Sometimes you are the better half, and then you are the whole pie, and then you feel like you are missing THE better half, but the missing is all-sweet, nothing sad or bitter about any of it, and parting/meeting is a bit like waves rushing to the shore, then pulling away. We meet in silence and we meet in celebration, we inch ever so close, even closer… and yet we are universes apart. Love is never complete because there are two halves to the pie. And yet it feels that I am the dreamer who dreamed him up. And he is pure camphor, leaving no traces behind. And it is I who dreamed him up, swallowed him whole, and all his traces are in me alone.
Watching this episode of #blackAF, I was floored by the hip coolness of this family. Everyone is witty and smart (except Dad), and they all look stylish and beautiful, including the three little boys. And I had that whisper of a thought… Ohh, I wish I was cool and hip and gorgeous like that.
I have heard Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar’s commentary on the Patanjali Yoga Sutras many times, and one of the terms he uses to explain Asteya (one of the Yamas) is “non-stealing.” Gurudev isn’t one for long, detailed explanations but you can chew on his words for a while… maybe even years. I wondered, what does “non-stealing” mean? Does it include non-covetousness?
I have a sweet friend who’s blessed with a lovely head of hair. Sometimes I would look at that crowning glory, sighing: I wish I had that hair. Then I started to think, am I “stealing?” A lot has been written about cultural appropriation, and the various ways in which the West has stolen from and profited off indigenous peoples and cultures. I understand the idea but I didn’t connect with the passion behind it. Today, as I watched #blackAF, I started to see things clearer.
As we admire something that belongs to another, it is imperative that we keep a watch within. Do we want that thing for ourselves? Are we happy admiring its beauty from a distance, or do we want to make it our own? When does that love turn into lust, and at what point do we seek to possess it? (And that’s how #blackAF made me better understand Asteya and cultural appropriation.)
I have often heard one of two things about myself. That I am brave, and that I am lucky.
Brave, because I have chosen to defy norms and conventions that society typically sets out for women. Lucky, because I have privilege to defy these norms.
(I think that “lucky” negates “brave,” no?)
The first one (“brave”) makes me feel rather sheepish because I don’t think of myself a brave person. A brave person, I think, is someone who is fully aware of obstacles, and is also fully aware of the fear and anxiety within. Yet they choose to do what they do, or what they cannot but do. I wonder if these brave individuals would ever call themselves “brave.” This willingness (or “I cannot but do this”) to face fear in a seemingly hopeless, choice-less manner is what I call “bravery.” You can ask: If there is no choice involved (“I cannot but do this”), why is this person brave? Exactly. They aren’t calling themselves brave; you are. They are simply doing their thing.
I don’t see myself as brave because I DO NOT see any obstacles, ergo, I feel no fear and/or anxiety. People say I am brave because I chose not to have children. (But I didn’t! I just didn’t choose to have children.) People call me brave for defying the societal notion of women as childbearing individuals. (But I didn’t defy anything! Not a single person tried enforcing any such conventions on me. Not my parents, or my parents-in-law, or any one else.) People call me brave for talking about my experiences with street harassment. (But I don’t feel harassed any more, and I have little to no trauma attached to those incidents any more.) People call me brave for speaking about the time I lost touch with myself, floundering in self-hate and misery for months. (But it’s precisely because I regained love and joy that I spoke about it.)
I remember reading about pioneer LGBTQ activists, and marveling at their courage and resilience. Then I wondered, is there even a choice? We do what we do because we are moved to do so in a way that is specific and unique to us. It isn’t a choice, it is utter choicelessness.
Often times I have felt so wedded (or welded) to the moment that I have felt choiceless too. I cannot but go forth in that direction… whether it leads me to my future husband, or a job that makes me feel utterly shitty about myself, or a relationship that is equal parts exciting and disempowering. We look at the outcome to decide: Was that a good/wise/smart move? Ahhh, we will never know. Or perhaps it simply doesn’t matter.
Yesterday I heard someone say on the radio: I realized that music had a larger purpose.
I went, huh? Why should music serve a larger purpose? Isn’t its very existence THE purpose? How can there be a purpose larger than itself?
The idea of a bigger purpose is so exhausting. I spent a good number of years brooding over my “larger purpose.” And I am none the wiser for all that mental activity. Does a tree think about its larger purpose? I doubt. (Oh, but you aren’t a tree, Ta-Da!) A tree is busy drinking in the light, sprouting forth into leaves and blossom, shedding extra baggage when it needs to, going to sleep. And to us humans, it seems that the tree serves its purpose because it generates oxygen, prevents soil erosion, provides habitats, etc. So, the tree really serves OUR purpose but I seriously doubt if it cares a damn about any of that.
But I am human, so I start to care. Do I have an impact on society? Am I making a difference? Do I have a legacy?
I don’t think I have much of an impact. (I am a loving daughter and sister and wife and friend, and that’s the extent of my impact.) I don’t think I am making a difference. And I don’t have a legacy to pass forward.
If I stopped to think of these questions, I’d have no time to live, end of story.
I am simply living, being, sprouting into leaves and blossom when the Sun rises, going to bed when the Moon appears, flowing into the world, retreating. And perhaps in this business of living, I might have a teeny-weeny impact on your life, on the planet. So be it, Tathaastu.
Life IS its very purpose, its sole raison d’être. A life of truth fulfills its so-called purpose.
