Ran Prieur summarized it beautifully...say a year ago

....and I posted it on social media. And also scribbled it somewhere, but it's too precious, too important, not to make a note of, here, in my blog. So here it goes...

An accomplished guitar player says

To master any truly difficult skill it's not enough to just want it; you have to be obsessed. If you have to force yourself to pick it up you're screwed; if you have to force yourself to put it down you know you're on the right track.

You told me that the only thing you've ever had to force yourself to stop was video games. Ask yourself: why exactly are video games so addictive? Of course it's because of the constant reward system. Every thirty seconds you get a reward of some kind. The next question is: how can I duplicate this experience in other areas?

When I was learning to play, I always broke any challenge down into it's smallest possible chunks. And these chunks were easy to accomplish and showed immediate results.

By doing it this way, I was creating a lot of very small, quick successes for myself. If you set yourself a goal and you succeed in just a few minutes, the flush of success releases endorphins in the brain. If you continue to duplicate that experience every few minutes you get addicted to practicing.

And I have consistently found that students who listen to me and practice as I described above will progress ten times faster than anyone else. These are the students who become obsessed to the art...and they become obsessed because they practice this way!

Break your practice into a series of tiny goals, so they always get a feeling of reward

 Things are transitory, and you'll be gone in a 'whoosh' while the world will continue as it is without a problem, so stop being such a self-important scumbag....it's all a play, so chill and do what feels right and good and fulfilling without worry. That's one viewpoint, and it gives hope when there's struggle and you're facing bewildering dead-ends.

 The other view is equally appealing. It's a play alrighty, but are you here just to play and disintegrate into dust one day? Or is there a mystery, a design that you're itching to crack open, and that's why you've descended into this dream, blanketting yourself with a thick unawareness of your own roots and sources, to make things a bit tough and interesting? What's the mystery? What purpose awaits you? Or what purpose do you want to dig up for yourself and pursue joyfully while enjoying the fruits that this existence offers?

 I swing between both of these viewpoints..that is, while not wasting away 99 percent of my time in inertia and day-dreams where I'm a hero and everything is hunky doryish :D

Sounds of gentle rains
splattering outside the window
Hot tea burning its way past the throat
A soothing aroma from the pages
of this book,
and the ideas it holds
which are knocking on worn doors
 and opening new brain cells

What's missing?






















Nothing!

 Most of the days you are fresh and active with minimal work and stress. Some days are stressful and tiring but still you're fine. Even an occasional long drive for the whole day leaves you with a few aches in your ankles and wrists, nothing more.

Then there are days you wake up with a heavy head and disturbed dreams. Half of the weight of the world is on your shoulders. You simply want to lie down and waste away, do nothing else. Your body is signalling to rest and relax although you haven't exerted much. Push a bit and a headache begins to throb. Like today.

If it's energies and churning and stuff, I can't feel it as yet. Of course there's a desire, an intense craving to look beyond this dimension, and surf the waves of my complete existence. Not to be bound by anything, but to be a master of self. To overcome inertia that holds one down, and fly the vast skies on the wings of freedom and joy.

 There was a time when I would write down my dreams, very regularly, in my amatuer writing days. With an aim of becoming a published writer and making my living out of words, I would soak up any writing advice, from anyone. One book said, write down your dreams and visit them later, you'll find story ideas in them, so I began scribbling. Extremely funny dreams would get written down which would otherwise be quickly forgotten. One dream had me hanging upside down from a ceiling while a fully grown hungry Lion approaches me. In another dream I was flying from one building to another, like a bird. Many dreams would fill me with acute embarrassment and dread, where I would be sitting in the open answering Nature's call, with familiar people walking around with a disgusted look. Inner fears, unresolved issues, anxieties and hopes maybe, finding expression through dreams.

 Last night's dream was interesting. We're about to be attacked by a gang of dacoits but there are two rifles in the cupboard, and I'm supposed to load them and be ready. But the gang arrives before time, and the leader, a ferocious looking hulk is at the door. As he orders people around I pick up the rifle and load them with two heavy cartridges, the ones used to kill elephants. A lot of fumbling around, trying to hide it from him, picking up the wrong rifle, his outbursts..all that drama, but I'm cool as fuck. His work done he begins to dance and I take aim, with his head moving in and out of the cross hairs. Finger on the trigger, everyone's expecting me to pull it and blow away his head to hell, and as I'm about to pull it....absolutely calm, no nerves, no tension...and I woke up, with a heavy pounding heart threatening to spill out of my mouth.

What to make of this dream?

 Sometimes there's an intense desire to correct the other person, to assert oneself--especially when that person is in "counselling" mode. I fall prey to it many times, and the result is always burnt fingers, hurt egoes and pride--a bitter taste all around.

 I got a live masterclass in how to handle this shit. Just nod and agree to whatever is said and suggested, especially when the other person is a belligerent motormouth. Don't waste your energy trying to convince the other, or assert yourself and make yourself clear--simply because the other won't agree and you're wasting everyone's time and energy. Just nod and agree, and quickly end the arguement or discussion. Then get back to your life and do WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANNA DO.

Peace of mind all around.
(of course, I'm still learning to implement this fully, old habits die hard)

 All that's hidden is surfacing, so nothing remains obscure. Your crankiness, insecurity, psychopathy, and fear of inflicting suffering on others. Your willingness to manipulate others and throw tantrums. Control-freakism. Your unwillingness to hit back and protect yourself when attacked, for fear of hurting those you love. Giving away your power to others. Living in denial. Not letting go. Not standing in your own light. Jealousy. Grief over un-healing wounds.

I see these in others, in myself. There's a familiar response--rage. Then there's a delayed sober response--to contain and transmute these. In myself. Then, by gently nudging others and putting things across, without stepping on fragile egos.

Fuck this transition. Okay...don't fuck it, but still...

 A story from the Mahabharata keeps popping up frequently. Bhima, Arjuna and Krishna chase Ashwaththaama after he massacres the Pandava sons...and a battle begins. Ashwaththaama releases a powerful asthra called 'Narayana asthra'. Nobody knows how to counter it...even Krishna doesn't have a counter-weapon. Thousands of arrows, chakras and swords are created in the skies and they begin to rain down.

Krishna says, "There's only one way to escape...just bow down and allow the asthra to pass over you." Everyone bows down. Except Bheema! He stands tall and says, "I have nothing against this asthra of Narayana, but it is released by this lowlife, Ashwaththaama, so bowing down to this weapon is like bowing down to him. I would rather die than do that."

Soon the arrows and swords start descending into Bhima but he doesn't budge. Krishna advises him fervently saying, "Let this go, survive this day to fight another day", but Bhima doesn't listen. Finally Krishna and Arjuna subdue Bhima with all their might, push him to the ground and allow the weapon to pass over safely. 

Of course, they catch hold of Ashwaththaama after this and skin him.

Something like the taoist concept of being flexible like a blade of grass which bends in the winds instead of the rigid oak tree which stands proud and is broken and shattered.

What are your basic needs? Food? Sex? Shelter? Validation? How about Shifting awareness to higher realms? And Adventure? Learning? Belly laughters? Intimacy and the need to be loved, to be held, to nurture and be nurtured?

Whether we're here to experience something, transmute something, or create and participate in something, unless our basic needs are met, we progress not an inch. Attending to these needs comes first before anything else!

Before you ...

Eating a mango if you close your eyes and really focus on the taste, you're literally taken back to a different era. The taste, a kind of "pungent" sweetness that departs from the flesh of the fruit and dissolves in your mouth, the transitoryness of the experience--for a few seconds, you're not here. A ripe mango dying in your mouth is a time-travel device.

Knowledge is dangerous. You can die of suffocation and sensory overwhelm if your awareness expands without you being ready to accommodate the expansion. Sometimes you crave to know it all, to experience it fully, to dig deep, to receive everything--but existence doesn't want you to die a miserable death, so it deprives you of it all, smiling at your curses while waiting for you to bloody evolve.

You behave like an idiot, and realize it 20 seconds later. A period of regret follows, along with a resolution to fix yourself and not repeat your idiotic behavior. Until the situation arrives again, and before you realize, you're the same old idiot.

I met a few of them, maybe after what, 2 years? A brief period of warmth. Then distance. They're in their own world, and I have no clue about them. I'm in my own world and they have no clue about me. We walk back to our lives. It's pretty much possible that I may never meet them again. In the middle of the interaction, I suddenly realize that this could be the very last time they see me or I see them, and it overwhelms me with a strange gratitude. Towards whom, I don't know.

Flowers--red, violet, yellow, light pink, turquoise blue. Neatly tied into a beautiful bundle. They were alive and singing in someone's hands. Then the bride received the bouquet. And handed it to someone standing behind her, while she got ready to receive the next bouquet, the next gift. This bunch of beautiful, tender flowers--they got dumped amidst the other bouquets in the corner. Their song had ended. I picked them up, and caressed them, unwilling to let them go away so fast. They smiled as if to say, "It's okay, we're not sad...in fact, we're joyous for the brief period of life we came to enjoy." They had already started to fade.

I wanted them to be alive and smiling. Forever.

Just remembered this anecdote...

  There's a lady, a bit aged. And her husband was still older, bed-ridden, in his final days perhaps. We went to see him--me and Him. The lady ushered us in, her eyes brimming with gratitude and love. And as we entered the room, the old gentleman saw G from his bed, and became overwhelmed with emotion. His feeble hands rose up in a pranam, his voice quivering, tears rolling down as he kept repeating, "You have come all the way here, and I'm unable to get up and greet you." G assured and calmed him with soothing words, sat beside him for a while and enquired after his health. The old man was at a loss for words. For him, this visit by G was undoubtedly nothing short of a visit by God Himself. The whole atmosphere was surcharged with immense love and gratitude. It was very humbling to sit in that room and be a witness to this.

The old man passed away peacefully a few months later. What remains striking is the solace G offered him in his final days...with nothing but His presence. No words. No philosophy. No gifts. No action. Just pure presence.

He embodied that presence so effortlessly, triggering transformations, awakenings and love towards life in those he met. Looks unbelievable that we were with Him just a few years ago. And he also sowed this thirst in us--a thirst to embody a similar divine presence. To embody divinity, to hold light, to carry a powerful presence which would melt away all resistance to life within us. To embody a presence which would radiate out and touch other lives.

A lamp lighting other lamps, spreading warmth and love and joy.

Tame this beast...

 He is an upright officer administering a few villages surrounded by dense forests. The girl he loves is married to someone else. And a tribal girl is secretly in love with him but he brushes off her affections as juvenile infatuation. He has bigger battles to fight everyday. The jungle is home not just to cruel beasts but also to greedy mafia who'll stop at nothing in eliminating anyone in their way. He is in their cross-hairs but he just doesn't care, and goes on about his work with a single minded determination. So the mafia first get the tribal girl;they eliminate her...

 There's a song that roughly translates to this:
  This world...is a marketplace of happiness and sorrow
 Each one in the crowd walks a lonely path
 Everyone nurtures his own dream
 Every soul is pulled by his own destination

 Then, there's a sensation. The fan is running at full speed, and the air rushes past your face, caressing your locks.

 ***

The above three are enmeshed and entwined in a divine embrace. Trigger one, and the other two materialize! It takes the air from a fan at full speed to hit my face, and immediatly, the song arrives, its meaning explodes into my consciousness...and along with it, the story of the officer facing impossible odds, his struggles, desperation, loneliness, sorrows and triumps....all of it comes totally alive.

The officer and his struggles were a part of a TV serial I watched as a 12 year old kid. One summer night, as I lay watching an episode, the nearby fan was running at full speed, the air from it gushing against my face, and soon enough, the credits started rolling and the theme song began to play. The emotional impact of that character was still raw within me, his desperation and helplessness strongly imprinted...and soon I fell asleep. Unknown to me at any level, perhaps a strange connection might have forged between totally unrelated ideas. And this connection would come alive multiple times across the years. Without any rhyme or reason!

 Many songs trigger things. A fragrance brings alive a memory. A touch, a clasp of a hand, and I recoil. A restaurant brings alive a memory of fear and rage, of helpless frustration and sorrow. A road invokes a story. A wide sky opening up in all its vastness triggers something else.

 Where do we exist without memories? How does one get rid of them? Or...how to smile at them and move on?