Author: Lakshmi (page 1 of 274)

A few months ago, a dear friend recounted to me her experience of meeting an elderly female relative. This woman (let’s call her Sunita) was a distant aunt, and my friend had met her a couple of times at family gatherings. My friend had noted that Sunita didn’t speak much but she had a smiling countenance, and she was constantly busy—cooking, serving, attending to everyone’s needs, etc. She had a basic education but she’d never worked a job or had a career. She took care of the home and family, and that was her full-time role.

One day, Sunita visited my friend, and they got chatting. Sunita shared that she’d been diagnosed with some health issues years ago, and the doctors were befuddled. Apparently, surgery was the only recourse, and she wasn’t liking the idea much. On a whim, she began waking up at 4am each morning, and sitting in meditation. No, she didn’t have a technique—all she did was sit in silence for an hour or longer. And she did this, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.

And Life began opening itself up to her. You can take this to mean whatever you like… In her own words, she had some incredible experiences, and she remarked to my friend in Hindi, “You do know that you are God, don’t you?”

My friend was blown. She had been on this so-called spiritual search for years herself—trying to find a purpose to her own life, uncover the true meaning of her existence, and so on. She had been devouring books and lectures and workshops and podcasts, and while many questions were getting answered, new ones were emerging. And here was this woman who had no special language to describe her experience, knew no esoteric terms or terminologies, and yet there was no mistaking her inner clarity and steadiness.

As she said, “I have no more fear, not of death or anything else.” (I am paraphrasing here.)

Now, her health issues improved a little but they didn’t magically disappear overnight. Her life continued as before—cooking, serving, cleaning, managing a home and family. Remember that Buddhist adage? “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

Words create the world. As someone who has felicity with words/content, I have created worlds and imaginary universes, and I have drawn people to them. If words can create the world, surely they can destroy it as well… And yet there are very few words that can effectively end the world as we know it. And there is not a training or a book or a workshop that can tell you how.

I imagine Sunita in the grand play of Life, playing her part flawlessly, never having rehearsed a line or a scene… while I, with all my reading and writing, remain an amateur, albeit hopeful, actor. (No, I don’t feel hopeless at all but entirely hopeful that the Truth of Oneness is, indeed, free and available to all! It’s a gift that arrives in perfect timing, so one simply needs to be happy and continue on with chopping wood and carrying water.)

It’s been a year (nearly) of no writing here. Actually, it’s been over a year of “no writing” anywhere. Not on Facebook where I used to be somewhat a “fearless” writer, penning quick, deep (ha!) insights, encouraged by adoring friends and “fans.” These days, I subsist on funny forwards, sharing them onward, again encouraged by guffawing friends. I have little to say that is profound or “deep,” and if anything feels particularly illuminating, it has little chance of making it to “print” before I rip it all up, metaphorically, of course (I never tear out actual paper), and it’s back to the blank sheet/screen. It isn’t that this time is one of blank incomprehension or dullness or a creative void—it’s just that very little energy seems to be available for self-expression. This is a fallow phase, maybe? For those Jyothisha-inclined, I am going through Ketu Mahadasha, a 7-year-period that is characterized by lack of coherence and material progress, among other things. This passive shadow Gruha is also regarded as “the cutter,” so I am wondering what’s on the chopping block. (Groping for the right phrase, I first thought “what’s on the anvil,” then “what’s on the cutting board!”)

Ahh, well. I have stared blankly at ceilings and fans and walls, peered into the dimming light, waited for the hours to tick by… so I could get to bed, and do it all over again the next day. This is vacancy, this is waiting, this is emptiness. And so it is.

All of this to say that the Rich Vegetarian is going nowhere, AND not going anywhere, instead staying put, right here and right now. (And this is the longest piece of writing in a long time, so thank you, God.)