the simple life

The days of travelling,
learning,
and growing
are
drawing to an end,
and as Ram Dass said in a foreward to Duane Elgin's book, Voluntary Simplicity,
"The cycle of learning is being completed.
The time of withdrawl is moving into a time of return."

unfurling

his distance,

      after a row,

         comes like a delayed blow,

if the heart hurts,

   the tears burn,

who is to know,

these tears,

     the heart,

the blow and row,

were all awaiting,

a complete disclosure,

          the without clothes,

                 nakedness,

           the bareless-

                     flesh.ness,

the minimum holding back,

the maximum letting go,

helps in unfolding,

uncurling,

               the curl,

of life and love,

that are encompassed therein.

we are

he looked at her,

she looked at his gaze upon her,

the silent memory,

of the love made one night,

echoes clear,

the words unspoken,

unheard,

the approval of friendship,

the disapproval of love,

of the kind romantic,

did they once share?

did they ever unfold the 

great unfolding?

he said there were a few fields,

where he hasn’t watered,

where he expects a harvest

if watered...

he said last night

admist our warm embraces,

how there wasn’t a feeling of attraction,

of that kind romantic

towards her,

upon persistent and penultimate

“why”

he 

relented,

revisited,

the memory,

clarity,

now,

is a blessing,

a grateful harvest

followed!

does she mean well,

when she asks me

separately,

where am i going,

or where did i come from,

separate to him,

or maybe my darling confuses

all,

me included,

with his first person

singulars.

surely a respectful independence

ensues,

and precedes,

the singular,

the need juxtaposes

itself,

I and we!

the both co-exist,

               co-create,

                one another,

he and i,

  him and her,

we are.

the man with a bird like squeaky voice,

mumbai local,where

first class ladies exist, side

by

      side,

next to local class,

except for the crosses,

on the upper ridges of the ‘dabba’,

and the eight rupee ticket,

that could cost a ‘local class journey’,

would instead be double,

if not more,

at least,

the train stops every few

minutes...

Goregaon.....

Ville Parle.....

Santa Cruz...

Khar....Mahim...Matunga Road

the man with a bird like

squeaky voice,

manages a few curious

glances,

some take bindis,

which prompt others to

see the fare of hankerchiefs

he has,

a few fivers pocketed..

the hankerchiefed, squeaky

voiced bird like man, moves on...

to the next, non ladies,

carriage.

one flew over the cuckoo's nest

here i go
my love
feeling those feelings ,lornful, yet again
each time, i behold you
my spirit sores
like i have arrived home
so the doubts that come up
in your heart or mind
perhaps both
either , or
am ready to receive
so you go on your journey
love
will wear the head-torch
so when there is darkness
in the woods
the light will guide you back
to a waiting heart
or not
a soul that knows yours
or doesn't
a body that slides into yours
effortlessly
or doesn't
a being that yearns to be
with you
or doesn't.

your distance in the bed
one arm’s length away
we never had that before
those unspoken words
the heaviness in the air
eat into me.
you don’t ask me 
when i will go
i don’t ask you
where will i go to
away from you
away from us
i don’t know of such a place yet
will go and look for it
 keep this foreboding “lost”ness,
on the Backburner.


between us
such vast distance
i almost don’t know where to comprehend
where to start putting these thoughts together
where to find the building material
to put a bridge together
maybe a setubandu asana
is in order.


maybe
you said
when I asked
“love, we will be able to work things out between us, na?”
the “maybe,” you spoke
shook me
till my core
where did your trust in us die
when did you stop believing
why didn’t you ask me to carry this burden
sooner
share your doubts
to give you my strength

these eyes drizzle
yet more
will these tear run out

harry, sang these to me
often
if you love something
set it free
if they come back to you
it's yours
if it doesn't
it never was.


now
i sing them to myself
today
i re- read all your letters
written with clarity
that slowly 
my being filled up
all the love you shared
will keep me warm , darling,
till you return
or don't.


i dive deep
to look for the strength
to meet you again
with all your doubts
or your certainty
whatever come first
the end
or the beginning
i will be there
to receive

faith,
i believed in us,
the do nothing
lingers on.

a handfull....

From gaia

that way...?

From gaia

Save your own Salve

if you ever feel like making your own salve , here is a short note :

for a 60 ml jar:

Base oil (grapeseed/olive/coconut) 40 ml

coconut or other oil of choice (almond/flaxseed etc) 10 ml

Essential oil (peppemint/rose/hibiscus/lavender) 2-4 drops

Fresh herbs /flowers (dried in shade) 20 gms

beeswax 10ml

Soak the herbs overnight upto a minimum of week's time in the base oil, and upto a maximum of three months,

(i tried that with mont/marigold and lemongrass, the oil absorbs all essence of teh herbs/flower)

then using a muslin cloth , strain the oil , 

and using double boiler method, ( a pot with water and another pot inside that pot, such that the second pot with oil, doen't tocuch direct flame)

this second pot will have the strained oil, and you can add grated beeswax on low flame, as it melts , and becomes homogeneous, as

the beeswax melts and brings them together, you can then add any essential oil after bringing teh pot off the heat/flame.

Bottle this immediately preferably in glass jar, as it starts solidifying as soon as it gets cooler.

Some suggestions for Salves:

Hibiscus

Mint

Tulsi

Haldi (turmeric)

Lime/Lemon

Rose

Marigold

Lemongrass ( mosquito help)