I was composing a blog on my way to work today [yes, the blog begins to write itself this way] -- about how I just can't bear reading swear words just as I wince each time I hear them. All those "four-letter words ", @#%%^& and bleeps on TV. And then I came here, dove into friends' blogs, read Aley's profound profanity blog; began to comment, realized there was a comment and a blog coming; and am trying to write them both, side by side!

[This Gaia muse can sometimes be funnystrange!]

Confession --if I see too many swear words in blogs and posts, I scroll on by. Words are about communication; and when used in this way, they seem to show an impatience, that induces an answering impatience in me. It's not about whether a word is " bad" or "good"; but if it is used impatiently or angrily or carelessly, it is like a blow to me. I realize anew that all those who called me "too sensitive" in childhood were right. I feel it physically.

I was raised in a family where my mom would be completely shocked by us using words "silly" and "stupid"; whereas "mean" was enough to make her want to be swallowed up by the earth [it's a Sita thing]. My father didn't swear either. When I heard a gentle, warm uncle saying 'damn' casually, it was a complete shock to me! It's not that we were without anger or whatever...we'd take the time to use appropriate words to convey what we were really feeling. Wow! That can really produce a tongue-lashing!

I feel nothing can wound as much as a carefully chosen word. Just as nothing can salve a wound as thoroughly. I love those Shakespearean insults, for when you're really angry [can't remember any right now!!!] more than words that could just about convey anything to anyone. They can't get you into trouble, as you are using no"bad" words; but you get the point across. Or so I've been trying to teach any kid who'll listen!!!!!

After I studied psychology and hidden meanings and psychoanalytic analysis and so on; and later, with all that growing and expanding and  healing and whatever; I thought that this is something I'd grow out of; get desensitized to. But somehow I have not been able to shake this off. Words continue to be too ..sacred. And more importantly, what is being conveyed. Which is the crunch. How can I not read what a friend has written? How can I pass it by? But then, is reading a blog meant to be so difficult? Perhaps it is, if the goal is connection.

Come to think of it, swear words are like a Rorschach ink-blot. They could just about mean anything to anybody. Which is why the most they convey clearly, is feeling. In a way, perhaps they are even closer to ascension and enlightenment than these words that attach us to specific meanings; very clear, earth-bound meanings. To understand what you are really meaning in a blog peppered with these words, I am forced to leap into your consciousness.

If so, that is a quagmire I would need a lot of strength and lightness, to cross. Perhaps I'll even be able to listen to that Osho recording on Aley's blog without wincing! Yup, I've talked myself into it.

Almost.

It might change; specially as texts precious to me remind me to have a mind that is unattached to objects. One day, the words will flow by me; and when they do, there will be silence.

Those --- between fk and ct and st. Those spaces that can be filled with ....

Communion.

==========

What's that you say? I offered you chaai tea ? Are you sure? When did I do that? Sorry!!!

Shee-eeet......

[Catch me someone; I just might drown!]

On this occasion of guru purnima, the full moon of the teacher, I would like to start a thread about our spiritual teachers. There are outward teachers and inner teachers,,,and all are linked to the guru.

I would like to honor my outward teachers, while acknowledging that teacher within who has spoken through them all…

So, to start, for this Indian who finds it difficult to pay outer homage by touching feet or bowing down to another as often Indian gurus seemed to want; yet who longed for a spiritual teacher in physical form. They say, when the student is ready, the teacher appears. Perhaps that is because the yearning appears when the teacher is about to appear?

The inner teacher was ever with me, in the gifts of the wildflower, or butterfly…in nature. But I yearned for one manifested as well…


Taveta Grant- an American in Singapore!  She attuned me to Reiki, and many other healing modalities, always showing that inner guidance is to be followed. These traditions therefore came to me in a non-traditional way. We did group meditations, insight classes…and it was for me a glorious two years of intensive spiritual transformation, from one who is now as a sister. Learning from one who lived as I did, in the world and yet not of it; I was able to become a better mother and wife and management consultant and computer-savvy while gaining the gifts of etheric and other dimensions.

Swami Hariharananda - through whom I was initiated into kriya yoga, near Miami. The age-old techniques that teach the way to get physical energy from an inner breath. He heard my unspoken request as he was blessing all the initiates, and gave me an amazing blessing. More on this in another post; or perhaps a blog.

K'sitew - who teaches me the ways of attuning to  receiving and imparting Medicine Reiki; with grounded wisdom, openness and miraculous experience. Those hoops that can transport us into many dimensions; the sacred fire in which all are in ceremony; those amazing journeys where we have all seen each other without ever meeting face to face. I learned to be more in tune with the seasons of the earth; to use prayer ties; which is the Native American way.

From Sanmugan's wonderful pod, I got this ancient wisdom from  Avadhut Gita II :

The Avadhut anwered: “One's own Self is one's chief Guru. By knowledge of Self [in] communion one gets the great bliss.”
The Avadhut did not learn from one particular source, but from many teachers, or gurus. He then mentioned twenty-four of them, including Water, the earth, the wind, space, the moon, the sun, the sea, and the arrow-maker.

Wow–what a Self! the little self is joyful at learning what is to come.

A little miracle was given to me as I was writing this post. When I had written 2/3, there was a huge electricity surge, and the computer rebooted. I smiled, and took it as a sign to go and drink some water which I had been neglecting to do. I knew I might have to type this all again; but had no upset at that. When it rebooted, and I clicked on Firefox, this page opened up..blank. And then in a miraculous way, all the words appeared.

Thank you Firefox, Gaia, gurus and that delightful play of Self /universe!

A little gift : a poem I wrote awhile back:  CONNECTOR AWAITS

[cross-posted from The Power of Light pod]

[alert! This is not for the faint of heart] [yet no #$%^&*(#@!~) words were used in the writing of this blog]


That those who dirty the world are called the masters, and those who clean it, the untouchables...

Those who throw garbage are the rich, and those who recycle it, are the poor

Those who clean themselves and leave a bathroom dirty, are lauded in public, while those who go into a bathroom, clean, and come out having left it clean, are shunned.

Blessings to those who are centered enough in light, that they can take the toxins of the world and come out smelling of roses....

I've been wanting to blog about this; and it is no surprise to me that my sister sent me this article that I just read today:  From clearing excrement to New York modelling

Today is Tuesday, July 08, 2008 says my computer. Computers world-wide follow the American convention I think. [Gaians, please correct me if I'm wrong].

But in schools and offices, we often write the date in short form.

So in America,  today is 07/08/2008 or 7/8/08
In India and England it is 08/07/2008 or 8/7/08
In France it is 2008/08/07 [ or 2008/07/08?]

I work in an immigration office; and one of the first things legal assistants are taught; is that someone from another country who's date of birth is --let's say -- 3/4/1953 is born --not on March 4th but on 3rd April. It can spell all the difference between soemone being accused of fraud; or of being under-or over-age...

How is today's written in your country?

[This blog was started on 07/07/2008 at 11:11 AM. For the sake of clarity and consistency I changed the date to 07/08/2008 and the time to 12:12 AM]

Last week, I decided to tackle the three large bags of clothes my kids have grown out of. I was wondering who I'd give them to; as my housekeeper with the 14 nieces and nephews whom I sent clothes and shoes for, for almost 9 years, has recently left.

As I began to fold them --I've recently discovered a folding-clothes-maniac within myself--  I found that they could be kept in the following piles:

• some never-worn nightwear could move to the younger sibling's wardrobe: I've never worn them, but they're small for me now
  
• some tshirts could move to my wardrobe  "I'm tired of them"
  
• other tshirts were given to the dad : "They're gifts that I never liked."
  
• smaller ones have been kept for my personal trainer's son--he accepted the offer readily
• Some  others were piled with clothes I'm taking for the street kids near my parents; home. They present their demands to my dad--the honorary grandfather who goes and fulfills their every whim; and gets scolded if he forgets how many blankets or whatever were asked for!
  

Nothing need get wasted; and just when I wonder where something needs to go.. the places open up! The universe is very economical. One wardrobe is tidied and made current; and others, in need, get filled.

I enjoyed a task that till now, had seemed a chore. My mind was on the kids, the larger family, the flows of energy, changing of thought processes, the spiritual aspect of every seemingly mundane moment.

..or AN INDIAN BOARDS A EUROPEAN TRAIN...

In the '80s, I traveled often to Europe, visiting family and friends. The experiences were very different from what they'd been on trains in India!

I remember that as each person entered the compartment, they'd greet the ones sitting there by a Guten Tag! or in whatever language they spoke. Then, there would be no further communication, unless they felt that someone needed help with baggage.

I remember the tall stranger with fondness, the one whose arms in a brown wool overcoat are the only thing I saw. We were standing at the top of a long flight of stairs, an island of two sisters in the stream of passengers on either side of us, trying to plan how we could carry three bags down that steep flight of stairs.

A strong arm came by, picked  up a bag, and without a word, carried it down, set it down and walked away, not waiting for our thanks! I was really touched at the silence and selflessness of help to a stranger.

As I was another day when I was first embarrassed to be sitting opposite a couple who was kissing passionately; and then so touched when the man stopped what he was doing [!] the moment I stood up to take my bag down...brought it down as they both smiled at me!

But it was when going on the local trains in Holland, Germany, France, and England, that I realized that each train journey tells you about the place you are traveling in. There is a separate etiquette: make sure you're not staring at the same spot as someone else [England]--O.K. I'm joking; but carefully avoid each other's eyes and talk in muted tones.

In Paris, there are many tourists and students; so it is freer --one can talk loudly if need be!  In Amsterdam, we watched people reading or rolling cigarettes. The atmosphere was silent but not uncomfortable. In Hamburg, too, there was silence. There could also be disapproval if we did something unexpected...But that may just be my youthful lack of understanding of different cultures.

As time has passed, and I now live in a foreign city where I sometimes forget I am not in India--feeling so much at home here; I realize that we do have to adapt to the larger culture of a place; but it can be done with a heart that is as open as the intellect; and when we do, pehaps the rules of etiquette are not so strict after all...

[subheading added July 7th 08]

On train journeys in India, you enter your sleeper compartment, or chair coach, find your allotted berth or seat, plonk half your household that you have packed to take with you on your journey in hold-alls or suitcases or trunks, squeeze that below, between, above, around your said seat or berth, and then settle yourself down.

All this time, everyone else who's already settled has been staring straight at you, whiile chatting with their family on the side, looking at you and not at them. Those who are competing with you to settle down, have been jostling you unashamedly, uncaring of age,  situation or gender. No one will help you; and usually you don't need co-passengers' help, because you've hired a coolie to do that for you.



You sit down and wait impatiently for the train to start. Once you've sat down, you can't understand why the train needs to wait a second more at the station. It's not that you're uncaring of other passengers who're still boarding the train, or of time-tables.

You're waiting to take out the food that you've brought with you. Poori, aloo, bhindi, boondi raita, and achaar. Or perhaps, if you're from the south, idlis and vadas or tamarind rice. Or if you're from Punjab, some aloo da paratha with ghee....you get the drift.  All this time, you stare around you, angry at everyone who's staring back; or perhaps unconcerned.

By the end of the journey, as you get off the train, you're best friends with everyone, have found the seventh times removed mutually known friend/neighbor/relative, have exchanged addresses and may be carrying something for said mutually known friend/neighbor/relative whom you may meet before the newly found train friend. 


The tie-breaker was the food. The moment the first orange is peeled and the first tiffin of food lets out its delectable aromas, it is shared around with the neighbors, and two Indian journeys are on their way....As you pass each station, you're offered "chai, garam chaai --ya!" by little boys serving tea premixed with sugar, milk and spice in little kulhars [earthenware cups that you later break with great glee on the rain tracks out the window ]. When the call is "kaapi! kaapi" served dexterously by men who've been cooling the coffee by forming great rivers of brown liquid between two cups, you know you have reached southern India.

These are memories from youth years [way back when] from when we traveled in general compartments rather than the saloons given to railway officers [another story!] ; but the style of moving from strangers to friends, still moves as easily as the coffee flows from one cup to another.

http://indiastudytrip.com/study_abroad_images/group2train.jpg


Not a drop spills.

Now let's board a train wending its way through Europe....hey, it's almost 7.24 and I do have an offline life, you know! [talking to self in mirror]...this'll have to wait for tomorrow. [link provided on July 6th for my blog]


[Inspired by our discussions on the Gaia Networking group, where we've been talking about poiteness, respect, manners, cultural differences , sensitivity and so on in off-line and online conversations.]
6th July--Just to clarify for some friends who thought this is a trip I'm on right now; it's a trip yes--down memory lane. Memories of the 1970s-1980s!!

I was doing the laundry and told a friend who called: "I'm washing clothes right now"--stretching the words a little.

While I'm sorting clothes in hampers and placing them in the washing machine, much to the dismay of family and friends in India who have help for this sort of chore, this is how thousands of women in India actually wash clothes:


Woman washing her saree at the River Ganga in Varanasi- courtesy Jarek Durbas

While I measure the environmentally friendly detergent that will remove the stains from the clothes, this is how others are getting that dirt out:


washing clothes in the stream that runs through Changspa.-gloria williams


"This woman sat completely still, only her armes were moving."- Richard van Haaren


And while I'm placing them in the drier to dry,



At Hardwar - Ricardo Lopes

And while I'm smoothing out and folding clothes, and keeping some aside for ironing, I think that when I visit my parents in India later this month, I'll be giving them to the dhobi to "press".


He was doing a great job with his ancient coal powered iron! Jody Lee Hankey

Yup, we all work as we can; and in the end, whether it's a machine or a human, the myth of the labor saving device lives on... humans stay busy.

And isn't that great? After seeing what happens if humans had robots waiting on them hand and foot, feeding, entertaining, nurturing, making up, dressing and thinking for them [think "Wall-E" the movie] wow, am I glad that one way or the other, we still have to move our limbs .

Lucky for you, I couldn't find pics of those humans...you'll have to see the movie.


Well this is what happens when I do laundry. The mind can move anywhere it will. Right, Mikey_Dee of the monkey mind fame?


[Pictures copyright Trekearth.com]

That  the only should about food and eating is that each person should eat what they want when they want.
That we should develop more body awareness so that we can eat for the body's good health.

I love seeing how different people from all around the world, speak to each other in our versions of English.

And now,Mikey_Dee has started a Multilingual Group on Gaia, and I'm loving the addition of boards showing different languages on Gaia. I've suggested a HIndi board; and also one that can allow us to talk about being multilingual and how it shows us something about different cultures.

When I first came to this bilingual city of Miami, in the U.S.,  I was gleefully told by the other bankers' wives that I could get by without knowing English; but  not without knowing Spanish.

One year, and community college classes at Barnes & Noble later, I can now add Spanish to the smattering of other languages I have picked up from having a sister and friends in France; relatives in Germany and being brought up in India where the education was in English --both at home and at school, while HIndi was a part of daily life and communication--except when I was in Bangalore in South India, where I couldn't understand enough Kannada to get by, but most people speak English.

Surprisingly, in Singapore, I couldn't find any classes to learn Mandarin, but on reaching Miami, my daughter had a term in that language, so we have added a few words to our repertoire.

So, when I say  'thank you' to my children, I would usually go this way:
Thank you, Dhanyavaad, Shukriya, Dankeschön! , Merci, Gracias, [though when my Cuban colleagues say it, it sounds like Gracia] , xièxiè [sie-sie]

I also discovered that Spanish is spoken in many different ways, but am glad I can understand enough to not be lost in Miami! And also to understand when my friend from Ecuador forgets that I am not Ecuadoran and lapses into Spanish with me without realizing! [ As did Nicole in France into français  and Manfred, visiting the Taj Mahal with us from Germany into Deutsch. And as a colleague here sometimes teaches me Yiddish phrases.  ]  That makes me feel so lovely--a measure of how close we have become in the 9 years that we've raised children together.

For above all those languages is the communication of community, what the Tower of Babel originally showed. And with relatives and friends who live in many corners of the world...as I had once blogged about [All my Relations ] and shared on the Global Peace Pod--that is alive and well and kicking in both my off-line and  on-line lives.

So I have great hopes for Mike's Multi-lingual pod; let's see where it takes us.