i have a mistress i try to leave but cannot seem to find a way away from. this mistress lies in wait, she sits in stillness and allows herself to seep into me. by morn and by wakeful nights, her whispers are in my ear and her thoughts descend onto mine.

and when this mistress succeeds in getting my attention, she asks not only for all my attention but she asks for everything. her demands permeate my being, body and soul. she takes from my relationships and i watch as people come and go. she takes from my love–they tire and grow weary,  she takes from my family who don’t know how to help me, and she takes away the love i have for myself.

this tricky mistress disintegrates all my notions of knowing. she takes from my mind, she takes from my gut, she takes from my heart. with all she takes away, she leaves more trouble and chaos and piece by piece this puzzle turns into a dizzying mystery i am not equipped to solve.

how can this entity so thoroughly detract and subtract meaning from all i do, all i know, all i am. how is it that doubt so skillfully lulls me into a fog where time doesn’t exist, days are nothing that lose themselves into weeks and then the unknown collective of months and years. i have grown with this mistress of doubt, i have grown weak and tired. i have grown to mistrust myself, and to place even less trust in others. i have grown into anger, rage, and disgust…but only at myself.

i wonder why she won’t leave, i wonder and i fear it’s because she is all too much a part of  me. i dread her staying because she is me, and i am but the culmination of doubt and an un-tethering layered under masks and lies. masks and lies. masks and lies.

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my island keeps me afloat and estranged from the woes of a world I continue to avoid

under folds of covers and in the twists of sheets, my mind escapes into thoughts and dreams

without money, without a job, without responsibilities I am free to explore other worlds and infinite dreams

beyond the planks of this bed, beyond the vision of these eyes lies a greater abyss and I think it’s not by chance that I am without a ship

the energy ran through the body, coursing up and down leaving her restless and with an itch for what she could not know. the grass on her back, the sun on her face, filled her with light but left her unable to stay still. movement begged inside of her.

in a moment, the desire to embrace a tree took hold and as she put this thought to word, her mind asked…but to which tree? and as her head moved to the left and to the right, it was directly in front of her. a tree with arms out and bare, asking to be hugged.

she moved as if to the volition of the earth and found herself standing at the base of a being who was weary. her eyes found deep scars on arms that aimed for the sky. putting her hand over the wound, the pain of the tree was her’s to feel, to understand, and in return, her body shed the tears that had remained unspilled inside split wood for too many years.

i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry, her soul repeated as her eyes wept and her liquid hurt was lost in soil above roots so weak. in the midst of the pains, the aches, and the heaviness of such a long life, a small voice spoke back to her.

it’s not your fault. it’s not your fault.

but at this point, finding responsibility would serve no purpose. no. this was the time for action. with the currents still moving in waves up and down her body, she crouched to the ground, her feet to the roots, her hands to the base, and with all the flow inside of her she allowed mother earth to drink from her skin, to recycle the energy from hand to tree, feet to earth.

in small undulations the tree drew breath. in steady sips and then larger gulps, it quenched a thirst acquired over lifetimes. it drank and felt the intention for life. it grew stronger and knew that love had cured and revived. the two beings, tree and woman, said nothing else. for the time being, simply the understanding sufficed.

days later and separated from the land of dhamma, would you check on the tree? she asked her Other and he was happy to oblige. your tree is great, he told her, instantly felt strong metta when I touched it. it showed me an image of you as a baby cheetah. it also told me to tell you that you can access it’s energy any time you want to connect with it from anywhere…just imagine yourself in front of it hugging it again and the tree will lend you energetic support.

and so she did. she closed her eyes and saw the tree again, still bare, but more refreshed. in her mind’s eye she wrapped her arms around it, and it hugged her back. it’s nice to see you her mind said, what’s your name? and the tree answered, Martha.

Martha? That’s your name? she asked unsure of what names trees would hold. the voice spoke again. she thought she heard a whisper of Mira, then Eimira, and then at least, the true name Aemira. I am Aemira.

Aemira. It’s nice to meet you Aemira.

with the portal to trees opened, she took to the forest to commune with others. keeping the image of Aemira close, she spoke to other majestic beings of bark and leaves and in doing so, she learned of their pains. with what flow still carried through her, she asked for their wants and gave what she was able to help them fulfill their purpose and desire. later, a message arrived, tell her, this tree is missing her. Aemira had found other ears to listen and another way to reach out.

when still learning to learn about the connectivity of everything, her lesson included darkness seeping in. the darkness was clever and silent, cunning in not giving anything away but brutal in taking away all light. all possibility for life. it knew how to amplify and to diminish the highest self. it knew where to hide so one would all too easily forget the light.

she found herself succumbing to the density of the dark and she knew not to feed the darkness with fear. instead, she turned to light, to love, and to her Other. she bath under cold water, and she stood barefoot to allow the ground to enable her to stay upright. but the darkness was such that even mother earth could not coax all of it down into her depths. her Other sent what love he could, but even then he knew it fitting to reach out to the archangels and under the protection of swords and blue flames the darkness slowly relinquished it’s hold on her.

with many battles fought for her, she woke the next day to know the war was still not won. that any darkness could grow to all darkness and that for darkness to diminish, it only need be turned into light.

in a final attempt to shake off the last vestige of darkness that lingered, she called to her tree of awakening. with her feet to the ground, her hands on a guava tree, she reached to Aemira and asked for help. together they passed the darkness from her, to the guavas, to Aemira who then released the suffering out across the water, up into the mountains, and above and beyond into the light.

we did it! she said, but Aemira said nothing. and in this way, perhaps, the journey began. for these two sprits to align across life forms, for a greater work to be done. for human to connect with nature, and for the final war to be won. they set themselves for this task, to be warriors of the light, to fight the raging storm, to know the victory can only come when all of darkness submits to the life of light.

it has begun.

it can be. it already is. it will be. it is already done.

 

 

 

 

Hey you…blog.

It’s been a while. I’m sorry I’ve been away, but you see…I’ve been busy. So much has happened and in truth, I’ve taken to writing things on paper and ink. I hope you don’t feel betrayed, I haven’t forgotten you…I’ve just…branched out in some way.

In this time, I’ve changed. I think finally after all these years of wondering, pondering, mulling, and attempting at discovering…I have finally found myself. I have connected and transgressed with my “I”. Isn’t it funny, life, how these things go? I accessed and communed with my inner core, and along with it came a diagnosis of mental illness. I had my dream job, and then lost it. I found my true love, and we chose ourselves over each other. I think I’ve settled down and am actively seeking routine. Above all, I have the lessons of meditation, and finally, I have come to terms with accepting my madness and I am succumbing to a raving vision.

It’s almost laughable. And certain parts are funny…mostly, it’s a roller coaster ride and yes, there’s quite a dosage of pain.

but

When your world is turned upside down…there’s little to gain from throwing a fit or remaining in confusion, it only makes sense to start looking at things differently… no?And I do now, see things very differently.

The journey henceforth, is no longer of discovering the self. It has shifted to becoming more of me, becoming true to who “I” am, and to live out my purpose.

Today, I feel grounded in annicha and satchitananda. Today I feel love and compassion. Right now it feels well with my soul. I trust of this there will be more.

I believe. I know.

I can. I will.

sometime in the last few months i had the strangest of dreams. though i have known for years that my dreams are a degree of bizarre beyond what is expected, this was unlike any other dreaming experience i have had before.

in short, i found myself passenger on a scooty as we were chased and shot at by a bike following us. the driver was hit and slumped so i did my best to get us to the hospital. upon getting there, i realized i too had been shot…in the back of my head. i asked someone for help, and then i found a quiet space where i could lie down.

then, i died.

i couldn’t say if the moment lasted split seconds or a lifetime, but i had sensations unlike anything else i’ve ever known in the dream world or any other worlds. i experienced dying, in my mind, as i slept and dreamt. the closest way i’ve been able to relay what it felt like is to refer to the discombobulated awareness of waking up from a fainting spell. the strange disconnect between body and mind, and a self that exists elsewhere.

but the strangest detail of all is that i not only experienced dying, i died from a bullet shot by no other than myself.

more than anything, curiosity led me to seek any viable interpretations. i found a handful of theories but one stood out above the others–the death of the old self. many suggested this is a symbolic death of who a person used to be. intrigued i thought little else of it expect that even in my dream, even in dying, i felt peace.

over dinner last night, in retelling the dream, it occurred to me that i have indeed changed. that i have a shed a shell. that i have grown, and learned, and am emerging into more of who i aspire to be. finally. finally. finally.

finally. finally. finally.

years of frustration, of perceived stagnancy, of doubt, of severe inadequacy are slowing finding their way into my past, and are now (mostly) behind me. as for the future, i am keen and open to what it may bring, i now have direction, ambition, and this time…i am equipped with a plan.

i am, according to many, an anomaly to contend with. this society is more prone to condemn based on appearances. a woman i happen to be, a “she”, (a clearly lesser “he”). yet i don’t walk with my head down and i make no apology for my breasts, my tis, my ass, or my punani. i can’t submit to the ever so long and tedious list of what i should be. hear my apology, it’s not because i think myself above…or below, i simply see the should be of equality.

yes, i wear my hair so short (oh how could she?!) but it does nothing to take away from my femininity. damn your notions of my beauty. and so my nose isn’t pierced where patriarchal tyranny says it need be. i will not let my face or accessories trap me into caste or creed. i am, female, yes. i am, nepali. but surely, this being carried around this body is more than a concept of gender, more than a specific shade of passport green.

but you ask me to ponder over “who am i”, and the truth is, i was lost in the vagueness of that proposition. but that is only until i realized…it was not a question, i know myself in certainties. i know myself as I AM oh. so. many. things.

i am trail and error. i am ever learning. i am presence. i am compassion and empathy. i am faith and good will. i am flawed and so faulted—it can’t be helped, but i am hoping to wise up, to avoid the redundancy of mistakes. the redundancy of heartache. of pain. of the wrong kind of grief. perhaps, more than destination, i am journey.

i am boxed by the clothes i wear, by the lilt on my tongue, but so many little nuances that betray one concrete nationality. but that isn’t to say i am not without an identity. i am travel and movement and time and change. i am thought. i am, brief, temporary. i am struggle and conflict, love and apathy, paradox and conundrum living in harmony. i am the complexity of every being. i am with purpose even if there is no beginning and i am without meaning until whatever the end.

i am you. i am me. i am.

i am a dream.

yesterday i found myself in a teary state. every now and then i remember the farewells that await me and immediately my stomach sinks and a dampness take to my eyes.

how many times i have done my hellos and goodbyes i wouldn’t know. i must have lost count so many years ago. and yet in having done this time and time again, my heart does not seem to have found a way to endure this with any more ease.

often the biggest joy i am able to feel is in reunions. when friends apart for years are in my arms and we can share tears of sheer joy, of being in the company of each other again. to catch up, to laugh, to find ourselves connecting and loving each other like we have always done. for those moments i am in a constant period of waiting.

i am permanently always away from someone i desperately love. and just when i think it’s all okay, i’m thrown back into this emotional state. in recent months i found myself blessed to be with those from a very different part of my life. regardless of the roads we took, our connection remained unchanged and it takes seeing people again to realize just how much you’re missing when you’re not with them.

my heart and my head have yet to recover from the brutal separation of time and continents and i find myself having to prepare for two farewells, both of which i espeically dread.

soon, i’ll say another “see you later” to someone who has been my anchor and my compass although i rarely give due credit. how does one capture the nuances of siblinghood? the brutality with which we can hurt each other, and the ease with which we can forgive. the secrets we know and the secrets we share. the experiences which are uniquely both ours. to find myself away from this has become more normal than being in the same place. somehow i find myself more of a child in this case as opposed to growing older and wiser. i am not looking forward to this.

and then, only a week after, i dread to think of what all it will be that i feel. a deep sadness over having to see off someone who has amazed me every single day. it will not be easy to let go of such a beautiful soul–the kind that we’re not willing to believe in anymore as we grow older and more cynical. and yet, someone i dared not piece together in my dreams or imagination has been a very real part of me and my life for the better portion of this year.

knowing you’ll have to say goodbye doesn’t make it any easier or any harder. wanting to avoid the aches and pains doesn’t make it any less real. doesn’t make it any better. the only comfort i know is knowing that for these select few, it’s undoubtedly worth it. for all the tears i know i will cry, i wouldn’t change a thing. not with her, and most certainly not with him. this is what love is.