Wednesday, 30 July 2014


When your body is weak, all your sorrows come home to roost. I can see why mom only dwells on the painful memories now. I had already said goodnight to her when she called me again to say ‘ik gul sun jaa, jo main kadee bhee naheen dusee,’ (Come and listen to this one which I have never told you before), and I went, knowing full well I knew all her stories, but still hoping it would be something new, but she starts on a story (a sad, sad one) I have heard a million times before.  I was tired and I said, mom, I’ve already heard this story, kissed her again and began to leave. Really, I don't think I've told you this one before. But here’s another . . . '

I think her need to tell and retell her stories also has something to do with just having my presence. If she has my attention, I'll sit with her.  

Tuesday, 29 July 2014


Feeling really blah right now. My mother's sleeping, and there's no one to talk to. The skies are gray -- went to the frig to get myself a portion of a mango and said, wow, I'm feeling blah. Let me enjoy it! and no sooner than I shifted into being consciously blah, I loved it!
A friend of mine said to me when I said, 'I'm bored,'  'be grateful for it!'



Such a lovely high this morning, the sun shining brightly, and every little detail of the house and garden, either looking at it, or planning to do something, is a thrill. I go to our Grotto, what a microcosm it is! Lovely beyond words, the moss from the recent rains blooming emerald green on the dark, textured portion of hill. It is enclosed, but open to the sky, a tiny little courtyard, miniature of the universe, lumen, inner open space of our home. It has a dark grey slate floor with a mosaic in white and orange pieces of tile. And in the center of a space – it has no center – is that lovely table made of a mill stone that P put together. I moved a few stones, cleaned a little and it tired me out. I will have Dolma, our new maali, who I really like, because she has the feminine eye for detail and cleanliness, work on it. She shall have the pleasure while I indulge in other, less taxing delights. I like writing because it is so sedentary! I almost didn’t want to come into the study but then I knew that I must come here, clean and create in the garden of the computer screen as well.

Just interrupted my entry to take photos of the grotto (to save myself description) and that got me started on taking photos and thinking about including them on the blogs.

You see things differently when you see them through the lens of the camera. First of all, you see it more clearly, and out of context, and therefore highlighted and seen in all the beauty that custom dims and belittles (PLEASE KEEP READING AFTER THIS INTERRUPTION)
for us. You understand that it has a beauty apart from its context, and yet intimately connected to it, though invisible in the photograph. The context, matrix, I think as I write here, is always invisible and takes an inner, imaginative seeing to become manifest, as image and idea.

Friday, 11 July 2014



Yesterday. I know I wanted to give my brain a total rest, and needed to do something crafty, embroider, or knit. I did a few rows of knitting, and then wanted to embroider, but was hampered – have been hampered for over a year in fact in this endeavor – by the difficulty of threading needles. So yesterday I thought I would have Meera do it, and then the thought, but I don’t have a pincushion, led me into a delightful all day long activity. I knew I wanted something lovely, thought of my paisley shawl remnants, hunted for and found them, and spent about four to six hours of utter engagement making two of them. I have put silver and glass beads on them, too. They are not refined in the stitching and that was part deliberate, part haste, but I like the overall gypsy effect, functional, yet with an eye to color, using a thick yellow embroidery thread. I will try to make the others – I don’t need anymore, just the need to make them! –

more elegant, with thin silk thread but their elegance is already undercut with the haphazard nature of the patchwork, making do with what I have. 


A dream a few nights ago: I am searching for the office of a doctor on a large campus with whom I have an appointment. Though I am quite lost, I keep getting guided to it. His name is Eidelstein or something. I finally meet him outdoors: aging, with grey hair, and his wife is with him. She touches a plant and gently moves its leaves with her hand, and I get it at once: move as the wind moves you.

It is amazing how coherent this dream is when I write it down. It fits so snugly, like the right piece of the puzzle, in my new reformatting of the self. This doctor and his wife, with their important message, will cure me. Though I am lost, I am guided. I do not meet them in a stuffy office, but outdoors, which is becoming a passion: nothing strenuous or far away, though a short evening hike up our usual road is marvelous exercise and soulful, and right outside the front door. 


Payson gone for a hike into the park with Sanjeev to say a prayer of thanks for the park getting World Heritage Site status. Yes! Their efforts have paid off and they have preserved for posterity a large chunk of Mother Earth! 


It seems very clear to me as I go into the next phase of my life that I pay attention to the micro decisions I make throughout the day, which can only be based upon an aware estimation of the state of my body. My needs revolve around a vigilance to ensure that I am relaxed and at rest most of the time; and to make decisions conducive to this goal. To play backgammon when I need simply to lie down and shut my eyes, or get into tasks because I think that is what I ought to do, is very counterproductive, if not destructive. There must be at once a greater awareness of and detachment from my emotions. For the last few days I have been aware of my need for more socializing, and when I am feeling that way I forget how little I enjoy common interactions when I have them. My life has followed this path; I have made decisions that have isolated me more and more. To ignore this cry of the soul would not be productive, either, so I called up Perry and the kids and hearing Ajoojh say “I love you Masi” did it for me. I tried to make some kirtan, was hopeless, and had to get up and let it be instead of feeling bad at my inadequacy. I must flow and float above my life, as it were, engaged with it, but detached. I see no other way.

I sometimes get overwhelmed at the multitude of my projects, of how little energy I have for all of them, but must learn to do what I can in between cushions of leisure and being, and be kind to myself. In short, nothing at all must be a problem.