Truth

JK* said, "truth is a pathless land"

Besant Nagar Beach, Chennai, not yet 6 AM, April 2019

Looking out at the morning scene
I felt,
Truth is a mystery
It is as simple and as complex
as we make it out to be.
It is of all colours of creation.
It appears and disappears,
Disguised in a zillion forms,
In the many layers
Of our plans and endeavours 
And aspirations,
And search for it. 
It hides.
Behind clouds of misunderstandings,
It blazes with Love. 
It holds ends together -
For this lightening sky and steel-grey sea
Holds yesterday's memory
Of fading daylight
Meeting the light of dusk,
Smudging the horizon;
Transforming the sky
Into His inky colour.
The Divine prankster's play:
A scientific movement.
Words will always fall short
Of original beauty and perfection.
Unbelievably, the clouds rumble.
Everchanging, illusive, mysterious-
Truth laughs at me 
while I try to capture It.
And says,
"You are part of me,
I am the truth of your existence"
-----------------------------------------------

JK* - Jiddu Krishnamurti

Its a New Love Story

What do you do

When you fall in Love

All over again? 

You've been with him,

Twenty years. 

Touched heights of ecstasy,

Together,

And sunk to the depths of despair. 

You've been with him,

While separated and apart

Not understanding - 

Why & how he's within. 

You've been with him,

Thru' the times without. 

While he'was changing

To a different he.

And you'ere changing 

To a different you.

Time leaves her marks. 

It's another he, now.

And another you. 

Inexorably drawn together

Yet again,

By some ancient, secret rhythm-

That makes you dance with him. 

For him. 

Names have not changed;

It seems like,

The same old husband-

And wife,

Making comfortable home & hearth.

And yet. 

It's a new Love Story,

That you both are narrating. 

Fresh, like the morning dew. 

Of hearts in tune - 

Learning to sing together,

The many songs of life,

Blending, seasoning... 

So, what do you do? 

You write a poem,

About falling in Love again,

And the promise

Of being held by it

And holding it. 

A Story around Tiruvannamalai's Trees

I am sort of fuzzy about what exactly I am looking or appealing for, or what I found, (missing) that this story emerged.  Am I asking for media and public communication to look for truths / actualities? Am I asking consumers to open their eyes and really look at media what news and how it is fed to them? Is it a politics of inclusion that I want as a native? A little human kindness maybe (from whom however)? Do I want to prescribe everyone a dose (or more) of pantheism?  Or could it be that I want a giant sci-fi lever / button that mutes or extinguishes altogether, all partisan agendas [except mine of course! ;)]?

The Scene

There is a crisis brewing in Tiruvannamalai around the issue of razing down stretches of forest trees to make way for a wider Girivalam road. When this matter first raised its head around a month back, it became known that authorities were simply planning on wiping away a tract of land - trees, insects, worms, birds, snakes, mongooses, civets and all, without any citizens' forums participation, any consultation etc.  Concerned people got together and the information was passed around overnight.  A group of us came together to form a human chain and protest this arbitrary action (although I am certain that each of us had our own agendas of protest - against the arbitrariness or against the actual action or for protecting the ecological and / or spiritual-cultural heritage or plain against the pro-Development attitude of authorities...).

Plot Development
I had been kicked to see that quite some people gathered on that day to form the human chain. There may have been 80 people or so. Perhaps.  A minuscule fragment of the population of Tiruvannamalai, yes, however, that this crowd was possible overnight was heartening for me. Many in the crowd, including me, were taking part in a protest of this sort for the first time.  During the informal eve of the human chain formation, the trees smiled down gently at comradely introductions (but of course, pun intended), information and assumption bullets and bombs, warrior announcements of intent, hesitant appeals, and the like, and some miscellaneous gossip.  Nevertheless, spirits were steady.  The early morning ambience of this town, and the trees, and oh! the mountain, facilitate a steady heartbeat. Or so I like to imagine!

I perceived the usual shrinking violets, the c----e (aspirants?), rebels, the wise ones, dreamers, the organisers, the public speakers, private speakers, and the parents and their children.  Many different types and stereo-types had turned up.  The monkeys and the sadhus were missing.  A sudden bubble call-out from my head with a human chain, complete with Rhesus macaques and the lion-tailed macaques and peacocks along with the humans, gave me a secret thrill.

A couple of the representative voices (leadership qualities and all) gathered the group together in order for individuals to make statements of protest (say their piece basically).  At around this time the media people came in, complete with their weaponry and artillery.  And just like that, the mood of the crowd changed.  Introductions became emphatic identities, announcements of intent became swords of ultimatums, and appeals became demands. Heartbeats quickened. High spirits abound in a matter of minutes.

Then we formed the human chain (complete with the macaques in my bubble). And someone suggested silence. The mountain and the trees and the temple town persist. Or so I like to imagine! Blessed, blissful silence.  For a few minutes.

As we broke apart, still in the stillness, there was a commotion down the road, and many things started happening at once. Some of the organisers were running towards the commotion and some others away from it, and a lone bulldozer was coming down the road and grinding to a halt by the side of the road beside the precious trees, the media people started running to the scene of action / crime.  Of course, high spirits had to take over, town and trees and mountain be damned.

Climax?
What followed can be called ignominy or a mini revolution or achievement / success or disaster averted (for the time being), or a comedy show, or cheap thrills or all of this, depending on how one is looking at it.

Seeing a large crowd advancing towards it, the driver of the bulldozer, the solitary enemy, quickly got down from the large machine and scooted away to some spot where he could be far away from the high spirits and yet close to his responsibility.

High spirits then proceeded to take over the machine, conquered it by sitting on its hood and gathering around it and making fierce and brave statements, and shouting slogans to the camera.  Reassured that he will come to no harm (I dont know how), the driver came back to his machine, and started it.  Spirits got down and stood in front of it, facing the front, and the camera captured a sensational sequence wherein we were saying, "we will not let them take over the trees, our land, our rights" (or some such) and in the background the bulldozer can be seen backing up all the way to the curve in the road at a safe distance.

Spirits descended slowly.  We were all told that we have been able to buy some time.  Some background work had been happening in the meanwhile and a meeting had been fixed further in the day with the Officials to discuss this and appeal for proper proceedings.  A show of hands went up to join this meeting and we started dispersing.

The Real Story according to me
As the morning faded away, I had a conversation in the sidelines with one of the people behind the scenes.  Paraphrasing what this person told a couple of us:  You know, the driver was so sweet. I was talking to him after he ran away there (pointing), and he was telling me, "what can I do, tell me! I was one of the people who planted some of these trees in the periphery and I have seen these trees and this forest all my life.  I don't want to do this.  But this is my job and my responsibility and the sole income for my family.  So I have to do this also.  But it is not my fault, is it?"

Plot Resolution re-titled The Dream | Cynic's Title: Utopia | Working Title: Siddhanta
The yoga practitioner and teacher in me was quietly insisting that all it needed was for us to pause. In between breaths. P A U S E.  And when we start cultivating Pause, we would stop to consider, listen to the other, widen space for conscious choices, perceive the inter-relatedness and connections between people and people, people and nature, between one tree and the other, between the worms and the plants, between children and mud, between human and divine, between you and me, and see one as the other.  Then we would take into account everything that there is to take into account, be alive and awake to the dharmasankatas created therein.  Like the dharmasankata of the driver.  He had to do what he had to do through the internal conflict that he was going through.  What would I have done had I been in his place? What would he have done had he been in my place? Could we have highlighted his story as a way of opening dialogue around this issue (and others)? Can politics expand to include all kinds of developments? Can we pause to look at and listen to those trees that we claim to protect? Can we inhale their energy and learn from them? Is that possible? What are they whispering? Could we include monkeys and sadhus and the local women and their children in the conversation?  How can we remain alive to everyone's truths at the same time?

-------------------------------------------------------

PS - We have a stay order on the cutting of the trees. They are hanging in the air at present.  I also dont mean to offend any individual in my story.  Much of it is in humour with a dollop of sarcasm to spice it up, while asking some questions. 

What is Self Discipline

Self discipline is mostly defined as the ability to control oneself, wherein the 'oneself' takes its myriad shapes and forms, depending on who is saying it and the context - control feelings, control senses, controlling distractions and so on.  This is one level of truth; controlling these manifestations of the self does lead to some sort of a discipline in functioning.

What is discipline? It is defined in the crudest way possible as training to obey, through punishment and / or penitence.  This is one level of truth; most systems and spaces use this for maintaining law and order and agreed that this is necessary.  Penitence of course falls squarely in the space of self disciplining.

However, I see that control (controlling of the self) and training and punishment (towards disciplining) can only go so far and no more.  These meanings and actions can be used for immediate and urgent purposes and in not-stable states of being, however to continue with them as the standard for all times can only bring disaster. For, this brings in control and training from an external source in order to establish right action, and this is necessary in difficult times.  But this in no way ensures that transformation has occurred within and the inappropriate action will not be repeated.  Penitence, insofar as it is regret is fine and can be translated to action, but penitence as guilt is a non-starter and leads to a destructive cycle of self blame, judgment, negative labeling and non-action.

Following this meaning and context of self discipline all the time will actually defeat itself in the long run.  Training to control could be like training a dog or a horse and I can only visualise the animal straining at the leash, hurting itself, its throat.  Over time, the leash will fray; at some point the animal may turn and attack the trainer.  Gradually the animal may get trained to obey by way of punishment (and reward).  There is no question here of self thought, discovery and understanding*.  We do the same to ourselves.  We are our own puppets.  In this space and path of self discipline, we manipulate and destroy ourselves.  That self is becoming more and more contorted and twisted.

Photo taken at Nirkunram Campers near Chengalpet

A higher form of discipline takes off from the word, 'disciple', from being a disciple.  A disciple is a follower, devoted to something or someone.  In being a disciple, he thinks some thoughts, does not think others, follows some practices, eschews practices that does not help her in being a disciple and so on.  And hence he / she is on the path of discipline.  Does he / she slip?  Of course, yes.  He may indulge for a while in a practice that does not help the disciple in him.  She may not actively take up actions that are required for her to be a wholesome disciple.  But the context and framework for the self discipline is clear.

So, disciplining arises from a purpose.  Taken this way, I sometimes feel that all disciplining can only be self disciplining - be it any entity, an individual, a village, an organisation, a campaign... "What is that purpose?" that disciplining is arising from, is of course an entire domain of its own and worth an independent inquiry and space.

What will happen in this kind of disciplining is that, 'discipline' is removed from its shackles of being a station that one has to get off at, and becomes a journey of self discovery and understanding.  On this journey, the self is understood better and better, deeper:  Why are there some fears?  When is it that one is courageous?  When does one feel sad? When, happy? How does one act with others? Why do I think in a particular way? What makes one feel energetic? What makes me follow the path of discipline... and so on and so forth.

And then, when the patterns of the self start getting clearer and clearer, the road of discipline also gets sparkling clear ahead of oneself.  And this may include moments of a cruder form of self discipline, may include times of indulgence or violation and so on, however one can be back on the road, or perhaps is still on it and playing hooky. There is then the process of penitence and prayaschittam, in their higher forms, all in the path of self discovery (disciplining).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*  It of course is an assumption that one actually wants all that in the first place - authentic thought, discovery and understanding; however we are looking at a meaning of self discipline that will sustain, and that sustenance includes these ideas.

The Point of an Oxymoron

The title of this blog is an oxymoron, "Precise Ramblings". We come across oxymorons all the time, and may not even notice them, and / or take them for granted as part of everyday language, ordinary.  Well, they are and they are not.

Original copy... pretty ugly... minor issues... clearly misunderstood.... crash landing .... found missing .... old news .... open secret... random order!

The first time I came across the idea of an oxymoron was sometime in my 7th or 8th grade, and it fascinated me no end.  I don't remember the actual oxymoron, however I remember the sense of sudden joy and the burst of feeling every time I encountered an oxymoron or came up with one myself.  I still carry that feeling.

Image from soulspartan.com

At the time, it was explained to us in our English class as a phrase that has two opposite or contradictory statements put together, which gives insightful and / or humourous and / or ironic meaning.  Yes, oxymorons lend themselves to a clever turn in language, and leave us with a laugh or a gleam.  However, why should that clever turn in language give the reader his or her keen response? What quality in those words evokes its usual responses?  The turn is not one of language alone.

The oxymoron is not simply a phrase or a word that ends when the word ends on the page.  It is an ongoing phenomenon.  The point of an oxymoron is simultaneity.  It is only by holding together two seemingly contradictory truths, at the same time, the third truth is constantly discovered.

To give an example,
one way in which Ahimsa is defined is "to know one's limits", however, one needs to constantly test those limits to actually know them. Therein lies the paradox of Ahimsa.  The writer-philosopher, Chaturvedi Badrinath says of this: "the paradox of limits, which consists in the fact that one becomes aware of one's limits only by transgressing them; there is no known way by which one can know one's limits in advance."  Which for me means that the oxymoron is a constant process and discovery.  Like life.  It cannot be a stinking, one-point stagnation. We can of course in our limitation think, believe and act like it is so, while life itself is a constant affirmation of its flow.  It is a flow of simultaneously holding two seemingly contradictory movements, and in seeing them together, at the same time, the third, deeper and larger truth can be held.

A simultaneous holding and being in that space of tension between the two, and finding the truth therein.  How can some words strung together be precise and ramble at the same time? What are those truths when discussed allow my words the freedom and flexibility to meander and twist and turn and yet stay constant and focused?  Why is it important for me to be precise and ramble at the same time?  When do those A-ha! moments* occur, holding both together and creating art? The space and journey of this oxymoron, Precise Ramblings.
-------------------------------------------------------------------

* Many thanks to one of my teachers, Sashi Anant, for this bang-on phrase, "A-ha moment"

Words Also Hide Truth

A corollary to an earlier piece on words and writing.

(The earlier piece talks about how words are both my strength and weakness, and in not nourishing the strength I have let the weakness grow)

Further into the way words are being a paradox in my life, even while being in the pursuit of truth and writing it, I also use a lot of words to hide unpleasant truths first from myself and hence perhaps from the other as well.  I have not done this consciously and not all the time, and it cannot somehow fall in the category of lying, but words become a coping mechanism many times to deal with life events and situations that one does not feel capable of handling. And this has been happening at a very metal level.  I also realise that I have seen this phenomenon in the other and criticised it and so on and thus intellectualised the whole matter for myself.

I also see that often when there is clarity and truth, words are fewer and sharper and flowing.  Mostly, a poem comes out of me.  How insightful are the words of Chaturvedi Badrinath: "the paradox of language is that silence is its highest function."  

About Words, Writing, and Writing Everyday

'Words'  I realise, are the big paradox of my life.  They are one of my greatest strengths and they are also one of my biggest weaknesses.  

Strength because I am able to string a few words together (in English) and make good prose or even better poetry.  I believe that the goodness comes out of my pursuit of writing the truth as I see it. I want my writing to reflect truth.  This has been such a strength that great writing achievements had been expected of me.  However as it happens with many of us sometimes or some of us many times over, an ability not practiced is no ability at all. These days there are flashes of that inherent skill now and then, and a very occasional glimpse of brilliance.  

This ability with words has also wrought disaster, because I have been so careless and thoughtless with the way I have let them loose on all and sundry.  I have hurt people, wrecked relationships and made a battlefield of the world with my words.  In not feeding my strength, I have been letting the weakness grow to gargantuan proportions.  I have allowed the weakness to prevail over and over again, fed and nourished it while my strength languished like an orphan.  

image from www.writebynight.com

Now that I have seen it, I need to feed and nourish the strength; allow it to grow so huge that there is no space for the weakness.  One can strengthen a muscle first and primarily, by exercising it. All else can only be supplementary.  I can nourish my writing essentially by writing, writing every day, and writing all the time.  I will have to write so much that I am able to understand the nuances and intricacies of words, their relationships, spaces and processes so well, that there is no possibility of making a mistake with a word. Or the very least possibility.  

I will have to practice writing every day. I want to do so. I also want to write only the truth.  For writing the truth, my words have got to come from my own experience.  I feel that they have to be so authentic that the examination of truth begins from the question of why I want to write.  However, that line of inquiry is not in the scope of this piece and can be safely set aside for another.  Coming back to writing the truth, and hence writing from experience, I see that most of the time, words fall short of the experience.  They can never communicate the original experience 'accurately' (except perhaps factual information, though I question even this), because when another is reading the words, that becomes his or her subjective process of meaning making from what is being read.  A reader would bring her experience into the process, and lend to it her uniqueness. That which makes you, you and me, me.  And hence now, there are two truths, your truth and my truth.  And my truth can also change over time?  I am remembering Mahatma Gandhi's 'Note to the Reader' in his famous book, Hind Swaraj.  He says in his note that since he is learning all the time and changing, his words about the same topic could change in subsequent writings and hence the reader must always take the latter. This means that truth also is relational. However, that there's got be something that is constant is my gut feeling.  For me now, at the very least, one constant will be that my words not inflict violence on anyone.  Which means any and all truth for me has got to go through the filter of not-being-violent (ahimsa) before it is presented.  

I wondered whether I was getting carried away with this struggle between what is constant and what is relational, and hence distracting myself from writing yet another time. And decided to write about the process.  And my pursuit of writing the truth will include this awareness that truth also is a process. It is relational, and yet there are constants.  The pursuit can only be enhanced by looking at this play of constant and relational aspects of truth given any theme.  And writing about it.