Birth and death

When we are born we are alone. So alone that we dont even remember our first glimpse of the world. Our first cry. First time we were held. We only rely on others' account of it.

When we die we are alone. So alone that we don't even remember our last breath, our last glimpse of the world.  So alone that not even others' can tell us about it.

In between this birth and death, we live an illusion of life. During this illusion of life, we have several moments of births and deaths. We are constantly dying to our old selves, past habits, attitudes and most importantly our egos. We are constantly being reborn with fresher perspectives and newer paradigms. Each moment we die and each moment we are born. In one way or the way. In one form or the other.

This series of constant births and deaths within the illusion of life are connected to events, moments or experiences. Our joys. Our sorrows. Just like how Human Birth and Death are seen events of purest joy and sorrow. Just like so, these births and deaths within life are in the moments of our grestest joys and deepest sorrows.

Just like how we are alone while experiencing the Human Birth and Human Death, we are alone in experiencing our deepest joys and sorrows in the illusionary life. We die to our egoic self in a far far distant world within, away from the world. We feel the deepest sorrow of it in our loneliest moment. We are reborn next moment, we experience it in our loneliest moment. And in between these, we experience Love that we crave and yearn to share.

Despite languages and attempts, we fail at expression. In such series of deaths and births within the illusionary spectrum of life, joys and sorrows blur and become one. And the only thing that stays constant within during these births and deaths is the Cause of Life. The Only Witness. Nobody else. Not even us.

As real as it gets.

What are you doing? I asked.

He didn't respond. He kept weaving. 

Where are we going? I was growing impatient and anxious. 

He didn't respond. He kept walking. 

Like a fool mazmerized, I kept following. Blindly. He took a right. I took a right. He took a left. I took a left. Here, there, everywhere. Through thick & thin, through snow, through rain; through dark under the stars, through bright shining sunlight. Crushing the autumn leaves to hearing the spring birds. Kept walking. All forms of "ing (s)" kept happening. Moving. Not answering. Not responding. Just moving. Just weaving. Not looking up to respond. He was not human. He is Time & Pain. 

When I first saw signs of the pattern, when I first spotted signs of the trend, I stopped pasturing him with questions. I lived. Copying every move. Hand in hand. Synchronized with his walking speed. 

I was copying time. I was living pain. Time is what keeps moving, pain is what keeps happening. Time & Pain. Two things in the world that everyone experiences. Even if we think we can't, we experience. Time & Pain can never be questioned because they never answer. They just keep moving with pride, with absolute confidence that we will follow. And we do. Because we don't have an option. As real as it gets. 

Terminal.

Once upon a time there was a fine young man, Ali. In his school, he met a young kid, Ameen from the primary section. This young kid was really smart. Despite being so young, Ameen helped Ali get good grades. His smartness always helped Ali through thick and thin. So much so that nobody ever noticed any of Ali's shortcomings because of his at par excellence at everything. All because of young Ameen's brilliance.

Ali had grown extremely fond of and attached to Ameen.

One day, Ameen was diagnosed with a terminal disease. Ali knew nothing could save him and that eventually one day, his young friend has to depart. It was astounding, shocking, frustrating but more so depressing. A feeling of utter despair fell over Ali. But his maturity kept him intact and strong.

Ameen on the other hand was desperately seeking solutions. Ways to heal. One day he came to Ali and revealed how he, despite being a little kid, has always been in love with a caveman who lived in the caves up in the nearby mountains. He told Ali how he has never met the caveman but always has had a growing sensation to and see him. It was an unexplainable kind of emotion he exclaimed with a sober face.

Upon his insistence in meeting the caveman, Ali readily agreed. What was disturbing however was Ameens faith that the caveman would heal him. He wanted to meet him. No matter what.

Ali was afraid. Scared that little Ameens hope might break upon not finding the caveman. Nevertheless, he agreed to accompany him. Ameen excitedly gathered his best fruits, decorated a little basket to flatter his love and set off on the journey.

Upon reaching, as anticipated by Ali, the caveman did not open the door of what seemed like a small dingy hut. Knocked and knocked but no response. Ameen wasnt disappointed. He kept trying. Kept knocking. Each evening, with undying enthusiasm he'd go. Ali would fight, would try different techniques to distract his little friend's growing obsession. He would lie, trick, force, plead and even brutally slap Ameen to shun away his wish but to no avail.

Each evening, forced by his own love for Ameen he would carry him till the caveman's hut but no response. Dead silence.

To an extent that people started labelling Ali as crazy. As fanatic. It was embarrasing but Ali couldnt help but stay with Ameen and support him.

Ali wasnt delusional, he wasn't weak but he often had no option but to stay by the side of Ameen and take him to the caveman's hut. It was as if Ali was carrying something and knowingly running after a mirage.

After a few days, finally, Ameen passed away.

We all are Alis, humans. And we all have Ameens in us- call it a brain or call it a heart. And while all our ameens help us grow, they often too fall victim of terminal diseases - diseases of whose cure they despararely look for in mirages, in unexplainable experiences. They then force their alis to undertake the embarrassing journey inviting disappointments and surprises from the world around. And while the world labels all of us as crazy, we knowingly run pick up our ameens and take them to mirages of money, success and people in the hopes of a cure.

Lost in translation.

Inspired from a recent communal gathering.

There are words often mistaken.

Paths often misunderstood.
Journeys often wrongly estimated.

All that happens when we are lost in translation. Translation of feeling to thoughts; thoughts to words. Words to others inference of it.

Al jabir is one such word, stemming from jabr, it doesn't just mean Force. Coercion. It also means the One who mends. The One who joins. Comforts. For He surely does that. He uses His force to ensure His mercy.

Mess.

There I sat, playing with my favorite bottle from the set. I loved standing on the lower shelter, stretching my hands and skillfully pulling out my favorite glass bottle from the top shelf. I loved playing with it. It gave me peace often. It was a gift.

But then, one day. It broke. In front of me lay million shattered pieces of it. Each piece reflecting sunlight in a broken way.

I stood there, scared. Unsure of whom. Squeezed my eyes tightly hoping and desperately wishing for Magic to turn back time and clean up the mess. I felt sorry.  For the mess I had created. I messed up. I shouldve been careful. Should have beautifully reciprocrated how adults enact patience. Now I wont be trusted with big tasks and responsibilities. I felt sorry for not being adult enough, I felt sorry for being a kid. Oh how I wished that day that I grow up soon.

Healing

Once upon a time, there lived two childhood friends. Ali and Bahishte. They both seemed to share a lot in common. Soul mates as villagers called them. 

Ali had a special interest in healing. He belonged to the family of alchemist. He had grown up seeing his father heal people through magical potions and mixtures. He had a keen interest in becoming like his father one day. 

Bahishte teased him often. "Oh God, you're just obsessed with healing and potions. You just see the world as so imperfect, jumping on the opportunity to heal. There is more to world." He would say. 

Ali would just laugh it off. His sparkle in the eyes won't dim even for a second when the topic of healing would ever come into any discussion. He indeed did seem obsessed. He would often bug his father to teach him the lessons. "I want to heal the world. I want to heal everyone. Imagine, everyone believing in Magic." He'd put his argument forward, enthusiastically trying his best to convince his father. 

His father, however, would always smile and say "Let the time come. You'd learn yourself. Till then, you can just watch how I mix these ingredients here. It is lesson number one. Watch."

And then, he'd watch. day after day, he'd just sit in his father's lab watching as his father would listen to people coming in; pouring their mysterious descriptions of unknown ailments. He admired his father's patience. That assuring smile that seemed capable of healing absolutely anyone perhaps. 

He would spend his early mornings in his father's lab and all evenings with Bahishte, exploring fields and mountains nearby. They'd often stop to chat with the kids from the other villages, collecting wood on the way for old ladies of their own village. 

One day, Ali noticed that Bahishte wasn't well. He seemed different. In pain. Upon insisting, Bahishte shared how he has been in pain since weeks. Unknown ailment. Possessed by the idea of helping his soulmate, Ali ran to his father's lab. Confident that he'd be able to help. 

He tried a mix of potions. He tried helping. But for Bahishte didn't seem to improve in health. Tired and feeling helpless, he went to his father. His father listened patiently. He promised he'd help. However, for Bahishte, nothing seemed to be working and eventually, the villagers had to take him to the city for further help. Ali was left behind. Dejected. Helpless. Nothing had ever torn him before as the feeling of being unable to help. He realized he did not have his father's magical powers perhaps. The ache of failing to heal his own soulmate seemed to be tearing him from within. So much so, that the pain shattered his life, broke him into million pieces within and changed his entire perception of Magic, pain and Healing. 

He seemed to have fallen ill himself. He knew he had been unwell since childhood. But he had coped it well knowing that he was a healer's son, he had kept himself intact. But now, the knowledge of his failure to heal, made me weak against his own system. With his perception of self failure, his immunity to his own ailment weakened. 

One evening, weakly opening his eyes, he felt his father sitting beside him. Warming radiating the patient smile. "Baba, what do you do when you fail yourself? When you fail to heal yourself and others? When you fail being what your really want to be? When you mess up?" 

Ali's father smiled. He took Ali in his arms, took his hand and put it on his Ali's heart and said, "You feel the pain here? You feel it. That is how you heal when you fail. When your magic fails, when your potion fails, when you fail, when you mess up, you don't let yourself die. You feel the pain to stay alive. You let it heal you. Yes, the pain heals you. You let it do its work. You breath it out by sending a prayer. By saying a prayer. Nothing is bigger than a potion of medicine as a prayer. Nothing would heal your soulmate as much as your prayer."

When all else fails, visit yourself, visit Bahishte, inhale all his pain, hold your breath. Run towards the Healer of healers. Exhale the pain in a whisper of a prayer. And watch the Healer repair what's shattered.