barefoot existence

25/01/2011

A couple of months ago, my sandals disappeared. I haven’t bothered to replace them yet. And this morning, I realised that I have come to feel at home, treading this earth with my feet bare.

To begin with, of course, it felt rather strange, walking everywhere with bare feet. My mind made a pleasing story out of the situation though: Having no shoes was symbolic of the whole world becoming a temple for me, a sacred land. (Here in India one removes one’s footwear before entering a temple.) To begin with I was very aware of my bare feet, treading carefully with a lot of attention. Slowly, though, the need for such effort waned and I began to walk more naturally, at ease. With that, my thinking mind simply forgot about the whole thing; for some weeks, no thought of shoes, or lack thereof, came to me. Until this morning, that is. Suddenly, out of the blue, the realisation came to me: I am at home being barefoot.

Perhaps last night was a crucial test. At dusk I took a walk alone on the beach. Returning in the starlight, I passed through a section of dark forest. Gingerly feeling my way between the bushes, there were ominous rustlings and scurrying sounds all around. My senses were fully alert, as my mind imagined all manner of dangerous beasts, lurking, waiting to strike. I trod lightly on the earth.

I guess, one day, I will feel the need for shoes once more. Till then, though, I am thankful for these happy days of contact with the earth. And what of the athlete’s foot which had plagued me consistently for three decades? Since becoming barefoot, there has been no trace of it!

petals of the frangipani

14/01/2011

Have you ever smelled a frangipani? The flower of this tree surely produces one of the most divine fragrances in existence: Anyone fortunate enough to catch a whiff is bound to experience a moment of pure existential bliss.

During this morning’s satsang, I felt as if we were petals of a frangipani flower. Somehow the magic of us being together created an exquisite dance, with a fragrance as intoxicating as that of the frangipani. Such is the mystical beauty of satsang. Thank you to all of you who have contributed your energy, your presence.

the big itch

10/01/2011

I’ve been in Tiruvannamalai for a little over a month now and all the while my skin has been itching. The itchy feeling is not very pleasant but almost worst are the cogitations of the mind which come with it.

First and foremost, of course, my mind wants to know why: Why is my skin itching? What is the cause? It is amazing to watch one’s mind in action. Without any evidence whatsoever, it has generated at least ten theories as to the cause of the itchiness. The explanations range from the mundane, such as an allergic reaction to the washing powder I am using, or to the water I wash in, through to the esoteric, such as a cleansing of toxins, related to giving satsang.

The other thing I notice is that the mind really wants to believe in these stories. No matter that it has created so many conflicting theories: Whichever theory it happens to be dwelling on, it wants to believe to be true. All of this is a great waste of energy. Apart from trying a different brand of washing powder, I am not likely to change my behaviour in any way in light of the mind’s machinations.

One thing I have realised from the big itch is that I now feel much more sympathetic towards my father. For many months his skin has been itching so badly that he sometimes scratches himself till he bleeds. Now I feel I understand something of your anguish, Dad!

the cupboard under the stairs

07/01/2011

Here in Tiruvannamalai I am renting an apartment in a large house. The house has an outside staircase and under the staircase is a cupboard with an unappealing metal door. The cupboard is completely enclosed by the concrete structure, without a window and with no light or electricity. In fact, it is nothing but a small, bare, enclosed concrete space. Nevertheless, a man lives in the cupboard. He wears the faded orange garb of a sadhu, one of the holy men who can be seen loitering, peacefully, all over India. They have almost no possessions, they don’t bother with money, they beg for whatever they need in life. It is a simple way to be. And for the most part, these sadhus seem to be content with their low-carbon-footprint lifestyle. It does make one wonder why we bother with all the complex stuff.

Seeing this sadhu’s humble abode, I was reminded of a poem which came to me in Canmore, Canada, in 2002. (You can also listen to me reading the poem, from the readings page, accessible from the audio page.) Here it is:

The Cupboard Under The Stairs

It was a curious gift,

but of no use to me.

So I put it in a box,

a shoebox tied with string.

And the box I stowed

in the cupboard under the stairs.

There it sat

as the years went by.

Junk piled up around it

and dust settled thick.

Thus was it forgotten.

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