moment of distraction

05/03/2016

I was pouring some tea. During this most sacred of rituals, a drop of milk was spilt. It landed on the rim of the silver tea strainer: a tiny droplet of white, sitting hugging itself, looking rather perplexed.

This accident was a sure sign that I had been distracted. For the briefest of moments, my attention had been elsewhere. I know not where my mind had wandered. All I know is that in that moment, I had not been present.

A misplaced droplet of milk is not the greatest of catastrophes. Yet how much of life do we mess up in this way? How many moments, every day, do we lose our presence? And what untold tragedies, great and small, follow from these moments of distraction?

close shave

27/02/2016

Yesterday, in an obscure alleyway somewhere in the chaos of Delhi, I visited a barber shop for a shave. As usual in India, the barber did an amazing job and I emerged with my face feeling smooth as silk. It was, indeed, a close shave.

It occurred to me that this phrase, ‘a close shave,’ is rather curious. It has come to mean a narrowly-avoided disaster, with the only positive aspect being that the disaster didn’t happen. In reality, though, a close shave is much more than that. Yes, it feels rather risky, as that traditional cut-throat razor blade glides over the jugular veins and the larynx. Assuming disaster is avoided though, the result of the close shave is much more positive than merely having avoided an early demise. That smooth skin is a rejuvenation and a return to innocence.

So many moments in life are like visiting the barber, if we are prepared to take a risk. It is easy to avoid a close shave and let an opportunity pass. Those missed opportunities are liable to linger on in us as regret, though. Conversely, when we do take the risk, we usually end up feeling as revitalised as I did yesterday, with that close shave.

fruit salad

09/01/2016

This morning I ate a fruit salad as part of my breakfast. There were eight or nine different types of fruit, all in a prime state of ripeness. As I ate, I noticed that I was ranking the fruit: comparing the pleasure given by one against another; deciding which was my favourite and which my least favourite. It was not long before the complete order of preference had been determined.

Catching myself making these comparisons, judging the relative merits of the various fruits, I felt a twinge of regret. Inevitably there were winners and losers in my assessment. But I also knew that each of the fruits was probably delicious in its own right. So I stopped comparing. I ate one piece of fruit at a time, slowly, with my full attention, not comparing it to my memories of other tastes. And as I had guessed, every piece of fruit was simply delicious, a treasure for my taste buds.

I wonder to what extent I make such comparisons in the rest of my life. How much richer and more delicious life would feel if I could drop the comparisons altogether!

breaking the sound barrier

25/12/2015

When a supersonic aircraft is approaching the speed of sound, the pressure waves build up in front of it, getting stronger and stronger. The aircraft starts to shake with the pent-up energy. Then, suddenly, there is a sonic boom and the plane has broken through the sound barrier. With that, everything becomes smooth. I mention this because in meditation, occasionally, it feels like something similar is happening. So it was for me, in the Matrimandir this morning.

I was sitting there in the intense silence of the inner chamber. My mind was empty of thoughts but there was a feeling of energy in the head. It grew stronger and stronger until my body was trembling and having little spasms. It felt rather like my head was going to explode. Then suddenly there was an instantaneous release of the built up energy. With that, the consciousness entered into a vast, empty space of utter tranquility.

moments like now

21/12/2015

There are moments, moments like now, when the being is overwhelmed by a silent beauty.

It started this afternoon, as the sun sank low and the light took on a magical, timeless quality. With this light, the bamboo was in its element, gently radiating a sublime beauty that caressed the mind, as a mother would tenderly stroke a troubled infant. Thus the thoughts subsided, leaving an abiding peace, a deep calmness of being.

It is still with me now, this emptiness, this stillness. It feels foolish to write of it. If you know of it, you do not need to read of it. And if you do not know of it, all these words can be thrown to the wind.

a strange drunkenness

20/12/2015

This morning I was meditating again in the Matrimandir, here at Auroville. Stepping out in into the world afterwards, I felt a strange drunkenness. The blue of the sky, the green of the grass, the warmth of the sun, it all felt more vivid, more intense, more alive.

Then I hugged one of the many trunks of the vast, old banyan tree. With that, I felt myself melting into the warm, soft space of non-differentiation, rather like the feeling of post-coital bliss. Inside myself, I could feel that the contented intoxication was emanating from my very centre. I was drunk on being.

When the consciousness is in such states, it all feels rather surreal. Yet perhaps it would be more appropriate to regard those times as the real. Perhaps our more normal rigid, sober, consciousness of separation is the surreal view, or even the unreal view.