The throes of longing were always,
That Glory of White, dazzling,
as water crystals in the summer sun;
Whoever said it’d ever be easy!?
Whoever did, a fool in vain was one!
How do I tell what it is
when it is, and it is
How is what, that ought be,
…but is not.
We know what it is:
we know not
The little we know,
suffices for now;
the thirst that breathes
I live here;
does not imply,I live there not.
In the sunlight, there is noise: an unharmonic noise of a turbulence above me, as I am deep into layers, buried beneath pressures that seems to defend me. They defend me as walls, which I am not sure if are choking me further or helping me break the ruthlessness of the storm.
In the dark, there is silence. There is silence of Nothing, a nothing reaching out to me in hope to be seen & felt as something.
In white light dimming drowsily beneath sheets of smoky silk, I am following footprints from a life before.
The light steals me from a self-knowing best achieved in a tranquility of perceived ignorance. In the pain on this ignorance, I may have known myself better. But we have to wait now, for another day to pass; we have to wait a half-life or so, more.
The countenance escorting her presence befalls as a thousand questions showering as meteorites, on my awed face.
I have always known, for what now only seems centuries, that God is with me. In this moment though, my doubts are enhanced and my fears of existence, a little reinforced.
‘What is this state? What are these sounds enveloped in it?’, I find myself lost in this transfix of a controversy once again: Hadn’t I been a fool, yet again, to presume (without much evidence) that I was perhaps rid of the recurrences of this condition!..?
It all comes from Allah, I must not forget that either. This ‘condition’ I must own as my own; there is no attempting to escape the inevitable: else there is then further madness.
There is already enough madness here…not insanity, but pure madness, the good one. It’s the sort of ‘good’ that can occasionally turn bad too, though not without some useful consequences often then.
‘I know you are sad, may I help you?’ I ask. He doesn’t reply. I gaze at the innocent child masked in that cold face, from behind those dark-circled eyes. It is not all that hopeless, there is still a flicker, a shine there. He turns away that mask of a face, wants to hide the shine again.
He closes his eyes. I return to the realization I have to go, I have work to do. We are fortunate we met on the street and not elsewhere; or you wouldn’t have been able to shut your eyes so much at will, I couldn’t have walked away with so much ease.
‘Chalo phir, khud ko yunn tanha kiyay detay hain:
Ke apni hasrat’on ko hum fan’aa kiyay detay hain.’
Anarkali! Apnay haathon se kharaa ker hujra,
Ke qaid-e-ishq se aashiq’on ko rihaa kiyay detay hain.
Jis khalwat mein khud ko patay hain, khud ko khonay ke baad:
Uss hasee’n khalwat mein reh ker alvidah kiyay detay hain.
Tamasha hai gar’ puri hayat, intizar-e-marg mein,
Khoj-e-tamashai ki nazr, khud ko gawah kiyay detay hain.
Khwahish-mand’ thay hum bhi kabhi shayad uss shauq ke,
Jis shauq-e-zindagi ke hijar se ab nibah kiyay detay hain.