Shiva's and Metta's Mother's Sutra

It is always either sunset or sunrise in the Harbour. A gentle pearlescent luminosity weaves itself around the whitewashed houses and terraces which are built into the steep side of the hill which leads down to the pier. The waters of the Harbour are protected by a pair of breakwaters that extend their barnacle encrusted limbs to ameliorate the most severe effects of the wind and weather. Once a lifeboat was marooned against the rocks, which was both comical and ironic for the observers. What was less comical was the sinking of the boat.  Nevertheless, it was a safe haven, as they say. The thing about the Habour is that it is on no map. Even though she had been navigating towards it her entire life, she had no idea it was the destination. It was felt and intuited, sometimes, in the dark of nights, along the skins of the lovers or the breath of her children, she could sense its contours. The longing which wasn't quite a longing, the purpose whose aim was impossible to put articulate...

Ireland is full of water. It is a soggy place. It will not be the first nor the last time someone says that. That it rains all the time in Ireland is untrue. It rains a lot less than people think. What is true is that it is quite wet. The wetness stays with the land. Whether it is in the fields and mountain bogs or the loughs, sheughs and rivulets and streams, the rain stays. There is a saying about one of the counties: In one half of the year Lough Erne is in Fermanagh, in the other half Fermanagh is in Lough Erne. (I think it is true that Fermanagh is, not just very far away from many places, it is also quite a bit wetter to boot.) Be that as it may, this wetness has done three things for the place.  First it has kept it green at all time. Ireland is green all year round. There are no times when it desiccates and turns a worrisome brown, the way all of Spain does from March onwards. When they say forty shades of green, they mean forty shades of green. From the gold green of sunri...

Who can tell where time begins? It does not. Neither does it end. Of all our experiences of existences, time is the most subjective. The most malleable. The most pliable and elusive. Perception is the only thing which matters in time. With perception we can change everything there is about time. Hinduism, several millennia older than most, if not all, of philosophy, decided in its wisdom that it was futile trying to find out where and how time began. Before there were the gods, there was time, says the Rigveda . And what's more, there are many universes. We live in a multiverse - yes they figured this out waaaaay back when. (Incidentally, our universe is the smallest of them all - our Brahma has only four heads. It is good to keep things real.) A thought experiment: move through time. Think about what you had for breakfast yesterday, if you remember that. Think about what you are doing now, at this present moment. Think about what you will be doing one second from now... then a min...

Many years ago, a light appeared at the top of the tower. Locals said that it was the Spirit of the Plains which now found shelter there. Because the spirit could be somewhat frightening, as legend would have it, they left it alone. Why would a powerful spirit find sanctuary at the top of the tower, you may ask? Well it was because the plain itself was being destroyed. It was being parceled out and sold off to the highest bidder. These bidders in turn were selling it to smaller bidders, and they were creating all sorts of wonderful promises on what was once the vast expanse of billowing grass.  Soon more and more lights appeared in the tower, like fireflies trapped in a glass bottle. By day they were not visible, but at night they shone, like beacons of many moving thoughts, possibilities, lives. How did they find their way to the tower? No one asked. The tower it self was very old. No one remembers who made it. However,  despite its immemoriable age, it was perfect. Not ...

At this stage in my life, I no longer have an excuse not to do the following: Write daily Practise my piano Draw and paint Exercise regularly - as in everyday No excuse. None whatsoever. Except Netflix. Actually I must be so hard on myself. This weekend I made two gingerbread houses, cleaned the entire house and sorted out the thread. I also went to see the Cooey Wells which I had wanted to do for weeks and weeks and weeks and this week I also sorted the car out. People are saying I should get rid of the car. That is wrong. My car is wonderful. I am not getting rid of it. So I also cleaned the car. And I cleaned the driveway. So I did lots. I will not beat myself up about not doing things. Oh and I also cooked all our meals for Ghin - apart from the pizza. So, I'm good. But I can still find time to write daily, practise my piano, draw and paint, and exercise regularly. Oh my god this song is heartbreaking. Ghosteen speaks.  There is no way around grief. Only through it. I wrote a l...