Niyati and the Porcelain Men

Today I had a lucid dream
scared maybe
At first
A bit
but I knew
I could do whatever I have dreamt of
if ever

“If ever I would know I were in a dream!”

Talking to the insentient and plants
in No words
but as if some kind of creative elasticity
Elongating through time and between you and I
moving them with my eye –
connected things and beings
honoring limitations of their body
Unitedly driven by my inspiration
in their authenticity
not transforming into something else
or of a reverie

And they stayed so
in response to our shared rhythm
only as what they were or could be
At a place called Niyati

That was a kind of communication without expectation
Like a dance without any attachment
Free
And for its own sake only
because
Because I was aware

Am aware

Knowing the scary
The only scary
could be my mind
but well tamed and choicelessly
staging itself now in a unified harmony
Having nothing left to hide
Nothing left at all other than what is
I – aware of its dream state
humbly play
and
this bizarre world
almost an experiment

assuming a body for myself and others and things
Animating the porcelain men
what could have been spiders
Initially made of dark ink spots
Splashing cheerfully into space
To be shaped into something
by the artful steering of a mind
Through the curvilinear dance
mushrooming
The porcelain men!

They behave as they should
like bees
Each one having a rank of his own
have had a meeting yesterday along a table
about their important matters
Not knowing they are my mind born entities
I – unwilling to interfere or come eye to eye with any one of them –
Sneaked out and went to this enchanting flower realm instead

I saw a rose plant without any flowers
looked at its missing blossoms and
We connected rhythmically
a prolific dynamism started blooming red roses
Pulling the skin towards a child’s thrill
enlightening a face with amusement
but then again keeping the source unchanged
through the tuning sound of a ‘ya’
“ya yaa yaaa”
which was also a formula
for the rose plant to convert the reds to yellows at once
and without a trace of its red past
blooming real fast
now!
Really! and I saw it happening!

Holding my breath ! for one slight moment of observation of the
“If ever I could capture this wonder”
what normally could take days by a stop motion
Trying to convince my mind that there should be a way to record this dream
Remembering I left my phone where the porcelain men were

Flushing big yellow roses of all sizes
all of which happening because of my presence
with my voice changing … in tune with my “ya” rhythm
And that moment
Dong! Bong! Clank!
Wumpth!

the alarm went on

such big shame
I knew it! kinda stuff followed
My eyes shut

Shall I go back?
It’s cold in here

I knew yes
this world and that one
connected at once
The separation ended For a moment
the limitation of one dimensionality
Created by my mind
in this waking reality
It is cold yes
coming from the thought constructs
Gently warming up the cold now

as Mahabharata says:
“Whatever is here is everywhere, whatever is not here is nowhere to be found.”


Niyati is the energy of being situated in only one particular place - Siva Sutras
Advertisements

I still think he knew it but…

as long as I search for justification
I won’t be justified

I always thought he knew it
always!

but only now
just now
the thought rises

it’s my mind

slightly a new
purified version
but still imperfect

although

although the dazzled
has always held the probability that

there was obviously a thin line of a passage

that he may have never known

I ignored knowingly
the probability

the ignoring knowingly
belonged to that thin line of a passage

….
I cannot rely on word of temptation
to drink from a maybe-clean-well

and so
only now
I may justify to set it open
it is (literally) made of the same material
of the heart
set on universe
universe: as my working table
and observed
neutrally

observed as one of these illusions
same as the others
but with a difference :
that
it receives my attention
now
so that with it
a new version of I
deserves an analysis

just to get to know
myself/yourself

without attachment
without expectation
and with courage
and with a possibility
to shed some teardrops:)
yeah even that

it is possible
just to understand

and for nothing else

it is a technology of investigation
and my analysis reveals a truth
a truth of a possibility
where possibility is temporary –
knowing well
it is one of many other possible stories –
and its truth :
the only permanent one

such are Samskaras
wisdom knows we shall not waste time
to speculate where these come from

we are here and now as we are

so
yes
only now
I consciously want to have a glance on this image
from the past

that he might
have
as much as I
never known
what truly was happening that time

while it was happening

not to make him right or wrong
just to understand
why I am analyzing this right now

we were both complaining
about physical heat
I read him back for the first time
and got confronted once again
after all this time

with his beautiful mind

but is that I?
or is that I that is supposed to be
to reread
according to the recipe

of the technology
described above
to understand
the truth of I

my heart knows the answer
and my table shall reveal
for what is left behind
tomorrow
is just a coffee stain

 

photo by Alin, Mumbai  Feb2016

The Play


written and captured by Alin

once seen
the play starts

some watch
some play

those that watch
assume the minds
of those that play

those that watch
reduce to finite form

those that play
read the minds
of those that watch
in flashes  

unknowingly

as if poetry

the play takes shape
consequently

flashes fall out of the loop
to remain
at timeless place

knowingly

manifesting itself
-as if themselves-
changing the course of one reality
through perceived appearances

the play reshapes perpetually
gradually transmuting
to a material
of poetic observation

but poetry
as a matter of fact
remains contradictory
to its nature
and breaks
the isotropic loop of
knowing the unknowingly

the watch becomes the play
the player the watcher
the watcher the player

to pause once means
to wonder about
what has never been observed

once the very source
is seen as is 
the unseen

the play ends