Here and Now

I have been swept awash in the past, with fear, hurt, rage and grief,

Many were never reconciled with, I dwelt on them but brief.

I pushed them deep in the recesses, of my unconscious mind,

They surface now and then in new contexts, how to suppress I'm in a bind.

 

 Healing feels like a loss of self. what I'm sans my patterns and quirks,

 When I start doubting who I really am, re-opening the wound works.

This accumulated energy is painful though, it holds a sway on me,

Will continue to dictate my reactions, till what it is I learn to see.

 

When I'm once more sad and angry, it's rarely about the issue or you,

It's old pain asserting its right to exist, not bound by what's in the moment true.

If I were to lessen its hold on me, I've to deal with the long-lost stuff,

Be aware of and accept what I'm feeling now, the pain of memories old and rough. 

 

The trauma that once kept me captive, if I process can set me free,

Each trigger is an opportunity to be in the now, and change what I'm unfolding to be.

The Clash of Mythologies - Part 2

Gods are on their Mt. Olympus, all is right with the earth,

At times they mingle with the mortals, and to heroes give birth.

A gulf divided Gods and men, that Prometheus tried to surmount,

Driven by passion, he tried defying fate, was on a torment at last count.

 

When Gods don't have all the answers, and Oracle of limited use,

You start asking your own self, what's all this for, what's the ruse?

Miles away, seated near the master, Nachiketa asks similarly Yama,

What's the secret of immortality, we are born again, how come?  

 

God is but one immortal, there's Atman in each of us,

The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm, the Brahman we are thus.

The gods permeate our body, are our breath, our speech and sight,

You can keep saying no to questions, till you get the answer right.

 

Gods may be indifferent and external, or they merge with us as one,

As long as we keep asking questions, we'll arrive at conclusions some.

Chicken or Egg?

It's not who you are underneath, but what you do, that defines you,

A painful reminder intentions are sterile, until you act and make them true. 

You may wish 'Sarve Bhvanti Sukhinah', believe yourself to be noble and good, 

All that will not exonerate you, if your actions didn't the test of time stood.

 

Don't judge a person, but his actions, is a dictum I hold dear,

If he repents and mends his actions, he can become better is clear. 

So if I want a couch potato to be healthy, should I ask him to daily walk,

Or revel in his new identity of a walker, and on his earlier identity baulk.  

 

If I ask someone to vote, they may vote to a small degree,

But if I ask them to be a voter, they'll internalize that decree,

And vote in large numbers, cause actions follow the self-concept,

If I want to change my actions, working on my 'self' works the best.  

 

You may re-conceptualize yourself all you want, at the end it'll still be true,

It's not who you are underneath, but what you do, that defines you.

The Clash of Mythologies

Fall from grace, then return to paradise, 

On the day of Judgement, from the grave rise.

Enjoy eternal heaven, or be condemned to hell,

Depends whether you sinned, or acted pious and well.

 

Only a single God exists, one life to live and pray,

He created angels and devil, like night and day.

There is another possibility, that there are more than a few gods,

You fall in one life and atone in next, the goddess gently nods.  

 

Nothing by itself is right or wrong, dharma depends on context and role,

The law of Karma keeps you in check, with the threat you may be reborn a mole.

All around you are brimming with consciousness, each soul potentially divine,

Infinite lives to master the cosmic play, and become godly and sublime.

 

Time here is cyclic, this world but one of many,

God is all around you, not patented by any.

This or That?

Isolation is terrifying, no one gets you,

No bridge to the other, except in moments that are few.

Isolation is exhilarating, you can't the other control,

No matter how close you get, it doesn't take a toll.

 

Meaninglessness is disorienting, you have nothing to lean on,

When nothing's sacred upfront, grounding frameworks are all but gone.

Meaninglessness is empowering, on each act you can put your stamp,

You can find meaning in your suffering, as to why you are in a concentration camp.

 

Freedom is a lifelong sentence, you are condemned to choose,

No one to pass the blame on, when in life's game you lose.

Freedom is a privilege, you can be an author of your life,

Continue smiling, even when the joker wields a knife. 

 

Death is an abomination, makes you tremble and wither in pain,

Death is the ultimate liberator, makes you choose life over and over again.

What To Do (In The Therapy Room)?

Interpret dreams, let them free-associate, look for that occasional Freudian slip,

Like an Indiana Jones excavate buried tombs, and let their ghosts be exorcised in a blip.

They may latch onto you, like they did to their parents, arousing feelings and passions in you,

They may be heavily guarding, what even they don't know, your mission to resistance breakthrough.

 

Monitor each phrase, keep asking what does it mean, till you arrive at their core belief,   

Let them challenge their thoughts, and when it changes how they feel, heave a sigh of relief.

Like Socrates ask many questions, paraphrase, listen deeply but sans judgement,

In the beginning your task to make connection, towards end letting go without sentiment. 

 

Look for stunted growth, accepting them for who they are, a potential waiting to be realized,

As per original plan, they were meant to flourish, it's not their fault if God downsized.

Just walk in their shoes, for a mile or a while, ease their pain without hurting your sole,

Jump into the encounter, without ifs and buts, bringing your body, mind and soul.

 

You've lost your way in the labyrinth, enough of techniques and doing,

Your presence is more than enough, all your life haven't you worked on just being?

My Walden

Meditate in awe of the forest, build a cabin by the pond,

When you center yourself daily, you won't react, but respond.

The illusion of busyness stripped away, fill it with food that you can grow,

Read obscure tomes to your heart's content, and wonder how little you know.

 

Nature acts as the faithful clock, you are a master of your time,  

Your actions answer to your own needs, nine times out of nine.

Needs reduced to a bare minimum, a bed, a desk, three chairs,

Cut-off from the world you muse, if there's someone who cares?

 

You have pruned but all connections, are in touch with just a few ,

Now free and unencumbered, does that decision you secretly rue?

The point of the experiment was paring, to get rid of all the stuff, 

Couple of years of living alone, and you're ready to leave in a huff? 

 

 The thought experiment is quite revealing, as all the masks I peel,

 Of programming, psychology, philosophy, only poetry remains, I feel.