Worshiping Goddesses !

Was thinking of how we women of the eastern states grow up worshiping images of heavily armed women astride lions, tigers, killing demons. We also hugely love and worship the image of a woman standing on her husband's chest, wearing a garland of severed heads, holding a head in her hand. Wondering how it impacts our psyches ! 
* for one thing, we love fighting our own battles and we don't really look at men as our rescuers! 

Who Am I

At the workshop yesterday, we were given materials and asked to express creatively, 'who I am' personally and professionally. I found it really hard as I could not find any symbol or metaphor which could describe me. Everything felt small, finite, limiting. I also could not find metaphors for my work, could say nothing except that my work is a spontaneous outpouring and expression of my being. I felt the odd one out in that room for some time but I also think that my phase of "doing nothing' is finally paying off  .

Connection

At a workshop today, I was making small talk with the new acquaintance sitting next to me, when this woman walked up, said "Excuse me!" and just hugged me close for a few seconds,stroked my head, squeezed my hand and left. I had met this woman, in another workshop about a month ago and in our brief conversation over lunch, we had found some common ground. I felt moved , overwhelmed by this unexpected, spontaneous display of affection. I met many people today, but at the end of the day, I find those few moments of love, expressed so freely, without any inhibition, still wrapped around me, keeping me warm. She made all the barriers we build around ourselves look so fake and flimsy. There is nothing as beautiful as pure human connection.

I Am A Story !

We seem to have an insatiable appetite for stories. After the basic necessities, stories seem to be what we live on. Movies, books, news,TV serials whatever. Or "You know what happened today?" Does this fascination for stories exist because I am a story myself? All the attributes of name, gender, looks, traits, all the details of my life events. What are they but elements of a story? We love embellishing our stories, constantly adding details.
Within me, sits the storyteller. Nameless, timeless, attributeless.When this 'story' dies, it will begin another. A chain of stories and all chains interconnected in a gigantic, mind-boggling web. That is what we are. Stories in love with stories.

Imagination Reclaimed

As a child, I believed in fairies. A light green patch of grass in the midst of dark green, meant a fairy had been visiting that spot. I believed my dolls to be real people till I was about sixteen and carried them, by turns, in my coat pockets for outings. In fact, one of them had accompanied me to my college hostel, was given baths and was made much of by the girls. And then, I began losing this gift of imagination. I had to live in the 'real' world and 'grow up'. But now, in my fifth decade, I find myself reclaiming this inherent power, this important faculty. I create worlds in my mind and who can say they are not 'real'? What is 'reality' by the way? Just a matter of perception. Your reality is not the same as mine, can never be. I can see a forest in a tree, leaf or flower.A mountain in a stone. I can go anywhere, meet anyone, whenever, wherever. I have found the lost key to the magical kingdom of childhood.

The Making Of Me

I was reading of method acting in which an actor painstakingly creates a character with all its fine nuances. Its a difficult process to create a character and sustain its authenticity, credibility over a period of time. And I think, that is what I have been doing for so many years. Over time, I have created a persona for myself, with her likes, dislikes. opinions, quirks. I have made definitions and descriptions for myself. I work so hard to sustain this persona. I argue so fiercely, get angry, sad, fearful whenever these definitions are threatened or challenged. I am momentarily happy whenever they are endorsed by people around me. This is so much effort. Its time to dismantle her, I feel and see what waits behind. 

Being Myself

Why is being myself the most difficult thing in the world when it should be the easiest? Its child's play, actually. But then, I'm told to edit myself.The world tells me to do so as others might not be on the same page, may not understand or relate to me. And that would be an impolite imposition. To be accepted as a considerate, good member of society, I must tailor my expression to suit another'slevel of understanding, interests, beliefs, all of which is at best, an assumption on my part. I wonder whether this curtailing is worthwhile. I am a unique manifestation of the absolute in this world. I am here to experience myself, know myself, express myself, be myself. So I am what I am. Those who relate to me will remain close. Those who won't will move away. What say?

A World Of Magic

I am fortunate to have a magician friend. And it fascinates me to hear stories of famous magicians, of their skill, dedication and ability to entertain people by confounding them. And I think of this world. I think of the sky and the ocean which appear blue when they are colourless. I think of Quantum physics telling us that we are made of emptiness, that all the different forms we see are just the same atoms arranged differently. We are all being confounded by the master magician. And the day I know that magician, the world will become a place for entertainment.

Growing up !

Nowadays, when I hear the term 'growing up years' I think do we ever stop growing? Maybe the body stops gaining height but then it changes constantly. And we grow in so many other ways. I find that this fifth decade in my life is the time when I am growing the fastest. It appears as though in all the previous decades, I was caught up in the flow and was just experiencing life. And now, the pace having slowed down, its time for assimilation and revelations. These are my real growing up years