Soulful tale

A Soulful tale

   

     When I read about a publication asking for tales for ‘Chicken Soup for the Indian soul’ I was intrigued. Do souls have narrow nationalities? Is the soul non-vegetarian? What about people who are pure vegetarians will the soul not flinch at the chicken soup? So I set about finding out what is a soul and what nourishes it.

   I had heard of a fat soul? A misguided soul? Soul-mates. Kindred Souls. Souls appear in all shapes and sizes. Can a soul be slim and attractive all by itself, through all its journeys? A soul is supposed to be eternal. A simple soul as against a complex one? How is one to know in what stage of development it has reached?

   One had heard of a Soul satisfying as opposed to soul destroying. Often some people are referred to as a miserable soul or as a soul crying for mercy and justice. When we talk of a poor soul – how poor monetarily or emotionally? What abut a mysterious soul? How mysterious like Voldemort’s? Can one cut up the soul and hide it in various living and non-living things? (As Voldemort did in Harry Potter books). Can a soul decide to fasten on another living body? As in the case of ,‘possessed’.

Often a feminine soul is described as wild, willful, chaotic, earthy, sensual, sweet, emotional, passionate and compassionate? Then how would a masculine soul be like? I guess, brave, gentle, sensible, bitter, scheming and rational? But couldn’t the masculine soul also be passionate, compassionate and earthy? I always thought that the soul was gender neutral.  The soul was supposed to be colour, race, and religion neutral too.

Mark T Cicero had observed that “A home without books is a body without soul.”

So books are the souls of homes? But by that logic if bodies are homes to a soul what is the soul like? A book? Or many books rolled into one? A life time of learning?

 A Soul, I discovered was in general, in many religions and philosophies, is conceived as the animating and vital spiritual principle in human beings; an inner, immaterial element that, together with the material body, constitutes the human individual.

According to Robert Sardello, ‘The soul requires duration of time- rich, deep, thick, velvety time. And it thrives on rhythm. Soul can’t be hurried or harried. We may go through many events in the day and experience nothing because the soul has not had the opportunity to feel them from any different point of view.’

H.G.Wells  states that, ‘Soul cannot exist when our connection in life remains superficial. An experience in soul requires that we take time to be fully present to the details of our lives. Explore what happens when you take the time and pay attention. When we choose to slow down and really experience the qualities of our lives, we get a whole new perspective on what living’s all about.’

The source of all knowledge was called, Soul of the world by Jung. When instincts become sharper, emotions more radical, interpretation of signs becomes more important than logic, and perceptions of reality grow less rigid. We discover that if we can channel that continuous flow of energy we can organize it around a very solid center. What Jung calls the wise old man for men and the great mother for women?

    The soul receives foreign matter through the body. Heaps of atoms enter the soul through mental action, speech and breathing. All this infiltration will stop if the body is immobilized. A state of total inactivity of the body is the state of meditation. It is not exclusively a mental state. Meditation is a state of mental and physical equilibrium. It is a state of equipoise.

    Silence is the spiritual knife that lays open our souls. If we are never silent, we never have to examine the truth about ourselves.

Stillness is your essential nature. What is stillness? The inner space or awareness in which the words on this page are perceived and become thoughts. When you lose touch with your inner stillness, you lose touch with yourself.

                              “Some say the world is a vale of tears,
                      I say it is a place of soul-making” John Keats

Modern day scientists and doctors are discovering that our soul can enter into realms that are teeming with life and experiences that we never dreamed existed. As long as we remain unaware of them, we are asleep. Our soul is awakened when it experiences these inner realms.
       How can we wake up?
There are easier methods like meditation, contemplation and prayer. Meditation is concentration. It can be practiced by anyone of any age. We withdraw our attention from the outer world and focus it within.
Saints and mystics describe the soul as a drop of God. By bringing the soul to the point of the body called the seat of the soul, it contacts the streams of light and sound, the creative vibration that emanated from the Creator, and brought Creation into being.

‘Dead Souls’ do souls die? According to Gogol who wrote about them they were the souls of serfs that the landowners could sell in a ‘get rich quick scheme’…

One has heard of ‘selling your soul to the Devil’.  Ever wondered what does the Devil do with such souls? I await answers from more learned souls…

                  

 

Fishy Tales

Watching fishes lazily swim by...

Not one fish but many delight my heart every morning. I had bought a pair of small goldfish and two pairs of black fish. The shop owner had told me not to expect the gold fish to breed as they needed more space and my tiny rock garden wasn’t enough to encourage them to reproduce. Well, just watching my black beauties float past was enough for me. The gold fish appeared to be shy and hid under the leaves of the lotus.

Then one fine day I found Bahadur, R.Singh and R.swaroop deep in discussion over the pond. What happened, we have been calling out for a long time? There were tiny insect like creatures wriggling in the pond. The debate was ‘are they mosquitoes or tadpoles?’ There were hundreds of these tiny things. After a few days it became clear that they were fishes! Now I have mud coloured, peach with black spots and even loads of gold fishes! There were some with peacock colored fins or tails!

The black ones remain the dominant ones. I kept count till the fifth generation, and then I gave up. Lots of snails also arrived. So my rock garden is teeming with life.

There is a sense of loss when they go during winter or extreme summer. Yet hope springs again as I bring some more new ones and watch with awe and wonder….

Garden tale

    Gardening a tale

   

  Gardens have been havens of escape. Remember the ‘Secret Garden?’ Or the Eden Garden from where Adam and Eve were banned? And they pined for it ever after? Looking for their lost innocence?

   So what is it about a garden that sets it apart from other places? One that it is an open space and you can just be in communion with nature. Seeing a new bud open, a fruit ripen or just the interplay of nature is de-stressing. One can watch the squirrels, birds and insects enthralled. You are in harmony. You know each one’s role. You also know and accept the cycle of life. Thus I think of the performers in Central park in NY. They act, dance sing and are happy with the applause. So you release your stress and pains. Gardens are the best open-air theatres. There is a trend nowadays towards holding musical sessions in large gardens. The environment is soothing, after long hours being stuffed inside offices and houses the soul can breathe again.

 All of us have our secret gardens in our minds where we go to escape the routine pressures of life. There’s a cane swing on which I languidly rock and stare at the beautiful painting nature enfolds for me every second, a new one to hold me mesmerized. The blazing sun filtering through the leaves of the tall Badam tree and the ancient gnarled Neem tree managing to scorch the green grass was what I remember of my Jodhpur garden. My maali Shiv Kumar would water the grass thrice a day to protect it from the unrelenting sun. The money plant leaves had entwined themselves on the Neem tree’s trunk and flourished in it’s shade. Most flowers had wilted in the heat except the hardy bougainvilleas. They were a riot of pinks and purples climbing all over the Bel tree (wood apple, Aegle-marmelos).

 Yes, how can one forget the wonderful round fruit of Bel. It’s juice cooled the stomach and mind. Truly a divine fruit! All of us were waiting for the gods’ to have mercy on us. The heat was unbearable. The wild hot winds called ‘loo’ would blow spraying fine dust and sand all over, causing the trees and plants to shrivel up and even old Ashoka trees burnt out leaves were a silent testimony to the sun god’s cruelty. Every thing would be coated with dust and soon we were enveloped in a blinding thick sandstorm. It would rage on for an odd number of days according to folklore. We waited patiently as the dust pall traveled up to Delhi causing complete shut-down of air-traffic.

Finally the gods’ relented and the sky was overcast with grey-clouds. The breeze that blew was laden with a promise of heavy showers.  I saw the elegant Ashoka tree sway with the sudden strong gust. The breeze gathered strength and soon all the trees were rocking in anticipation. I looked up in anxiety will the wind blow away the clouds? In reply some more clouds joined in and I loved the way the sunlight dimmed by the black clouds made the green trees radiate in a shade that’s difficult to capture. Truly nature is the greatest artist!

Yes it thundered and poured causing puddles in the lawn. The trees looked refreshed as if they had just stepped out of the bath. I think there is really no way an artist would be able to paint the delight of the first monsoon showers! I am eternally grateful to be able to share the intense pleasure with my friends the old trees, Neem, Badam, Amla, Imli, Nagchampa, Bottle brush, Ashoka not to mention the myriad potted plants and surprisingly even my cacti. They appeared lush green and sprouted succulent leaves instead of the usual thorns.

As the rains continued, new life sprouted up almost magically. Everyday there would be new leaves or buds proclaiming a renewal of life. The never say die spirit. Yes new kinds of insects found their way into our balcony and the mosquitoes found a fresh lease of life. So sitting after sunset meant braving the lizards who lazily eyed their preys as well. Chirping birds, frogs’ croaking and crickets’ calls added to the happy cacophony.

 One evening peering into my potted palms; I saw two shadowy figures vanish rather abruptly. They were Mr. and Mrs. Mongoose out for a pre-dinner stroll. Rains makes every one of us venture into unknown areas?

 As the winter sun grew milder my garden was ablaze with colour. The huge colorful Chrysanthemums in shades of white and giant sized Dahlias- in vibrant red, yellow, maroon colours were a sight to soothe the sore eyes. Rows of sweet-peas, tall pink Hollyhocks, Nasturtiums, Dog flowers, bright red Poppies; they are still etched clearly in my mind. My garden won the best garden prize of the district five years in a row. So I asked the flowers are you proud that you have been declared the most beautiful ones in Jodhpur?

The Sunflowers beamed and said, “No Mamma, we will wither away after some time. We have no idea that we are called the best. Our job is to attract the flies so that our pollination will take place and the fruits and seeds are made and the cycle of life carries on. We have no time to boast and preen and make others envious”

“Are you so serious about life? I thought only we had problems of growing up finding a job getting married and then old.”

They smiled and waved me on…

My mind remains on the picture of the squirrel on the tall sunflower swaying in the breeze nibbling at the seeds. How our maali was so annoyed with these creatures. Destroying his hard work.

    The bougainvilleas withered away as nature had planned them to. So when I whispered to them, “Will you miss me? Because I will miss you all terribly when we are transferred.”

They replied in a chorus, “Mamma we would have withered and dried up before you are gone. We have no time for idle regrets.” Yet I still miss them, knowing that some new and more luxuriant form will trail over the railing of my roof.

The tall badam tree shedding its unripe nuts thanks to the parrots and other birds. Did they mind? No not really some still survive and may get propagated. If not then aren’t you worried that your species might die out?

So what? That’s also a rule of nature. You can only do as much as you are programmed to do. So why worry? Here men worry if they don’t get sons. They feel their name will be wiped out. So they marry again and create complications. The Badam tree dropped a hard nut on my head…