Climate Change

Pic by Guillermo Ferla on Unsplash

Girivalam Diary, 10th August 2021

Many legs walking along,
In this cool and pleasant morning.
Leisurely paces, firm gaits,
Trailing fire.
Hot and cold all at once.
Every eye encountered;
_a reflection of restfulness
Holding tiredness, and watchfulness.
As if a battle has been fought,
And crossed over.
Not of defeat or victory though.
We can only speak of relationships.
And intimacy.
With the self and the other.
With viruses.
Even the warrior
On a closer look-
though holding shield and sword
Is doing so with a smile,
Held by his backdrop
Of sky and mountain.
Soreness and tiredness,
Held in a gentle perception
of the centre
that seems to hold it all.

It's safe here
to encounter rage,
It is seen and held,
And subsides.
It's safe here
to encounter fear,
It is seen and held,
And subsides.
It's safe here
to encounter pleasure and aversion,
Joy and sorrow.
All seen and held,
Subsiding.
It's safe here
to glory in love and freedom.
There is a courage
that can arise out of such restfulness.
The perception of the largest
And deepest context
That one can hold,
And be held in.
There is no way ahead,
nor a map.
But this path
Shines around the centre.
Earth moves around the sun,
Twirling around her axis,
In joyous abandon.
How to dance the dance,
Will be revealed
As she dances
in cosmic rhythm.
This moment too will pass.
And the sea tides will rise
With the moon.
And subside again.
And life will go on.
Outer climate faithfully reflecting,
The inner. 

The Story of an Evening Walk

Fields stretch endlessly,

Meeting horizon

Bringing it closer.

Egrets and pond herons

At dusk.

Doing whatever they do,

On the fields.

The harvest is over.

Ground getting ready

For the next season,

Standing immersed in water.

Sky blue glistening on the ground,

A world turned upside-down.

Shades and layers of green,

Rising in varied textures,

To meet sky again.

An evening walk,

Encounters this world,

From the road;

From the other side-

Of a barbed wire fence.

Wondering,

Will an evening walk do,

To cross over?

What does it take

To pull down the fence?

What is some blood

On the arms and palms?

There was one who bled;

Who bore the pain of humanity

And was crucified.

Cannot an evening walk,

Take some of that pain?

And yet,

The mind is a strange machine.

It wants more roads,

With just the right mix,

Of concrete and rustic

Lest it becomes too urban-

But still needing,

The comfort of a laid out path

For the elevating evening walk.

Which never crosses over,

To the upside-down world

Of pond herons and egrets.

That justs sits there

Seemingly doing nothing;

Except of course inspire

Philosophy & poetry.

What does it take

For these worlds to merge?

A merging seems the 'answer',

When both call

In the same voice.

But the road no longer

Holds a song.

It's a flat note,

That the road wheezes out.

Sweeter seem the raucous cries

Of the egrets

And the staccato hoots

Of the pond herons.

The evening walk

Swells in indignation and anger

At the upside-down world.

Is it just going to sit there--

Looking pretty

And calling sweetly?

Shouldn't it show the way,

To reach it?

Seems the least it can do!

The black comedy

Of wanting a path again

For the evening to walk on....

To the world of egrets and herons.

So near, yet so far.

And it will be so.

For all paths

Are but habits of memory.

And all habits

Are but self-deception.

The evening walk,

Can wear itself out,

And plonk on the roadside.

Watching the upside-down world,

So near yet so far.

Sitting there, watching.

The evening walk

Is no longer the evening walk.

Because..... It's not walking any more.

Well, duh!

Empty now.

Not knowing what to make

Of this world or that,

Or itself;

Sitting there watching.

And getting angrier by the moment.

Until suddenly,

The wind catches something--

The faint strains of a melody.

Is that acceptance

Wrapping itself around the heart?

Is that acceptance

Whispering in the ear?

Is that acceptance-

Like the smell of fresh earth

rising after the rains?

Who knows

What the morning brings?

But for now,

There is acceptance.

The evening is content to burn,

With the sun.