"If we live each present moment meaningfully, the
infinite past and the infinite future will enrich
our lives with a constant flow of the cosmic
life-force. One moment in our lives will become
a manifestation of the Mystic Law, which
includes all time, and in that sense this one
moment in itself becomes eternity, our life-flow
fusing indelibly into the life-flow of the cosmos."

- Daisaku Ikeda

How does one live each moment meaningfully? There is no one answer.

The truth promises to set you free. It does not mean one would like it to. I'm calling you and me out.
Here's the thing, when you are free - there are no more excuses.

Silently, we begin to wish freedom came with a 'T& C's apply'.
Like a "Ah! But, wait a moment" paragraph on the back of a box.

Ironic. Anti-thesis. Paradox.

Freedom does not have terms and conditions. However, it does appear to have rules. Or should I say a 'personal responsibility' clause? I could be wrong here, but then again, this is a sounding board of my own dissection.

There is no one answer, do remember.

So, when presented with the knowledge (and therefore the freedom) to live each moment meaningfully, how do we do about doing this (without freaking %^&* out)?

How do I browse a magazine meaningfully? When I chew, how do I ensure that it seamlessly syncs with the "infinite past and infinite future". Would a reading of a winter recipe or a movie review affect the chords within the life-flow of the cosmos or is it a colossal waste of time?

Perhaps doing nothing (when in doubt, leave it out) is a meaningful way to live each moment?
Most would argue against this. Call it a cop-out even. Possibly true.

Here's a possible answer:

To engage with each moment and do our best.
And that each moment is an opportunity to redetermine and create a fresh start.

Again, this is open to interpretation. My 'best' could mean 'pass muster' to someone else.

I was recently introduced to the alarming but sound posit that our present behaviour creates and determines our future. Causes create effects. Your external reality is a direct reflection of your innersole. Yes, the length and breadth of it.

My every action, by definition, would then set off a series of effects in the time-space continuum.
Okaayy...

So that begs the question - Am I really free?

Yes. 

How so?

Your life is a series of choices. Some were made for you, it seems like it to you. It helps you move forward. But if you trace it all back, they were mathematically calculated by your original self to be carried out for you, until you were ready to take the reins in the realm you considered to make yourself. After that, you're technically in charge of all aspects. 100% responsible for your own happiness. 

Oh, the quiver of counter-arguments and intellectual cacophony...!

The blame game is a self drawn cop out field you drew for yourself - like a self imposed prison. You keep screaming for freedom, but to tell you the truth, you were the one who chose to remain caged. You were always free, free to live meaningfully. 

Fears are learned. So you learned, now unlearn and make your way back.

That's crazy talk! What?!

Well, you asked, so...

So back to living each moment meaningfully. Okay, let's see...:-


Mindfully considering my words and actions - lots of material on this. So, watching the content and monitoring it is a good place to start.

• No more stupid, mindless, numbing conversations to keep up appearances
• No more flippant, glib jokes, thoughts, wordplay to impress, depress or suppress 
• No more shoot from the hip statements, moves, or speeches
• No more idiotic arguments and left of field suppositions
• No more emotional or impulse driven actions
• No wastage of mind space
• No more negative verbage

• Carefully considered responses and deep breaths
• Silence when pushed for reaction
• Kindness instead of harshness
• Compassion instead of Cruel Self Protection 

Tough gig this. But the guarantees are well worth the hard yakka. Apparently. I'll keep you posted.

First Blood

She had propped me on the granite kitchen counter top, I had one leg extended along it's length, the other tucked under me. Butterflies and gremlins danced in my stomach. I watched her dip a table knife repeatedly into a bowl of hot sugary caramel. Checking. Runny. Checking. Runny. Checking. Syrup. Check. 

"It needs to be...so it pulls just right," - she was obviously talking to herself.

 She then turned to me - like Hannibal - and said, "Shall we try?"

Did I have f%$&*ing choice? 

"There is no beauty without pain, mollay…no pain, no gain," she smiled. 

I was 12, I levelled my gaze, to meet her mocking stare dead centre and set my jaw. 

She raised her eyebrow, almost half impressed.

It felt warm. Like warm cocoa. The right kind of warm. It glistened. As she spread the dollop, down my calf - it tugged, ever so slightly, here…there, a small pinch, a firm tug, a mild sting...I was mesmerised.

She had laid out strips of muslin (from a butter biscuit tin…#malayaleeswag) and considered each one like a snob shopping for silk scarves. She then lifted it gently and in a reassuring and almost maternal way patted it on. I'm still under the influence…the soft, rhythmic, warm pats…

I wasn't aware that she was looking at me. Her hooded gaze. 

I don't remember the exact moment she had stopped. 

I was still transfixed, my gaze solidly set on my calf. The caramel under the muslin looked dark. Like a wound - on the delicate tipping point - before it stained and swelled and seeped afresh. It felt like thick basting. 

I inhaled, distractedly…deeply…and my eyes refocused. It was suddenly very quiet. Her hands were by her side, they were right next to my leg. My eyes shot up and met hers again. My mouth parted. 

Sharp intake of breath. Her lips curled into 'Cheshire gone rogue'. Her hands were swift, merciless. 

First blood.

Go Away! And Save Me.

Why is it that when I connect with one the other wrestles away?
What is this curious see-saw connection you both share?

When you're happy, the other's sad.
When you're trigger-happy. The other is glad. Maniacally so.

When you wallow, she flies.
When you whoop with laughter, she dies inside.

If I extend a hand or a call to say hello to you
She cowers away spitting and hissing.

And when you and I fall out over a simple matter,
She rejoices, in ways big and small.

What is this thread that tugs and connects you both?
Can we snap it and free you two?

So I might be free of both of you.

- MA (2012)

No Turns In Sight

I'm not sure where we go from here

It seems as if the turns have passed.

The road now stretches - an endless ribbon

As our sources of conversation run out fast.

I partially turn by head away

As a gear shifts within our minds

I watch bleak and lush lanscapes hurtle past.

There's no more music in this patch of empty

No more whirlwind dervish dance.

We take turns to shut our eyes

And in pity we seek recourse from each other. 

The road stretches out before us. 

No turns in sight. Not one. 

- MA (2012)

Now that the TV's lost it's shine...

Today was an Olympic sit in. We watched as sportsmen and women from across the globe competed for a medal while chowing down on bad Chinese takeout and lolling around on the couch in our night clothes.

At 7:00 p.m. I looked up and realised the day had passed us by. Well, in this case passed me by, because my husband wasn't even aware of anything else but the screen. He's glued to the Badminton Doubles finals - China and Japan are fighting it out - as I sit at my computer listening to the incessent cheers and the 'thunk' of the shuttlecock rallies.

I never thought I'd reach a point where I'd tire of watching TV. We deliberately didn't sign up for good cable and settled with a basic TV package because our TV series and movie lists are handpicked, paid downloads which we diligently watch after work almost everyday.

The unthinkable has happened. I actually walked away from the TV today in favour of another screen. The computer. It's a shinier, prettier and way more advanced from what I've got at work, and toying around with this while surfing my usual sites is almost...

With TV losing its lustre (I'll admit it won't completely fade from my list of interests) I'm now tasked with finding something to pursue. The predominant themes - health and hobby. Have I ever mentioned that I don't have a proper hobby?

I have an on-off relationship with fitness, and while I've tried the usual suspects, the good thing is I've learnt what kind of exercise suits my countenance. It has everything to do with individual fitness - so no group classes or pacing partners for me. Stretches, Pilates, Yoga, Swimming - that sort of thing, y'know?

As for hobby...well, I'm yet to stumble upon something that can hold my all too fleeting attention. I get bored easily, and I'm not sure why. Sometimes, there really isn't any rational explanation for how and why I switch off. I'm still trying to figure it out.

I tried stamp collecting when I was little and I had a decent collection going. In fact, that book is a pretty impressive compendium - it's now stuck at my parents house in a box somewhere. Not of my own accord, my mom has a problem with hoarding and letting childhood memories go. The more physical manifestations of her children's pursuits, the more rabidly possessive she gets. I do not and dare not call rightful dibs.

Maybe that's why I've never wanted to pursue a hobby full time!

Jokes aside though, its that mid-life crisis phase - I'm beginning to think it could be the precipitating factor for my increased awareness of not having something to focus on or be proud of. Anyway, enough of that. I'm already going to kick start health this week, so that's the positive.

Could any one suggest a decent enough hobby for a 30 something woman to pursue? Something I could enjoy without too much investment into hobby sundries. Comments, if any, are most appreciated.

Post Script: This post began a loooong time ago. Like when the 2012 Olympics was headline grabbing news. No, really...! The spirit of the post however, if I may say so, is still timely (it is for me, anyway!), because health is now my hobby, and I've revived my voracious reading.