Mind.

The mind is an extremely powerful thing. It governs your thoughts, your feelings, and even your behaviour. Sometimes it allows you to transcend an understanding beyond itself and then slowly guides you towards that enlightenment by leaking vestiges of ineffective, erroneous coping mechanisms into your awareness. Like in "Sybil" and "Switching Time", both leads formed personalities that are embedded in the troughs of their subconscious in order to cope with the traumas; and when conditions become less disturbing, the subconscious seeks for self-help, and it even seeks to establish contact with the "host" and allowed themselves to die off in the process of healing-- in both cases, both of their alter-egos went to look for the psychiatrists.
The mind is self-healing.

The mind protects itself, even without you knowing it. It forms whatever coping mechanism it could scramble for, with whatever intellectual, emotional and physical capabilities that are available at that moment. If it has the privilege of being highly intellectual (not wise), it justifies. If it is emotional, it badgers itself with a battery of intense feelings, and makes you cry uncontrollably. Sometimes it eggs you on to shout, scream and badger someone else in order to relieve itself. Sometimes, it even bolsters up enough courage to overcome the fear of physical pain or even (dreadfully) the fear of death, and takes your life away. Erroneous, yes, but it heals the pain by making it go away.

Though the mind is powerful, it is sometimes not very wise. It is complicated and it grows even more complicated every moment of its way, like the web made from a single thread, meshed up to form nodules and sticky wispy strands; it grows and grows and grows. It confuses itself and makes fallacious arguments and decisions that could be contrary to what it made up its mind about. Compounding the problem, it attempts to compartmentalise itself, disconnect itself into parts, even as it knows it quite impossible to do so. Compartmentalising is essentially and eventually suicidal and detrimental to the wholeness of its connected beautiful structure-- the mesh.

The mind is a complex creature, with a life of its own. It reflects the world out there, complex and filled with grey areas (grey matter. Ha. Ha.). It continuously changes like the sky, a piece of it here and there. Maturity (of the mind) is an overrated term; it is an euphemism for the begrudging acceptance of pain and sufferings. Let the parts of the mind's youth and child-like optimism manifests themselves for hope. And then after which, with maturity, re-establish its connection with God. 'Cause He is the enlightenment beyond your mind.

We have too much spice.

We have to much spice in our lives sometimes.

Today as i was having my dinner i tried to approach my food like how the mindfulness article suggested. Feel the noodle strands on my tongue, the rubbery texture. Slowly chewing em. The soup. The vegetable. The leaf on my lips. And lastly the yolk.
When i came to the latter, i tried to slowly feel its texture-- soft smooth, almost melting in the mouth like powder butter. But then i stopped for a moment. I couldn't taste anything. Couldn't taste the eggy yolk smell. Why?

Too much spice. The soup and ikan billis, salty and savoury as i liked it. The hot soup. All of those have dulled my sensitivity to the basic taste of a yolk. I couldn't taste a simple eggyolk!

Another thing: Someone gave me macadamia nuts today. Unsalted. Yucks. Not a big fan of nuts anyway. Thought i was going to just discard them later in the day but surprisingly i did not. Didn't have the appetite for lunch and didn't want to brave the rain outside and disrupt my marking pace. But i had to fill the tummy in case it decides to melt its own walls in an act of suicidal vengeance.

The first nut was but plain and mediocre. Shrugs. Just eat, Ange, and be grateful. So i chewed on. Second nut. Third nut. Fourth....Absorbed in work, i unknowingly munched the nuts longer than usual. Then, i stopped. Chewed a bit more, taking note of my breathing. I exhaled, mixing smell with the basic tastes to produce rainbow flavours. And then i felt it. The masticated nut bits, exuding its macadamia delight. Mmmm... So this is how it tastes like. Raw. Naked. Most divine.
Next few nuts were savored with much enthusiasm and awareness needless to say.

What if life were like that, filled with so many things. Things that are so exciting and savoury and hot and spicy that we lose touch with our basic senses; the taste of life. What is most basic? What is the fundamental raw unit of life?

2014

This year's recurrent message in the teaching of MOV:

Discrimination is the scariest not because of its ability to hurt but because of its ability to self perpetuate & sustain. The discriminator never thinks he is wrong; he always thinks he's right and all actions are justified for the greater good.

Be silent

Be silent. 

So that the voices may speak of

how riled they are. The small ones clambers away from its pipsqueak identity.  

Adages from the older tribes; they speak of bygone

Wars.  Allegiance and Betrayal with plastered paint of colors rage

will fight till the ends of the world. 

It never ends. 

Beneath it all the carpet woven from drudgery and smokescreen. 

Smittened yogi sits and watches;

the play unfolds. 

There will be no silence. 

The Vdei silent retreat starts tomorrow and I'm a little afraid. I've done so much wrong over the year that I might have become too comfortable with it. "Men become accustomed to poison in degrees" says Victor Hugo (to me). I am afraid how God will rip my mind and heart apart tomorrow, and how I will be flooded with guilt and shame for what I have done and not done; for sleeping again, for all the negativity, for the sloth, for the selfishness, for the pride. I am also afraid I will be stubborn and how I may only respond to His love to a certain extent. I am afraid I will be too functional; I am afraid how I may submit to compartmentalism again. I am afraid that I will be angry with God and fall onto the ground at His feet in defeat and submission. I am afraid tomorrow will be a waste of time.

It has been pouring these days at certain hours of the day and it will continue to be like that for the next few days. I like the rain and the thunder. I love the electricity in the air when storm is near. I love the pitter patter. But I also love the sun. The blue purple orange pink yellow red sky and all its subtle blends. And that is perhaps the problem with me-- I court darkness and light at the same time, in myself and in others.

I am afraid I will have to choose between the two.



Morpheus: This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.

-Matrix

For me? Or for you?

Have I really lived my life for others?

Bear

As the massive jam of people started to squeeze the joy out of me, I am impelled to let the tiredness justify the disappearing vigor to be positive. Strange as it may seem, and illogical even, i started to see images of the things I lack and have yet to have, and wonder if i ever will have them at all. My state of limbo is like a purgatory of sorts --- not bad enough to enter hell, nor good enough to float up to heaven. Where am I? What am I doing? Why do I feel like I'm waiting for something still?

A dull sense of foreboding rears its ugly head. The cloud of dust puffs up like chalk powder stirred into an angry storm by a smashing wham! of the duster against the blackboard by the fuming teacher.
"YOU THERE! Stop dreaming! Pay attention to what I am teaching!" thundered Bear.
I quivered, but not for long.
Defiance crawled under my skin. I stared at Bear squarely in the eyes, breathing hastened.
I spat, " Why do you care?"

Bear saw my tensed muscles, my clenched jaw and he softened. His eyes turned a gentle hue. The dust settled. His eyebrows turned downwards, forming a mountain of melancholic understanding and his eyes searched my soul; and there was the conversation I've always wanted -- speechless understanding that binds us across the chasm. I relented.

I don't have to know that he cared. It only mattered that he cared at all. Bear roars with love and his warmth digs deep into my soul to draw out the warmth that is similar to his. Some times things can cloud it badly but that doesn't mean I don't have the warmth in me. Because Bear never takes back his gifts. His special coat, that radiates courage, joy, peace, and hope, will help anyone to survive and to fire up the darkness of the night, only if we realise that the cold is not from within but from without.  And the best part? Bear hugs us into this realization.

I stepped off the bus and returned to my familiar abode. Images of transcendent beauty flood my tired mind. Yes the dancing fire in the bejeweled tapestry of the night sky; the gamut of smiles I've collected in my life; the people in my life who formed a symbiotic joy and peace; the round disc of orange glow-- the drinkable sunlight. And yes, Bear.
The wind blew the rest away.

"Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away"

-- George Elliot