Friday, February 25, 2011


Be still, it is the wind that is singing. Becoming Budha is a conciousness.

Witness the whisper and look beyound breath. It is here and now, neither it was nor it ever will be. Understanding the movement from happiness to pain and enjoyment to fear is understanding existence.

Be still and let love not be understood as a beggar's bowl, let it not be understood as your weakness. Let you not be sold to untrue stories and let you not be made to trust just because you love. Sing aloud but die not for want of an attendent listening ear. If no one is there for you remember the trees and the leaves whisper and sing melodies for you too. Tread the distance and take no hand in hand for fear of being alone. Celebrate being alone with yourself. remember it is your journey and you have to walk the talk. If you are tired be satisfied He is leading you to your home for a restful sleep.

the Budha watches, listens and constantly changes. Anaicha - Everything is to change and this that is giving you pain will pass too.

The Budha is still and a witness to all. He is there and there He is not. He is a whisper a bubble and a stream of light too. He alone is the truth.

So be still it is the wind that is singing.

Friday, February 4, 2011


I have to quit this chair. The chair on which you kept me waiting for hours and for days even . This chair that I have to say good bye in a few days knows how eagerly I kept waiting for you. I kept waiting because for me time has stopped and the space has shrunk. You came, you just came kept coming and you never went away. But unfortunately you never understood what it is like being there. You came and leaned back to the mile post and the green tall oak turned pale. One after the other the leaves fell in your lap and I kept watching the murmur that the dry leaves left in your wilted existence.

This chair that will belong to someone else soon knows you so well. I have had conversations about you with it because it was the only living thing around me. Living because it would make a creeking sound at every movement of my obese flesh and the sound would make me beleive that there is really something that you have left for me to be with. And this chair knows you would then be somewhere burning in passion and desire for it would describe the melt down of your existence to my cold fugitive being.

Your presence travelled with me and I remained seated on the chair because there was nothing else that I could trust to witness the resolutions, reminders and the repettitions.I could never measure my tallness to you because I brought the skies under your feet. You could never understand the depth and vastness of my open eyes,for you never saw me awake for hours on that chair. The chair is so matured, silently it will accomodate another soul and sincerely it will creek with pain whenever the flesh will move from side to side in its lap.

This chair laughed at me because when I left it and walked instead I had no place to conclude my journey and I had to come back and settle on it rejected and dejected.

I knew I have to leave this chair and I knew I can not wait for you any more here. this is why I have shrunk back in to my mould and I know no hunger, no pain and no isolation now. I know there will be no witness to my long wait and therefore I will no longer look at the door to open and I will no longer speak of the hours and days that I will spend in lonliness for there will no longer be a chair for me to sit on.