Path of the Heart
Life is insecurity.
Love which cannot be separate to Life,
is also insecurity.
Only when one is ready to live in insecurity,
only then one is alive,
for
insecurity is freedom.
And no matter which path you walk,
he path of inquiry, of mindfulness,
or of the heart,
freedom is the only door
to That which Is.
Seeking icons of securities, a Jesus, a Krishna, a God,
you create prisons.
Prisons of illusions, of cocoons,
which are very comforting till they last.
But deep down one knows it is a cocoon,
because why else do we keep changing cocoons
n an attempt to find that one which will last permanently?
Typically Love is accompanied by fear.
Will he, won't she?
And if one is into spiritual love,
will I get a response,
an acknowledgement?
And so one chases some form of security to hide that fear.
Security kills Love.
Really if man were immortal, love would be impossible.
Death is there and life is just like a dew drop
on a trembling leaf.
Any moment the breeze will come
and the dew drop will fall and disappear.
Life is just a wavering.
Because of that wavering,
because of that movement,
death is possible,
always there.
And yet that possibility of death
gives the intensity to Love.
Love is possible only because there is death.
The Hindus have a beautiful myth on this...
They say in heaven where Indra rules,
Indra is the king of heaven-there is no love.
There are beautiful girls, more beautiful than any seen on the earth -
real Apsaras and there are deities.
They have sex,
but there is no love because they are immortal.
So it was recorded that Uruvasi, the chief of the heavenly girls
asked permission of Indra to move to earth for a few days to love a man.
"What nonsense!
Who could match my stamina or size" snorted Indra.
Replied Uruvasi "You are beautiful, but immortal.
So there is no charm.
Same thing, in and out, day in, day out.
Really you are dead.
No, I need a man."
The deities are really dead because there is no death to make them alive.
They will always be there.
They cannot be dead so how can they be alive.
Against the background of death, life exists.
Anyway Uruvasi got her way,
as women usually do,
except she had not counted on man's cunningness.
Indra gave his permission but with a caveat.
Uruvasi could go to earth, could love a mortal man,
but she must tell her lover,
never to ask anything about her. I
f he did, instantly she was to return back to heaven.
Uruvasi not knowing Man either the Indra types or the earthly ones,
agreed, came down to earth,
fell in love with a man called Pururva
and explained to Pururva 'Never ask anything about me, who I am.
The moment you ask, I will leave you."
But love, the ordinary type is ever curious,
ever needing to posses.
Not knowing who your lover is,
it is impossible to possess,
impossible to accept.
Pururva could not sleep.
Who was she, so beautiful,
made of dream stuff, doesn't look earthly,
some unknown dimensions.
Bursting to ask, yet also afraid to lose her.
So afraid to lose her,
that Pururva used to sleep holding the hem of Uruvasi's saree
(an Indian dress) in his hand.
One day Pururva thought it's been a long time,
she loves me so much,
every second she shows her love for me,
she will never leave me.
And Pururva asked the question.
And Uruvasi disappeared-
only a fragment of her saree
remained in Pururva's hand.
And it is said that Puruva is still searching for Uruvasi,
holding a piece of her saree.
To define is to possess.
To possess is to try and be secure.
Try to be secure,
you will only have the hem of the saree,
not Love.
Love has a meaning
because Love can be lost.
Then it throbs, vibrates, pulsates with an intensity.
There is no tomorrow for love.
Love can only be in the now.
And that Love to be,
needs the freedom
from even the object of that love.
The object of Love as an object,
as an entity,
as an idea,
as a definition,
as a confinement....
... Love to bloom has to be free from all this.
How does one know whether one's Love
is of those dimensions?
When you are helpless to explain,
to communicate
what, where, how and why you are
what you are.
And helpless to even care whether the "other",
whether the audience,
whether the crowd gathered, understands you, applauds you, condemns you,
when you are helpless, even to care for
such inputs.
Helpless to even care, whether an 'other", the crowd, even notices you.
Watch out for the mind.
Even condemnation, abuse,
is getting noticed
and getting noticed is fuel to the mind
to
perpetuate itself.
Meera's love for Giridhar Gopal (Krishna)
allowed her to laughingly take and drink the cup of poisoned milk,
offered by her enemies
because it was not somebody else offering her that poisoned milk
but her Giridhar Gopal himself.
How can she refuse?
Mansood can laughing see his limbs cut out, one by one,
eyes gouged out,
because he could see that the hand holding the sword was none other than He.
The Path of the heart is simple
and takes the courage of the lions.
