'..I saw nothing but beauty..'

When the granddaughter of the Last Prophet of Islam was brought into the court of the tyrant of that time(who had ordered the brutal killing of the Prophet's grandson and followers) she was asked what did she see while her family was being mercilessly slaughtered.

She smiled and began with a sermon that later became one of the most quoted political and social sermons. One that is often attributed as stirring the downfall of the oppresor's regime. She said she saw nothing but beauty (in what stood as one of the most brutal acts ever recorded in the history of humanity.)

How could she even see nothing but beauty in such act of suffering.
How was she even standing so calmly in front of the tyrant just after losing her immediate family in the battle? What was this beauty that she saw.

Imagine a cup of pure water lying on the table with people sitting and walking around it. Now imagine somebody throwing a drop of oil in that cup of water. See how that drop floats but never diffuses into pure water. See how at least a few of us might stop to notice the change within water. See how we often notice the striking contrast of pure water and oil once the oil droplet tries invading the water.

That's beauty because it makes you stop and ponder.

Beauty is not when we win the battle outside. Beauty is when Right makes us stop and ponder about Humanity and ugliness of oppression. 

Beauty is not when we win the world outside. Beauty is when we struggle with the oppresor within.

Beauty is not when we claim to stand with the Right for the world to see. Beauty is when we stand with the Right within when the world does not see.

Beauty is the pain, the suffering of Living the Right each moment by rejecting the million wrongs of that second.

Beauty starts with the guilt, the silencing of our self within. It starts with the admission of wrong within. It starts with the surrendering of our selfish within. With not just knowing what is wrong but bravely trying to fight what is wrong is wrong.

For the oppression to be fought outside, it needs to be fought within first. For if our stand with the Right is making us happy by massaging our egos for power, validation and fame on individual, political and communal level then perhaps it is not Love and Beauty.

Perhaps, so when she said she saw nothing but beauty, she was not just addressing the tyrant of the time, she was addressing the tyrant in all of us within. Her words resonating through history to remind us of the battle within first. Of the much needed suffering we all get when we claim to Love. To live the suffering bravely. To fight the tyrant within so bravely that you stand with her. So much so that when the world steps out to sympathise with you, you smile and say, you tried seeing nothing but beauty.

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. 

Nope. Not reading.

Looking at all these unread books lying in front of me, I feel guilty. Bad. Sad and depressed for my inability to do justice to them. 

While crossing all these beautiful libraries around, while looking at these people completely engrossed deep down in a world so far away of words. I wonder. I imagine. I irresistably wonder. If only all books could be squeezed into a magical potion; that I could simply drink and know all of what's there. 

Since the last few months, I haven't been able to complete even a single book. All these pretty titles. Each time I pick or get a new book, I feel my heart skipping a beat. Yet another. This time, I promise I'll start. But somehow, I don't. I don't, perhaps, because overtime, I seem to have grown attach to books. To topics. To the whole feeling of reading and knowing so much. The feeling has grown into this overpowering emotion that leaves you completely overwhelmed. Just one page. It takes just one page of absolutely any book here to get me thinking at the pace that I am unable to keep. Just like often, we struggle to keep pace with expressing our rapidly occurring thoughts through words. Just like so, I struggle to keep pace with my accelerating heartbeat and ideas/opinions that start playing formula 1 within my neurons set. 

I then feel like that sea. One of those two seas in Palestine. The first one is fresh with fish in it. It gives life. It shares life. It perhaps is more capable. Because it gives more. It is beautiful. It is alive with flow. Receives and gives. And then, there is another one. Dead. No life. Perhaps because it retains the water it receives rather than giving it forward. It is dead with no flow. I feel like the dead one. Not because I have no avenues to give. But because I feel I don't. So after reading a page, I don't know how to share. what to share. Who to share it. I feel so high according to worldly standards that I am afraid of being labelled crazy. And hence, I curb it. I curb myself by not reading. By not picking up another book. 

Here. I said it. I haven't been reading much. Maybe someday, I'd be successfully able to reach that second page of any of these beautiful titles lying in front of me. Gracefully, maybe then, someday, I'll absorb each word and feeling behind each word so well. Maybe then, I'd also patiently sit and feel secure. Among all these books. The day, when I wouldn't need to struggle to keep up with my need to express what I have just learnt. I'd just sit and watch while the aura of literary sphere help me transfuse to the environment. 

Until then, I sit here. With my books. Some of them the best of the best titles. Life changing ones. I sit with them, inhaling deeply their smell. Wishing that I was worthy of reading and sharing in real time. 

Stolen words

(wise) postcards from London - Words of a word while visiting her here.

There are two kinds of people in the world. People who proactively want something. They know the art of dreaming and wanting. But then, there are people who haven't really wanted anything. They don't want anything. They are happy, proud little individuals living in their world with anything and everything that they can and can't have. All settled. All happy. 

Until one day, a feeling comes in. You're caught unaware. Something you never knew you'd had to feel. Something you didn't ask for.

It comes un-welcomed. Doesn't knock. Doesn't tell. It seeps into your skin and spreads gradually. Making you suffer. You run away from it. You can't. Every attempt at cure seems to fail. The problem with it is, you can't even let it be. Because the pain is so intense at times, that it can't let you sit still

It makes you feel so vulnerable, so exposed that you fear others may look at you and realize that you are infected. You can't hide it yet you can't deny it. Its weird. It comes and goes. Makes you so numb to the world happening around you. You attempt to fill up that space with other things. But it just remains. Stubborn. You feel helpless. You are disappointed at your loss.

Because you know, even if the feeling is healed, even if the vacuum is filled, you may not want the thing that fills it. For the intensity of its absence is so painful that you are too scared to face its presence. You very well live the brutality.

After this pain, only something eternal can fill it perhaps. Nothing human. Not even the reason, the entity, the being that caused it unknowingly.

Its not a feeling. Its living with cancer, not knowing when you'd reach the point of indifference. You see that beautiful pathway in the park there? You want to hold your hand and walk yourself to the point of indifference. Right there. 

A little fool

It was a bright sunny day. Just like any other. 
Little did the leaf know, it was to become the day like no other. 
A perfect little sight from the tree it hung unto
Around with the perfect city breeze. 
The leaf did not know what the world held for it. 
An hour or two passed, when the leaf felt the pain. 
The pain of separation from what it did not own. 

It felt it bad. And knew its end. From the beginning of the illusion. 
It remembered and recalled the fate of the others, while it was blossoming in its springtime. 
The leaf, a little fool, despite knowing its fate, couldn't comprehend the pain of its separation. 
The leaf, a little fool, felt insecure and ugly. Felt how low and poor it was, despite the world taking pictures of it. 
So the little fool, set out a reminder. Each day, each hour, each moment it murmured. Just a bit more and then I shall be free. 
The little fool could not. Neither give in or leave. What it felt was what it really couldn't comprehend. 

The little fool then finally met its day to end. 
But before that it had to, feel and plead its case. 
Bit by bit, it felt naked. Exposed with its vulnerability. 
Exposed to the brutal and changing winds of time. 
It understood yet failed to act on what it saw. 
It saw and it felt yet failed to combat what it felt. 
It understood the nature, it understood the time. 
But it never understood the fallacy of falling for a tree. 
Caught unprepared, it fell for a tree. 
It spent all seasons fighting its reality. 
It dawned upon it, its denial beaten, when the tree welcomed the cold winds and let the leaf fall. 
The little fool, smiled, Ashamed at its exposure. 
Exposure to the tree that befriended just coldness.

The little fool, knew, its ugliness, its position. It felt so small, so little as it fell.
The little fool tapped itself and whispered in its last breath of pain, just a bit more my little fool, just a bit more.
Nobody noticed as we all walked away. In that park in corner on a bright sunny day.
The little fool, smiled, finally. Alas, at its end. One last time, it looked at the huge wonderful tree, smiled to itself, just a bit more little fool, just a bit more.
There it lay, peacefully, its death so sweet, its bitter pain finally put to an end.

The day began to set, the little fool at peace. 

As another season passed and another fool peeked, from the roots of the tree. 

Its time, its nature, its life. 

Just a bit more to each little fool. 

Postcards from London

It is strange how the world is turning into a global village. With ever growing stronger communication systems and sophesticated connections, no city ever seems distant. No culture ever seems strange.

Having said so, the charms of meeting a city face to face yet remains. Its fascinating how each mundane road - which is otherwise taken by many of its inhabitants on daily basis seems so different to its new visitors.

Standing here in the capital of Worldly Time, while the world drives by at its speed, the globe rotates its axis. London greets. Stubborn to international aggressive architectural evolution, secure in sticking to bearing resemblance to its 1970s literary descriptions. Amid all this, gazing into its charms, you're left wondering. How does it manage to absorb so many cultures, people, faith, religions.

I am awestruck. Not just by its maturity and natural wonders, but also with its remarkable beauty of religious, civic and cultural tolerance.

It still has roads which people trust. It still has instructions which people follow.

Rationality suspended.

And while you were busy asking for His Love, His Nearness, His Understanding, there stumbled upon an experience. An experience that you never thought you'd go through, a sight you never imagined you'd confront. A situation you never realized you'd be in. A feeling you had never felt. A feeling you that you didn't even know had ever existed.

Strangely, it was not Him. You resisted it. You fought it. You denied it. You stayed silent against the force with which the experience overpowered your ability to comprehend. To make sense. To give words to what it was. Still is.

Rationality suspended. All modes of expression mute. Inability to express suddenly seeming frustrating yet satisfying. You plan to run away. From the soul that has been touched within you. From the awareness that you now hold knowledge of. It is like, being given a responsibility to rationally handle something you can't even comprehend. Something you were not exactly even looking for.

And through this experience, you became aware. Aware of that very point where you currently stand. That very point where your will ends. And His start. Where He takes charge. Point where you realize how poor you are. Point where you despite being the richest, are still the poorest. The one seemingly at loss.

The point where you desperately want to regain your confidence in time. The point where you want to go back and live with the masses, believing and following their mundane definition of time. The point where you want to strengthen your grip on Now while the experience is forcing you to run into the future.

You keep questioning. You still do. Whys. All sorts of them. You were never on this path. You never asked for it. But then, you realize.

A teacher often pauses his Lesson. And gives another tougher lesson, A side lesson. He says, this side lesson is imperative. Without this side concept, you will not be able to learn the Original Lesson properly.

He often pauses. And gives you an assignment. To teach you a skill. A skill He says you'd need to Reach Him more comfortably.

You ask. Which skill. Which side lesson.

He says, the Skill of wanting. The skill of feeling the Thirst. The skill of bearing patiently yet yearning with that vacuum.

For how could you claim to walk on the path of Love, if you haven't even experienced the way of love.

Realization

Is it possible to realize the failure of realization itself?

What is realization? What do we mean when we say Realize?

Is it a feeling? An emotion? How is it depicted? Through our actions? If so, is realization of one thing an ignorance of another?

What is the opposite of Realization?

Is realization evolving? Do we need to realize each moment?

But realize what? Is it doing justice to the moment? Giving it its due attention? Is that realization?

And if that is realization, how do we cope up with each moment demanding its justice, its realization?

Is our internal pressure that we exert on ourselves to realize..does it stem from our fear of regrets? 

Is realization in our own hands? Can we practice free will to realize something ourselves?

What if we realize our failure to honor a few things? 

But then again, what is realization. 

Dear Pain

Dear Pain,

You're not ugly. You're in fact quite beautiful. I love the way you appear as a smile on that street kid's face. I admire the way you stay silent to avoid unimportant chatter. I like the way you pick yourself up, bit by bit and walk away from the crowd gathered around you. I adore the elegance of your calculated talk amidst glaring eyes.

I praise the sensitivity with which you appear insensitive. I respect your acceptance of brutal reality and your habit of staying brutally honest. I treasure the way you slowly close and open your eyes to growing questions around you. I marvel at the way you heal the world. I wonder at the way you hold our heads and make us see the sufferings of the world around. I cherish the way you've taught me the difference between pain and sadness. Its hopeful the way you say,"just a bit more, and you'd be fine." You make us believe in how a caterpillar turns into a butterfly.

I love the way you stay. I love you. For you teach us what absolutely nothing else can. If it wasn't for you, I would not have known Happiness.If it wasn't for you, I would not have looked around in the world and felt.

Always your student,
Just another human. 

three types.

There are three kinds of Gratitude in the world.

One. When we get what we want. We realize its worth and feel absolutely blessed with it. We often practice this one. Easiest to practice perhaps. Because, in such circumstances, happiness and joy is naturally coming to you. That sparkle in your eye, that natural laughter, that smile on anything and everything. You feel blessed. Thankful.

Two. When we don't get what we want. In such a situation; stories/fables/parents/world tells us to stay put. We discover our joy through sufferings we feel. Through the vacuum within, we push ourselves in one direction - towards hope and faith.

Three. When we get what we want, but not what we want; when we get what we maybe wanted. but not what we clearly and surely desired. In such a case, there is a friction. Everywhere. Opposing forces. Internal versus external struggle. Right versus left struggle. Heart versus brain struggle. Its a friction and battle. Battle. It is as if, Life has shut us up by giving us something; stealing our right to frown. Obligating us to smile, cherish and be thankful.

The problem with the last kind of situation is, you feel confused. In this situation, is it then fair to state that something seems unfair somewhere. You wonder. In that wonder, you smile. And in that smile against the heartache or disappointment. You smile against the funny thing called fate. You smile and in that heavy smile, your heaviness feels comforting. As if the heaviness is hugging you and consoling you. You look around and feel grateful. For you're still feeling. And that is what matters.

It is like trusting and holding your dad's hand, ignoring the pain from the last fall, while he picks you up and teaches you to walk.

Happy Independence Day to the "Land".

Once upon a time, there was a piece of land inhabited by a bunch of people. Another bunch of people wandered into their territory. There was a big fight. Everybody was split into groups. Divided over hate, beauty, ugliness, love and what not. So well, they started killing each other. 

In order to prevent mass killing, one of the smarter ones from the lot dreamed of a separate land. So well, they all sat together and decided to draw a line on the paper and split their colors and beauties and loves into two. All picked up their loves, beauties and ownership patents of different gods and went their own ways. 

Now, one of the piece of land has a bunch of people. They got their land and after a few years, proudly patented it with a stamp of god. They drew a definition of this god to help them identify any intruders or foreign enemies. After sometime, they too started fighting amongst themselves. Anybody not adhering to the god that they owned is brutally killed. Given their past history of intrusion from foreign lands. 

Today, this is piece of otherwise beautiful land - said to be the fruit bowl of Asia, rich in finest of natural beauties. Today, on this land, these people have been entitled by some god that they own to kill each other. Some strongly own this god. Some are scared not to follow. While, all the silent ones in air conditioned, classy confines of their cars have little or nothing to complain about. 

Today, on this very piece of land, there is another meeting going on. There seems to be another smart one proposing an idea of an independent state. However, this time, the smart one doesn't seem to be a human. Because humans here are silent. mute. dead perhaps. It is the very piece of pure land debating. Imagine, the evening breeze of Karachi stained with the blood of minorities talking to the injured widow beauty of Swat. Both discussing the prospects of gaining independence from the people. 

We so proudly assume that this country "needs" us. Have we ever paused to consider and ask back if this country really even wants us now? Do we even deserve this piece of land which we deliberately own? 

We have encroached this land. This is not our land. This is not our piece of land. This stopped being our land the day we started silently witnessing all the killings, all the atrocities. 

Look around, fancy shopping all night at the malls to celebrate an independence day - Independence for burger pakistanis.   

Look around, boys on bikes with guns all night to harass and "party"? - Independence for the frustrated youth. 

Look around, smart brains sitting with a cup of coffee and being quaid e azam on social media? - Independence for smartphone and Apple users.

Look around, a rigorous bunch of intellectuals defending "abhi sub kuch nahi bigra"? Independence day for the non resident pakistanis in beautiful denial. 

Look around, minorities sulking the deaths of their loved ones? Oh well, who what how where what's that. sorry. 

Look around, humans dead. dead? huh what's that. 

Today, there is a discussion. A debate. A night of resolution. Of all the parts of land that we have committed injustice on. This nature does not want us. This land does not want us. All they now want is independence from us. They perhaps will not need to struggle for it.

As a four year old victim of a recent blast had weakly smiled and said, "nobody would be here alive on this land after sometime anyway.." The only human that seems to be not living in a denial. 

Happy Independence Day to the Land. 

Dance away.

Dance away to the sheer joy of knowing what is yours and what is not. 

Dance away happily to serve what needs you.. 

But do not for once burden the unasked. 
But do not for once disturb the silent. 
Give up to yourself and dance away. 
Dance away knowing the intentions of your joy. 
To the next task. 
To the next work. 
To the next need.
To the next yearning. 
Dance away giving what ought to be given.

Dance away your pain.

Dance away to the Silence. 
Sway to the rhythms of Life

And Feel the Light of your Being. 

For in dancing away, you Trust the Giver of Trust. 
You feel the joy like never before. 

Be there.

Feel.

Feel intently from the joys of enthusiastic attachment to the lows of fading away.

When the world comes running to you

When all your boundaries of self shatter down on the ground.

When the world catches you off guard, subtly manipulates you

Shrewdly makes you vulnerable

To its sweet dependence

Be there. For it will pain when it departs. When it starts to fade away.

Be there to the pain of denial.

Be there to the pain of acceptability

Be there to the pain of knowing that the pain won’t last

Be there to the remembrance

Be there to the knowing that remembrance won‘t last

Let yourself be outwardly torn. Shattered. Broken.

Let it shuffle you. Move you.

Let it do whatever it wants, while your inner self stays calm.

But when it begins to depart.

Be sure to hand over your ego, your self, your boundaries to it.

Be sure to become nothing. Absolutely nothing outwardly.

And then surely, will the inner peace emerge to become the You

The You that you were meant to be.

Be there. Be there to gracefully witness.

For, through igniting the pain in you

He wants you to feel the pain of around.

With the pain subsiding, let the aware self talk to the Universe

The Inner Self now has been injected with the Power

The Power to Feel, to Heal what’s there in the world.

And then, you understand the purpose of all.

The pain in you was to help you become aware of the pain in the universe.

It was to make you heal.

It is the right of the world leaving from you,

To protect the rest like He protected your inner self. 

Thirst, Joy and Love.

Why are you gulping down so much water? The mother asked, concerned looking at her young kid. 

Because I won't be getting water for the next 18 hours! How would I survive. The kid responded back while hurriedly taking glass after glass. 

So you're afraid of dehydration? The mother continued. 

Don't know about dehydration, but yes, I am scared that I'd get thirsty which I know I will. The kid was now on his 4th glass. 

So you think you're not going to feel thirsty for the next 18 hours because you're drinking 10 glasses right now? She smiled. 

Yes, well, of course. Isn't it so. I don't know the science. I just want to sustain this feeling for the next 18 hours. I didn't know what thirst was, until, well I kept my first fast and went outside to play in the heat. That thirst made me realize the worth of quenching the thirst. The son was confused. 

She smiled and began. 

"When we all are born, we all are surrounded with Love and Joy. We all grow up experiencing Love and Joy in one way or the other. That tender hug, that mom's attention, that daddy's gift, that teacher's smile, that aunty's food. Each offers a taste of Love, of Joy. We all are well fed on it. However, subtly, somewhere, silently within us, there are boundaries growing. Each bad food, each bad taste, each interaction lacking Joy and Love construct boundaries of ego around us. Brick after brick. So much so, that we lose track of the Joy and Love and become accustomed to living within our ego boundaries. We now view each act of Love, each act of unconditional Love with suspicion. We inspect it. investigate it. Even shun it away thinking that it must have some strings attached to it. 

We become thirsty. We become thirsty of Love of Pure Joy, of Pure Exhilaration that we had once experienced. One touch, one hug, one smile, one act of Unconditional giving, one glance of somebody we really like; we began craving these moments. We become clingy, looking for these moments in our daily lives. Fishing for them. And when we do experience them. Our reasons suspend. Our rationality and thinking halts. We experience Pure Joy. Pure Love. Be it in the moment of talking to a kid on the street or listening to the knowledge of a wise. You want to gulp down those moments like a kid preparing for his fast. You want to sustain the feeling of Satisfaction, of Connection. You just don't want to feel Thirsty. 

The problem is, gulping moments like glasses of water can never ensure that we will not be thirsty in the coming hours. Trying hard to make moments eternal can never make them eternal. Denying and then rejecting those moments as nothing but unreal and temporary joy/love doesn't help either. For those moments are as Real as Him. The closest you can get to experiencing His Love, His Joy is through experiencing these Moments right here right now, through His people. 

Thirst is a naturally occurring phenomena. It has nothing to do with how many glasses of water you gulp down in the morning. it has to do with your internal system. 

If you gulp down moments while you are internally disconnected with the Real Love, your moments will remain temporary. You'll keep on gulping down water sehri after sehri in the hopes of not feeling thirsty till the evening. You'll remain at internal conflict. 

If you experience moments with the Belief that its the Glimpse of Him

If you experience moments with the Faith that its sent by Him

If you give in those moments with the emotion that its for Him

With your thinking suspended, your rationality aside, You Live to Experience Him. His Joy. 

If you Realize that those moments, those people, those joys, those loves are nothing but sent by Him then You'd continue experiencing them. You'd never be thirsty. You'd be at peace. You'd be connected to the Lover of Lovers."

After that, the mother got up and started clearing the table. The kid seemed lost. He said, "Wow, mom, sometimes, I am amazed at the way you teach me wisdom.".

She turned back and responded, "I am just a mom. Now imagine, He who is countless times closer to you than me, Imagine the ways and moments through which He teaches you wisdom  and talks to you."

And then, you understand. Your start of internal peace is when you Realize, that He sends down Love & Joy for you through His people. Every single day. Every single time. Become His agent o spread the moments together, forever, everywhere. 

Listen

Listen. 

Listen intently to the Silence in which and with which He speaks to you. 

Listen to the streams of thoughtless voices and meandering hope

Strip away your armors of manipulating joys. 

Crib away your attempts to feel the pain. 

Do away your language. 

For its of no use. No not anymore. 

Delete each word and replace. 

Replace it with Silence. 

Listen. 

Go feel him in your mosque. In your synagogue. In your church. In your mandir. 

Wherever, whichever sect, whichever language. Just listen. 

Look up and smile to His Silence. Look down and shudder to His Silence. 

Listen to the absolute language of Nothing.

For He is not saying anything. Nothing until you surrender and Listen. 

Listen intently to the Silence in which and with which He speaks to you. 

For someday, You'll understand His Silence. For today, just Listen. 

Ports

I asked her (21 years old inspiration of mine who I recently met) if I could write something about her; reproduce her comparison/understanding of life. She just texted me back telling me I could. So here I am. Just reproducing her thoughts. 

There was lake next to the place I grew up. I didn't know what dirty and pure was. I didn't also know what good and bad was. I didn't recognize the bugs from flowers. I just enjoyed all that came. Like everybody else, I just went there every afternoon, taking a swim across, enjoying the weather and coming back home. 

I didn't ever pause to reflect why it was called the black lake. Neither I ever realized why some people often went missing or discontinued from the swim after sometime. I just continued enjoying the way I lived. 

But then, one day, I was taking a swim when I noticed a small injury. It grew big the next day. It kept itching. Like dirt accumulated, the patch dark and there. Few days later, I noticed another injury. 

Each injury slowed me. Bogged me. Gradually, it restrained my energy to swim the way others did. I sat on the shore, envying while the rest took the evening swim. Then, came along a doctor. He took my hand and led another lake. I told him I couldn't swim because of the injuries I had gotten. He insisted that I swim. 

Then, one day, giving into his insistence, I took the dip. I dipped and swam. It hurt and burned the injuries there. Each dip gave the sensation I detested. Each swim wasn't the dream swim I was used to once upon a time. Each minute, each second of it was terrible. Each rub plucked and made fun of my injuries. After a while of detesting and combating it, I gave in. I let the pure crystals of the water hit each wound. Each of it. One by one. I let the warm rays of sun burn through. I let it happen. And then, I was healed. The wounds disappeared. People think I am a fool rejoicing the fresh water lake swim which caused so much pain to my wounds. 

I just sit there and smile. Because The joy of swimming in the fresh water lake can never be understood, it can only be felt. Because you can see the wounds caught from the pettiness disappearing; one by one releasing in the fresh water lake like heavy ships release its accumulated metal dirt in fresh water ports. 

Pain.

Walking down the park one pretty evening, I saw a guy sitting on the bench. He seemed so familiar. His expressions had a mystical power. He was sitting staring into the wide, calmly. I felt I have seen him before. Actually, I have met him before. 

I walked towards him and slowly asked if I could sit with him. He budged a bit towards the right to let me sit. 

I asked him where have I seen him before. He smiled and said, "Yes, we have met."

"But where" I asked. 

"A lot of places at a lot of times", He replied. 

I was confused. So we just sat there in silence, until he decided to strike a conversation. 

"Imagine. You were born with no hands, no sight, nothing. Just a skeleton you. Trying to survive on this planet. Scared of sights you can't see, voices you can't hear. You would've then perhaps pleaded to have something. Something you wouldn't even know what to call. Let's assume, He would've then given you sight. You would've started seeing things. Exploring. But then, you would've felt the urge of holding things. You would've again felt this indescribable need. And then, He would've given you hands. 

Imagine the worth, the importance you would've then attached to what you take for granted today. 

But He didn't do that. Instead, He sent you in a complete form. Equipped with all that you need to survive and stay in this world. He sent us with the realization, the inherent knowledge for all our senses and abilities. 

But there is one thing which He put in us as dormant. Its worth is only realized when we realize its absence."

"And what's that?", I asked him. 

He began. 

Its Pain. Its me. A four letter word describing an emotion, a feeling that you all have felt. 

I am sitting there with the mother that delivers. With the caterpillar that turns into the butterfly. With the one who yearns and wants to Feel. With the little kid mute by his society's evil ones sitting in the corner of some planet right now. 

I am there, felt by the heaviness of an eye of a clinically depressed or bipolar human that nobody seems to comprehend. I am there when a young teenager, lost in the egos of lust seduces his beauty to inevitably become the damsel in distress for his prince. 

I am even used and manipulated and exploited to gather sympathies and attention. 

But mostly, I am there to Heal. 

Only when you start embracing me, do I turn my devoid and vacuum into the pleasure of Healing. 

I reside truly in the Heart of the Soul, patient with pain, yet so impatient with Healing. It is this yearning and feeling of Pain that people turn to their religions and seek comfort and peace. They seek answers to their wounds in the Healer of Wounds."

Just as he said so, she began to cry. "But I never asked for this. I never asked for you. i never asked for pain. I asked for God. I didn't want worldly love. I wanted His Love. Why then, did He put me through you?". 

He smiled calmly. "You see, that is where you are wrong. You don't believe in worldly love as real. You believe the only Love Real is His Love. His Love is as real as this worldly love. Because this worldly love is the part of His Supreme Love. How do you expect to experience His Love when you confuse the worldly love as unreal. Each time, you asked for Him, He gave you a feeling like no other. He sent the feeling through human, through relation unexpected. He blessed you with Pain. The Yearning that is needed to be felt so that you feel Him. 

Tell me my child, have you ever been this close to God of your Religion before? No. It was because of this love on this planet, unsaid feeling of power and separation, from a person, from a thing that doesn't even know. When God puts you worldly love, the worldly attachment becomes a teacher. A teacher who doesn't himself know the levels on which he is healing you. And it brings me. It brings pain."

There is so much to pain. The beauty of Learning. Feel it for only lucky souls feel so. 

Feel the Pain to Heal your Wounds my child. This is Real. 

Adel, Zartosht & Murteza

Adel was a simple man with a simple living style. Often, when he was surrounded with personal problems and felt himself battling within, he would pick up his son and visit the nearby park to distract himself. 

That day, Adel was sitting in the park enjoying the evening breeze with his son, Zartosht. 

Zartosht was a very interesting boy. He was also somewhere the source of annoyance for his father. He could not bear to be left alone. He always needed attention. He would start throwing tantrums if ignored even for a second. 

While sitting there with his father, Zartosht was happily busy playing with his toys, while Adel was assisting him in making a small castle. 

After a while, a little boy, in shabby clothing came and stood nearby. His eyes spoke of unsaid desire to come and join them. Upon noticing the boy, Adel gestured him to sit with them. Murteza, the little shabby kid joyously walked up to them and sat timidly near Zartosht. At first, Zartosht seemed happy. He shared his tools and motioned him to help him construct the castle. Murteza reluctantly joined. 

Murteza's hands seemed like that of a craftsman. He began crafting detailed windows on the castle of sand, making the foundations stable even amid the thick grass. Adel was very impressed. He started talking to the little kid. They spoke of his orphaned life, how his father died, where he lived and what he did for food. 

All what Murteza spoke was seemed to vanish Adel's pain. Murteza's each word seemed to dissolve Adel's problem, bit by bit. Even if it was for just two hours, it was worth the liberation Adel felt from himself, his inner battle.

Adel was so engrossed in listening to Murteza and somewhere secretly feeling guilty over his petty problems, that he forgot all about his son, Zartosht. Suddenly, he heard Zartosht crying. He got up and frantically looked around for his son, who was now standing in the middle of the road alone. 

He ran, picked up his son and brought him back to where they were sitting. Upon asking where he had gone and what was he thinking, Zartosht replied how he just felt sad and ignored by Adel and decided to go and talk to the kids standing near the bus stop. However, the kids began bugging him and pushed him on the road where he felt stranded. 

He hugged his son, smiled at Murteza and resumed chatting. The trio then made the castle together while Zartosht was happy to be back in the comfort zone, Murteza was happy to be helping them. 

As the sunset and it was time to head back home, Murteza smiled and thanked for the company. Adel smiled back, secretly thinking it was actually Murteza that had helped me feel better about his life. 

We all are like Adel. We all have inner struggles, battles, problems, daily issues. We all have a son, Zartosht. Zartosht is our set of problems. Always demanding our attention. If ignored, our problems are subconsciously routed and wrongly channeled to vulnerable modes of expression - through anger, through depression, through strangers we don't know. It cannibalizes the joy we are capable of feeling in Now.

Murteza is like other's problems and societal sufferings. Sufferings that often come and sit with us to make us realize the worth of what we have. We should give them time. But talking to them should not distract us completely from our own problems. 

If Murteza outside is not helping us see Zartosht within in a different light, then there is no point of Murteza sitting there with us. 

If sufferings outside are not helping us see our problems differently, then there is no point of distracting ourselves with the sufferings outside. 

For True Healing occurs only when we sit with our problems face to face with the world. 

Home

"Amma, tell me that story again today.."

"Which story beta?" She asked hugging him close. 

"The one you always tell. About that little kid who couldn't find his way back home?" The five year old blinked his eyes innocently. 

"Phir say? (again)?"

"Yes, every time you tell me the story, it feels like a new one." He sat up eagerly waiting for amma to start the fable. 

"Once upon a time, there lived a kid with his father on the near start of a dense jungle. His village, his school was located at the other end of the small but dense jungle. When he grew up older, his father told him to start going to the school alone. The kid, at first, was very excited at the idea of being empowered and going alone. On the first day, he happily set out, confident in going to the school alone. He managed quite well and reached the school on time. However, on his way back, whistling and singing, he lost his way mid jungle. He searched and couldn't find the way back to his house. Finally, after hours of exploring the unknown, he got back on the track and reached home late. 

His father was worried. The kid seemed scared too. He did not want to go alone the next day. So, smiling and patting his back, the father suggested to leave a mark on the route which he could trace back after school. "That way, you won't lose track of your Home" The father exclaimed. 

Next day, the son set out again. This time, happily equipped with little bread crumbs, dropping little by little on his way to the school. Sadly, however, on his way back, he couldn't find those bread crumbs. The birds had all eaten them up. Hence, he was lost again. He explored. He searched. He couldn't find. Yet again, it took him hours of exploring the unknown. 

Finally, when he was back Home, he hugged his father tight and decided never to venture out alone again. However, the father smiled again this time, and motivated the kid to try something else instead of the bread crumbs. So the kid decided to drop little pebbles on his way. However, this time, on his way back, the pebbles were half there, half not there. The kid was disappointed. While almost near his Home, he again lost his way. He explored. Searched. Sensed. Fortunately, by now, he had been accustomed to the dense but small jungle. He was not as afraid of losing track as he was on the first day. Perhaps, because he had began trusting the fact that eventually, he will find his way back home.

He happily reached Home that day. For the next day, He ventured into the forest, enjoyed the rain on the way, spoke a little to the birds he had made friends with during the first few days when he had lost his way. He knew the joy of Finding his way back Home."

We often lose our way. We often find ourselves in a maze. We often realize that we're standing far from Home. Far from Him. Each time when we do find the Home, we hug Him and tell Him not to let us lose our tracks again. Only to find Him patting our back and telling us to go back into the thick jungle. He sends us, makes us lose our way, makes us explore more. He calls us back. Then He sends us again. It repeats. Until we become accustomed to the jungle. Until we truly realize to find our way back in any and every way..back to Him. Back Home. 

Me & the Fool.

Today, I saw a fool. He was running after me.
The more I ran from it, the more it ran after me.
I ran and hid behind the tree, and there, I found him standing right behind me.
I walked slowly, whistling in the park, and then as he slowed down, I ran away.
I ran and ran, never looking back.
I ran to my favorite swing.
I ran to my favorite toy.
I ran to my best friend.
I just kept running. For I was annoyed. And scared. I didn't want to face the fool.
Whole day, from early morning to bright afternoon.
I did nothing but run. I ran from the fool.
I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.
I wished and hoped and prayed that I'd wake up to no fool around me.
But he, he was always there.
The summer heat wave was making it worse.
I was tired. Exhausted.
So I looked up. Squinted my eyes, trying to look into the Sun.
And just when the Sun was getting at the peak, the fool began disappearing.
The more the Light, the shorter the fool became.
Slowly and gradually, it dissolved into me.
The fool - I, disappeared. While here stood nothing but Me.
Inhaling deeply the indescribable power of Around.
The flowers seemed pretty. The smell of Grass. The feel of wood. The wonder of rain. The beauty of birds. The laughter, the joy, the cries, the sadness, everything just seemed so Beautiful. So now. So Me.
In the Now, In the Present, there is nothing but Me and Present. No fool. Nothing to run after, nothing to run for.
Pure Joy, Pure Peace, Pure Love.

Nomad & Nature

Once upon a time, on an island not so far away, there lived a young nomad, Charlie. He loved to travel, garden and live his life close to nature. He had recently stumbled across the marvelous small island and has established his base camp there. Amid woods and chirping birds, clear blue skies and pure water waves, his life was absolutely perfect. Until one day.

While sitting at the coast around a fire, he felt the sharp cold winds. Over time, the winds grew colder and colder. Trees started shedding leaves, mountains began engulfing themselves in white carpets of snow and the warm summer days turned into short winter days.

Caught unprepared, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He went in search of big leaves and wood for fire. He wanted warmth. He didn't know where to and how to protect himself against the sharp cold breeze. One night, curled up, shivering from the cold, his eyes barely open from the weakness, he saw an old man approaching. A glimpse of hope. Of Life.

The old man walked to him, wrapped him in a warm blanket, gave him a bottle of magic potion and a few warm clothes. He told Charlie to protect himself against the winter with the clothes he had given. He then showed him to a small stone hut in the near by cave. Warm and cozy. Perfect for brutal times. The old man said it was his old cave which Charlie could share during winters since the old man did not live on the island anymore.

Charlie started to question how he'd return the favor. The old man smiled and said, "Don't worry. You can keep the warm clothes til the winter lasts. And when I visit the next winter, I'll get you more clothes if you want."

"But how would I ever repay you for all these services?" Charlie asked.

"If you realize want to do me a favor, just make sure you don't drink from the nearby waterfall. In return, this is your land. You inhabit it now. Live the way you want." With that, the old man smiled and walked away on his journey.

The colors returned, winds changed, warm leaves and chirping birds made their way back to the island again marking the arrival of Spring. Charlie lived happily, farming, enjoying and loving his life. Each winter, he would wait for the Old Man, get the warm clothes that'd suffice him through the winter months. The life was good again. Until one summer day.

Charlie was foraging for food when he stopped to reflect on the beauty of the wonderful waterfall. He remembered the Old Man's advice and tried ignoring the temptation of walking towards it. However, his curiosity could not hold me back further. He looked around, reminded himself that the Old Man would not get to know anyway and proceeded to taste the pure beauty of the waterfall.

The water was pure. Tasted like no other potion on planet. Charlie was taken aback. In love, in daze of its taste. He drank more and more of it. The more he drank it, the more he enjoyed and experienced the joy like never before.

Each day, he would walk up to the waterfall, shun away his guilt of disobaying the old man and just drink.

That winter, when the Old Man came, Charlie pretended to be abiding by the Old Man's rule and avoided the waterfall till the Old Man had given him warm clothes and gone.

In the autumn that followed, Charlie grew weak. Each day, he grew weaker. He couldn't gather the energy to farm, garden and forage for food. He could not keep his birds happy. Slowly and gradually, his condition declined. Given his weakness, he began feeling cold. He tried looking for old warm clothes but realized that he had thrown all of them away.

He felt helpless. He wasn't quite sure how to call the Old Man for help. How to tell Him that he needed his help in this unexpected brutal weather and inner condition. He could hardly keep his eyes open. One evening, when he was battling his last moments between Life and Death, he squeezed his eyes and pleaded to somehow make the Old Man appear.

A few moments later, he felt the warm blanket around himself. He tried getting up but the Old Man motioned him to keep resting.

Charlie seemed guilty. He realized he had never bothered sitting and spending time with the Old Man. He didn't even bother remembering the Old Man except for the winter time. Heck, he had even gone against his deal and tasted the forbidden waterfall.

As if reading his mind, the Old Man smiled and said,

"Its okay. I am just an Old Man, but just because I can give you warm clothes during winter times, doesn't mean you can't remember me in your summer days. The waterfall is that which caused you to grow weak. Its taste so sweet yet its consequence so bad. I had stopped you from it, not for my self but for your sake. You'll Heal soon". With that, He stood up.

"Wait, don't walk away." Charlie pleaded.

"Don't worry. I don't go anywhere. I am always here. In summers, in winters." The Old Man smiled.

We all are nomads with One Old Man who has given us this place to inhabit. He stops us from that which might harm us. He comes during our winter times with warm clothes to protect us against the cold sufferings. However, that's how we keep Him. We keep our relationship seasonal. However, He remains. Only we are too busy drinking from the waterfall during the summer days that we don't see Him "

Scoreboard

Once upon a time, in a village not so far away, there lived two best friends. Bahishte and Hardeep. Bahishte was super intelligent, smart and rational. Hardeep was super emotional, beautiful and loving.

Villagers spoke of their good manners and team work. Wherever they went, they spread smiles and love. Their perfection of pot-making was evident from the great demand for their pots.

One day, Hardeep was walking back to his house when he saw a boy trying to rescue his sheep from the well. Hardeep ran towards the boy and helped him recover the sheep. The boy, Yazdaan seemed obliged and they became good friends.

The next day, Hardeep invited Yazdaan to join him and Bahishte for lunch. The three soon connected and began hanging out. However, Yazdaan seemed more comfortable hanging out with Bahishte alone.

It was Yazdaan who made Bahishte realize the importance of his brains, intellect and rationality. He complimented and praised Bahishte's brains almost daily. Yazdaan always spotted and acknowledged Bahishte's sound judgment. Soon, Bahishte acquired a new sense of intelligence and self worth. He began noticing and seeing things in a clearer way; rather in a more distinct way. He started spending more time thinking and analyzing. More time reviewing. He started picking issues with how other people did their business. What annoyed him the most was now Hardeep's sensitivity towards things. He started complaining of Hardeep's slow process and extra sensitive attitude.

Hardeep was astounded. Rather, estranged. He didn't get what was happening. He tried explaining, sitting and talking to Bahishte. But Bahishte it seemed was living on some other planet now.

Feeling challenged and down right broken, he decided to confront Bahishte one final time. This time, it resulted in a grave fight. Both started accusing each other of cheating in the pot making business. Bahishte scorned at Hardeep and pointed out that they could not attain maximum profit potential because of Hardeep's lack of intelligence and over sensitivity.

Yazdaan was sitting there, listening to the two fighting. After a few minutes, he intervened and proposed a solution. 'Why don't you two separately make a pot on your own in a day. Whoever completes first with the best design shall win. That'll prove who's is more capable?' Yazdaan proposed.

'That's wonderful. Done! Brilliant idea!' Said Bahishte.

Hardeep started protesting, 'But! That's not fair..'

Even before he could complete, Yazdaan sprang forward, set up a chalkboard and drew a score card and wrote:

Potmaking Match scheduled for right after sunrise tomorrow.

The next day, the whole village gathered to witness. Hardeep and Bahishte sat forth their tools to create the best pot they could.

Both worked rigorously till sunset. Finally, around sunset, the villagers began inspecting the work of art. Both had produced excellent pots, however Bahishte's seemed more perfect with less cracks; he had apparently used his material wisely.
While Hardeep's was pretty, elegant yet he had used almost all of his best material.

Nevertheless, Yazdaan stood up, took the chalk and scribbled the final score.

Hardeep: 0
Bahishte: 1.

Disheartened and astounded at his friend's behavior, Hardeep picked up his stuff and silently walked away. Their union broke the next day and Bahishte decided to continue the pot making business in joint partnership with Yazdaan now. Confident in his rational powers.

Few days later, he came to his shop, only to find out that Yazdaan had sold all of his belongings, removed his name from the board and had taken over the shop. Confused, he looked at Yazdaan and asked him what was wrong. Yazdaan smirked, 'you fool' and pointed towards his chalk board:

Hardeep and Bahishte: 0.
Yazdaan: 1.

'What's that?' Bahishte asked totally lost.

'Its a result of when the Brain over analyzes, and in his over confidence parts away with his essential half-his heart. It is only then that you let clever forces like me take charge.'

Hardeep is the Heart while Bahishte is our brain. We can't function with just one of the two. Heart's compassion ensures the humility of the Brain while protecting the two together. The brain functions as the rational counterpart for the Heart.

We lose only when the brain in its intelligence, stops listening to the Heart, proving to be the ultimate fool.

Camp

I fail you each day, yet you're there.
Like a wanderer in the desert, I walk toward your camp.
I seek help, I besiege. You give me the shelter I need.

I continue my journey early morning.
With the trades of the day, I earn jewels for my life.
You guide me. You route my ways. My destiny.

I ask you to show me your love.
I ask you to help me feel you.
I ask you to let me come near you.

I take a step, you fly me to the destination.
I raise my hands, you hear my silence.
I don't ask, you answer me like that.

It becomes a habit. You're there.
Until, I walk away. Silently and gradually.
Pulled into the whirlpool. Whirlpool stronger than any.

Its dark shadows engulfing me
Its bright light blinding me into darkness
Its fame causing the pain unknown.

I feel the devoid. I feel the sense.
I feel the gap. I feel the pain.
In Silence, I feel.

I am still. And numb.
I walk slowly. To the camp of yours.
Guilty and afraid

I ask you. I complain.
Why send me to the whirlpool
When I had only asked for you.

Why show me what won't last.
Why give me what's to vanish.
Why make me feel what's not there.

Each time, I asked me for you,
I got more of your absence in return.
For every Real light was met with an illusion of light.

Each devoid, each whirlpool vanishes.
Sending me back to you broken.

The sun is setting, it feels like I am back home.
Back to your camp. Like a tired traveller.
whose journey is yet to end.

Sitting outside the camp today. 

I write and I wait. 

Dam

The water gushes, in full force, with all its might and power down the hill, cutting stones, shaping rocks. It violently and fearlessly makes its way, only to be brutally barred with a barrier. A heavy wall that sustains it. The same gushing water is muted, stilled, silenced and impounded by the awe of just one big wall against it. It wants to continue with all its power, but doesn't because it can't. The wall silences it. 

Just like when we're learning with full force, experiencing what we might not have ever before, the wall of our patience stops us from gushing out our learnings. It sustains till the learnings are well accumulated, its dirt settled at the base, the knowledge surfacing on ground of it. Emotions filtered from learning, inferences well drawn. Till all this, the might of patience keeps standing. Firm and Strong in the way of expression. While just like water, each moment seems the king, the optimum of learning, of insight, of answers, the might of patience keeps holding. It then, releases the learnings, slowly and gradually. to the audience unknown. Like a beautiful pattern of streams and rivers, it reflects the purity of wisdom.

Patience turns those moments of learning to the lifetime rivers of wisdom. Each time you ask Him, He thrashes you with answers powerful like gushing water. It not only tests the power of your patience but also your ability to shape the learnings into wisdom and understanding. Slowly, Gradually and Silently. 

The more you ask Him for Him, the more He gives you of His human's; with a devoid which, if felt, is the answer to feeling Him. Perhaps, that's it. In it, somewhere, you experience Him. The real joy.