Neatly Folded

This is yet another of those bigger truths that simply floated into my mind during a late night conversation with my soul. I was thinking about some random occult practices that I haven't practiced in a while (not that I am a devout follower) when I it occurred to me that the concept of time, is a man-made one. God, doesn't understand or adhere to man's principle of time. Think about it, the day doesn't start or end at the same time. Time is not the constant, sunrise and sunset are. The seasons are not dependant on time, life and death are not dependant on time either. We, as humans, have devised time as a tool. This led me to the other question, why? Why do we need time? Well, how else would man have justified his other great concoction, reality. Time is a measure for reality. If a person dies, we are in a state of shock. We call it an untimely death or worse, "Their time was up." Really? As someone who strongly believes that every human being on the face of

I believe that once you have immersed yourself in the cosmic energy and have managed to develop, even for a short while, a connect with the higher source then it continues to speak to you through your subconscious. For instance, I have never been able to understand how it is that the realisation of all bigger truths have occurred to me between 1.30 am and 2.30 am when I am sitting on my bed with my blanket or quilt wrapped around me and always, through a conversation with myself. Before you start laughing, I have been talking aloud to myself since childhood and find it greatly therapeutic. Even before I read about the ill-effects of oversleeping in a copy of the Manusmriti, I had known that some of my most bizzare dreams have been well after waking hours. Normally when I fall into the habit of sleeping only after daybreak these dreams/nightmares find their way into my sleep-ridden mind and wake me up with a start in the early hours of the afternoon. Today's nightmare was no differe

Today's revelation came in the form of a Google search. Driven by some visions that have been plaguing my mind and the impact of a horror movie that I recently saw and have not been able to steer clear of, I searched for a solution. Page after morbid page, finally led me to a site on Past Life Regression. Not a new concept to me, I have somehow always turned my back on the possibility of the core issue being beyond my current birth. There has been ample turbulence in this lifetime to keep me overworked. Another reason that stopped me from considering Past Life Regression is the complete absence of any pattern to guide me towards the same. Generally, there is a fixed formula like repeated nightmares, visions of people who one has never met and yet feeling strongly connected to, inexplicable fears including fear of death or of any elements that leave a trail to the past life incidents. A visit to previous life experiences can help bring more meaning to life and heal the wounds that t

After the turbulence reached a crescendo in my mind last evening, I decided to take matters back into my hand. There has been loss, yes, but there has been more than fair share of happiness too. At a complete loss of direction, I sat down in my bed, wrapped myself around me and prayed, like never before, for peace. After nearly 30 minutes of washing away the pain in tears, I felt a sense of relief. I picked up the phone to call th two people who had suffered the brunt of my madness and reassured them of my calm. Then, the lights went out. Startled back into reality, I heard the sound of the winds gushing in the room from every side of my closed room. When I made my way up the staircase to the terrace, I saw the first rain of the year, on my mother's birthday. As someone who has always associated the rain with The Divine Mother's spirit, it was such a blessing. It felt so hugely cathartic to be in Her presence. The rain washed away my tears and cleared me of all my misery. As I

This has to be the end of the line humour for anyone who bothers to read. Last evening, a friend and I sat down to listen to the new version of Eminem's Love the Way you Lie. It was just a flicker of emotion on her face but I sensed it immediately. The memory of being through a violent kind of passion and with the very sense of it I realised yet another thing. The ugly beast inside me was smirking... I sensed how strongly I had repressed it's powerful claw and now, I realised I had failed and that it had found a broken piece of mirror to flow back into the reflection. It took me three hours of non-stop prayers to find any semblance of peace this morning. The Satan as anyone who has been his prey knows, knows the best time to strike and like every year, these past seven years, today has always been the weakest day for me. And so, I looked up the internet to see the root of the evil and I realised that yes, there are numerous accounts of songs/tracks that I can bring under the

The trip to Vridavan has left me deeply disturbed. When asked to offer prayers to ensure that my parents would find a place in heaven after their demise, I had no response to give. The priest urged me to name my parents along with the name of the God and assured me that their mortal life would be long and full of joys brought by me and if I returned for three years to the temple and offered the same prayers I could assure them a place at the Lord's feet after their journey on the Earth was over. I flinched. Making money of another's weakness isn't a new phenomenon to anyone living in our times. But the void that I struggle to live with every day suddenly takes over my life completely. I had barely recovered when I found myself in Mathura, egged on by the head priest to swing the jhoola of BalGopal and be blessed, in return, with children of my own. I flinched again. The gaping holes of life loomed so hugely before me, threatening to drag me right back into the folds of blac

I was startled to receive an invitation to participate in Egypt's national uprising against their government led by President Hosni Mubarak. What could I, an Indian, do about the issue while sitting at my desk in New Delhi while people continued to bleed to death in Cairo demanding food, a right to better health, jobs and an overall upliftment from poverty? I tried but I simply could get my thoughts in place to get along with my day as if nothing had happened. I started reading up about the situation in Cairo and Suez and as the images began to show me the face of rebellion, I knew that there had to be something, someway to connect. I write this post on my blog as a beginning, to register my voice along with a million others against violence of any form in any part of the planet. The story of Egypt is not the first I feel deeply connected to right now, I will not forget the riots of Jammu and Kashmir last year. While the rest of the country was basking in the joys of football,

I have a deep fascination for incomplete stories. There's no way of knowing what kind of twists and turns are yet to be seen in the tale and whether the end will a part of someone's reality or will it remain a figment of our imagination. The reason why I have such a deep fascination for incomplete stories is because I can't stand them. I need to know how it ended and will leave no stone unturned to find out. That's exactly how it happened last evening as I sat down to write about an incomplete chapter in my life and how it often comes back to haunt me with an agony, that cannot possibly be put down in words. Not only is that chapter ridden with the deepest sense of guilt it is also one that is difficult to tell. So after an hour and a half for searching the right words last evening and matching them to my sentiment and writing down a decent post about that incomplete chapter I decided to put it to print. Viola! The website crashed. No matter how much I tried, there was