Been a bit sick .. but two pieces in mind so hope to get at least one done sometime tomorrow! Bear with me :-)

Behind the front door.

Fear that I will and fear that I won't.

Fear that I can't.
Fear that I can, but never will.
Fear that I might and fear that that I mustn't.
Fear of what I do, and what I don't.
Just being alive
is fear
but fortunately so is
the concept of suicide,
and so I live on,

behind the front door.

#

I wrote this on Dec 23rd, 2005. Ah yes, those were yukkier days.

I had originally titled it "Tension" but I thought the poem summed up agoraphobia and anxiety so well, so I added that last line just now and also made it the title.

A love lesson from Paulo Coelho.

"The heart decides, and that it decides is all that really matters ... Those who are truly enlightened, those whose souls are illuminated by love, have been able to overcome all the inhibitions and preconceptions of their era. ... They have been joyful - because those who love conquer the world and have no fear of loss. True love is an act of total surrender ... One doesn't love in order to do what is good to help or to protect someone. If we act that way, we are perceiving the other as a simple object, and we are seeing ourselves as wise and generous persons. This has nothing to do with love. To love is to be in communion with the other and to discover in that other the spark of God"

These quotes are from one of my favourite writers' books - By the River Piedra   I Sat Down and Wept. I am in awe of Paulo Coelho, and am quite certain that sometimes God breathes gently down upon him when he's writing.

I must confess when I first read this - more than ten years ago, I think - I thought it was purely about romantic love:  the mushy stuff.  And/or the sweaty stuff. Back then, that's what I thought love was. I suspect that I must have looked to these words for relationship tips, and then proceeded to be a perfect doormat for the most imperfect lovers.

As I read through these words today, they mean so much more. I look at these lines now and feel that he is talking about compassion and respect and acceptance. They are about that thing which will ultimately save the world. Without necessarily having to be mushy and/or sweaty.

So that's what love is! Good to know. At last.

It's time for me to take that book down off my bookshelf and read it once again, to find out if he meant what I felt. Because as far as I remember, it was a love story (the mushy kind, don't recall any sweaty stuff in there). But I doubt Mr Coelho could disappoint me. I'm sure it was all there and I just didn't have the awareness to notice it. When I read it this time, I'll see the other stuff. The stuff I missed first time around.

Freedom at midnight?

While the city sleeps
the sky weeps. Independence
creeps in, unnoticed.

We often wonder, don't we, what would Mahatma Gandhi make of India if he could see it now. Mostly, we think he would look at us with despair and disappointment.

Because we've not just forgotten. We simply don't get it. We are like the rich children of poor fathers. We cannot understand the price of tomatoes, let alone that of freedom.

And like the best fathers, Gandhiji might very well feel some despair and disappointment. But he would still be looking at us with love and hope.

#

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was given the title "Mahatma" (great soul) and is also called the Father of the Nation for his unique role in the quest for Indian independence from British rule. Today is the anniversary of his birth. It is a national holiday, Gandhi Jayanti, and it is now also celebrated as the International Day of Non-Violence.


(I originally wrote the haiku some years ago on August 15th, at the start of a silent and rainy Independence Day.)

How I know.

A little girl with curly hair.

In tears. With fears

like mine, as I’d waited to go into the principal’s office.

Other people’s crimes had brought us to this point in time.

Thirty-five years later, I can see why 

it was one of the defining moments in my life.

We transformed a dusty playground 

into a magical place where treasure could be found.

We sat in a fortress of musty books and learned how to travel the world.

We laughed. We imagined. We dreamed.

We wrote long, long letters during the holidays.

We never ran out of things to say.

I can’t remember the exact day

When I let her down and turned away.

I don’t quite remember why or how but it still shames me now.

I don’t know what happened in that time apart.

I don’t know how deeply I might have hurt her heart.

I only know that one day we were friends again. 

She has never once reminded me of this. 

She has never hurt me back or spoken harsh words. 

She can make me wonder if it ever really happened.  

She transforms a polluted city
into a safe place where comfort can be found.
I sit at her dining table and learn about grace. 

We laugh. We imagine. We dream. 
We Like each other on Facebook. 
We never run out of things to say. 

This is how I know she is my best friend.

(for J, written 30/9/12)