How Selfish Can You Be!

 

Taking off from my embroidered work on the word ‘Liar’ – the mental stain that emerges on being called a Liar, or is left in the mind when judging someone a Liar - 

Liar,Liar,Liar..... http://gopikanathstitchjournal.blogspot.in/2014/04/liar-liar-liar.html  I have moved onto working with ‘SELFISH’.

I first wrote the letters on paper in a cursive hand, going over and over them, creating a kind of stain. I then drew this mark on a piece of cross-stitch matte.  For some reason, this time I have worked only with cross-stitch.  And, so far, without the muslin which I had earlier torn, burned or shred to express the way I felt.

The writing and over-writing on the word, created a kind of blob.

This then led me to draw the letters which extend above the base line - as loops – such as  the loop of the ‘S’, the ‘l’ and the ‘h’,  in a cursive hand. While outlining this, I started seeing, in my mind’s eye, capital letters rising from behind the cursive hand.  I found that I could only fit in S E L F. Now this gave me food for thought – and I started thinking on the lines of ‘SELF’ as emerging from being selfish.

Cross stitch is a laborious process and very meditative in itself. But, at this point I was rather restive and didn’t quite relish the intense routine of the stitch, which created more contemplation on the inner being than expression of the fraught mind. But, gradually as I worked, I calmed down. Naturally ha! 

 

Many years ago an astrologer advised me that I learn to be more selfish. I found it totally weird but over the years, have often pondered on the idea of being selfish. Conventionally, selfish is not considered a desirable trait, so why was this guy telling me to learn how to be more selfish and basically what did it entail?

I found it very curious the way ‘SELFISH’ was evolving through my embroidery and the meaning that was emerging from this creative representation of the word. It lent an entirely different perspective to:  How selfish can you be!!  - A term, mostly used with derision.

 

 I recollect one of my boarding school reports, where the nuns had noted that I was self-centred and how my mother had chided me for this. Possibly, in her scheme of things, being self-centred meant that I did what I felt in my heart. And this I know, didn’t always meet with her approval.

I was not an overtly rebellious child but driven by ‘feeling’ more than thinking things through, until such a point I felt this had alienated my mother’s love.  She couldn’t understand or discipline me in the way she did my other siblings. Later, ‘doing’ things in a way that catered to a perceived need, to gain her approval, met with disastrous consequences - alienating me from myself.

In this condition, to consider being selfish and doing things that suited me, without caring for the approval of others, perplexed me no end. But through a great deal of self-examining which started about two decades ago, I began to see that there were two kinds of selfishness.

One was being self-centred - rooted in one’s being, listening to the inner guidance. Doing what was needed to do to fulfil one’s life’s purpose – identify it and live. Not through someone else’s dictates or what was perceived as their need - often manipulated by guilt, but through that inner vision that comes forth when one is silent enough to look within and feel. This doesn’t mean a disregard for others in your life and insensitivity towards their feelings or disrespect for them. It just means a healthy respect for you. This state of being will always accommodate those who matter. It means finding that ideal balance between their needs and your own- straddling the most complex of all the paradoxes of life.

The other kind of selfish, is where we are driven by the ego, that i-ness where indignation of the mind comes into play and everything is driven by the way we think that things must be. This other kind of selfishness is what we are usually derisive of. Here people become self-absorbed in a dense and secretive way. They can be insensitive and act almost unconscious of their heart-speak. By extension, they have little respect for others, often without even realising it.

In this state of being, one is running away from that mirror of self, chasing things or ideas regardless of whom or what comes under the callous wheels of this carriage – just to get as far away as possible from that sense of wretchedness that comes from being unable to resolve the inner conflict of mind and spirit or subconscious mind and conscious mind or any other conflict that may be taking place within the human being.

So, when I started looking at the discomfort that I felt in being called selfish and then contrarily also being advised to be more selfish – learn to be so, I felt considerable conflict in my being. At one level it was about being rooted – silent and peaceful with one’s being, working from that heart centre that would guide in mysterious ways towards whatever was right for me. Or, there was the selfishness a lot of us have encountered - where people have no time to listen, focussing upon their own pain, recounting woes and living in a constant state of victimization. I thought I was participating in the former, but was accused of the latter and I couldn’t ever feel at peace because how did one really resolve this issue?         

Through my contemplation on the word, as I embroidered, I was beginning to see that being selfish – no matter which way you look at it, actually roots you in yourself. This, I realised couldn’t be presented through the shredded or pulled fabric – which evokes a fragmented state of being, so I decided to go with the intuitive nudge and work with just the cross-stitch.

I started realising that the word itself is not the problem, it is the association attached to it which creates one. When someone says you are selfish or self-centred, the connotation is a negative one. It deems that you are unwilling to help others when they need. But, truth is that giving to the extent that others often seem to need, especially when they are not rooted in themselves, and therefore in their actual need, can be tough, because it will never be enough.

 Continuing my work on the blob or stain –I outlined the cursive-hand marks in a neutral colour, but, one that had tinges of the colour of a ‘tea stain’ - reflective of a mark or stain in the mind. Then I outlined S E L F [there was no space to include ISH] with a soft pink – the colour of rose quartz, also in some schools of thought, representative of the colour of the heart chakra.  This I suppose could indicate love - in embracing the self. All of this was emerging through that intuitive feeling. I was after all in unchartered territory so that was the only direction I could rely upon.

And then I thought I would have the rising letters of S E L F embroidered in this soft pink hue, but as it rose higher, it would merge with the colour of the fabric.  It would go from soft pink into a kind of off-white – suggesting the emotional and spiritual process of how we rise into the higher self, through selfish beings rooted in the ego self and all that came with it – the stains, the shame, the pain et al.

Gradually as the stains of experience are cleansed through knowing and understanding, the pure self - that spirit of divinity within, emerges and merges with the ether or nothingness - as it is also called. Therefore the colour surrounding the ‘word-stain’ is off-white, reflective of this nothingness.

I don’t know what this piece will end up looking like, and how I will bring in the muslin that I have used with the others, which I probably will because it looks kind of naked without it and very stark too.  But, in this language of fabric, thread, colour and stitch, I was able to find an objective distance.

 I realised that the path of self realisation is through the darkness – the ignorance, the emotion and judgements of the world. And gradually, as one does deal with these experiences and our emotions and attachments thereof, going deeper into the stains, some kind of neutrality emerges – without that harsh, critical and defensive judgement of self and others.

            

Examining the ‘blob’ or ‘word-stain’ through the embroidery process, has enabled me to redefine the meaning of the word, where being selfish - either with or without the ego is really all about a process, and that it cannot be forced upon one. We all begin our journey without knowing much and it is experience and sometimes our own hostile survival instincts that eventually teach us different ways of living.

As the capital S E L F stands erect, high above the muddy, stain-coloured letters below, they stand straight, as if exuding dignity, holding their heads high almost as though the issue is resolved. They seem to say that there is now, no need for shame. It is all part of life, where being selfish will eventually lead you to being self-centred – tuned into your inner being where only SELF matters......or nothing does.

And Wish That I Did Not Feel

 “This well is far too deep, deep and black, a watery void.

These dark grey ageing stones are holding onto the surface with bitter ambition, old and darkening, adorned with olive-green mosses. This well was built by my hands, each stone laid down under a waxing moon. I am fated to drown
                                                              beneath its brown shameful waters, waters that flow so deep they touch the very Past, Present, and Future.

I will sink ever further through stagnant tides with my lungs overflowing and my eyes blind, sinking past the places beyond the light of the living world.

I will touch the solid core of the Earth with cold lifeless hands and wish that I did not feel.”

Still Waters [a poem]
Reproduced with the kind permission of Jade Kennedy
www.jadekennedywriter.blogspot.co.uk

The last line of this poem grips me, and knots me up in a bundle of complex emotions which is what the whole idea of ‘feeling’ does to me – of being alive to sensations of pain, of not understanding something and feeling overwhelmed by things – by life as it unfolds.

Why do we feel? Why can't I just be there for someone regardless of my needs and feelings – of unresolved pain, from things in the past, between us? Why must there always be this kashish – this pull, this tension between people and in almost every aspect of living? Why do feelings always seem to get in the way? 

The other day I picked up a piece of six-ply floss that I had earlier removed a two-ply strand, but carelessly left the rest without straightening it out, [as I usually do] thinking that I would be using it soon. But, typically, something had come up and my embroidery and tools hurriedly bundled away. When I came to use it a day or so later, the bunched up strands, of what had been perfectly straight threads, had become knotted.

Just like those unresolved thoughts that one didn’t quite get around to dealing with, because something else came up.

It took time to open the entangled threads and the funny part is that it wasn’t really a knot, but appeared to be one because the threads had become twisted. I pulled a little here, and tugged at the thread a little in the opposite direction. I inserted a needle and made space in the knot so that I could pull the threads out. It took quite a bit of patience and I could feel this irritation welling up inside me. It was my own fault. I had left things carelessly and had no choice but to deal with it, just as the poem says:

“This well was built by my hands, each stone laid down under a waxing moon. I am fated to drown
                                                              beneath its brown shameful waters, waters that flow so deep they touch the very Past, Present, and Future.”

 

 In its own time – of tackling those uncomfortable twists and turns, the floss was unravelled as if the knot had never been there.  I am always amazed at how this happens. Experience has taught me that I don’t need to cut the thread and throw away almost half the strand but that I can unravel it. And when the knot opens it is such a lovely surprise, always.

It’s almost as if the knot was never quite the struggle it seemed and its funny, but I often get the same sense when there is contention in my mind and I sit and ruminate or fume in isolation but, when I meet the person or people who have been catalysts for creating this, I get this really strange feeling that none of that was ever an issue. And yet, I know it had been sitting there like a leaden weight – a knot, somewhere in my being.

However, it did take time and a lot of patience to unravel the threads, much like those complex issues that keep running through the mind, which if left too long, seem to get into a twist.

In this instance, I took the time needed to open out the entangled thread but, when I need space to deal with the stuff that experience throws my way, I lament at why it needs so much time and I can hear my own voice judging me, as selfish!..... and more such epithets.

Yes, I know it's a conditioned reflex that leans on those voices that taught me to how walk and write and more - that it's a voice of judgement that denies or rejects a need in me in order fulfil that of another, but it's a tough call - this tension within, the conflict between what's right by me and to do right by others that often torments me and I throw up my hands in despair saying why, why do I have to feel!

I wish I didn’t feel so much, when every incident didn’t affect me in so many ways – get me into a twist. It isn’t just a sense of pain that one may feel when life tests you, but also feelings of being alive in the world, alive and awakened to the external stimulus of the world, of people and places  - the pain and pangs of being and also the beauty of nature around me, all of that makes me feel. And sometimes, when there isn’t time to savour a pleasant experience that too can be a problematic feeling.

These things need to be put into perspective. What is the world revealing to me? What is the message from the universe? What did the fallen leaf say? Why did those words, that incident topple my emotional balance? Does the spate of raging summer storms reflect the storms brewing within me? Is there any other way in which I could have handled a particular conversation and changed the outcome of things? 

These are countless questions that I keep asking myself each day, as I pause by the window, as I stand up to stretch my limbs after hours of working, shoulders hunched, on my embroidered pieces or typing on the computer. Or as I brush my hair and go about doing other such mundane functions of living.

At one level life is beautiful because one can feel. I cannot imagine looking at the radiant sunsets, especially in the monsoon season and wishing I didn’t feel. The sense of joy that surges through me when I see those transient colourscapes in the sky, is something that I wouldn’t give up at any cost. But the irony is that life is a paradox and feelings don’t always convey such exultation in being.  Those feelings that drag us down – taking us, reluctantly, deeper into ourselves - into that unseen core our beings, where it seems as if we are alone, at the mercy of “cold life-less hands” that do not have the capacity to hug and hold and provide comfort in being, but dispassionately compel us face ourselves, are the ones that most of us would rather avoid feeling.

 That sense of pain, of rejection, of not quite getting what we wanted in the way that we did - when we feel challenged by the world around us, is what takes us into those dark unknown crevices of our being where we would otherwise not have tread, where the poet says:  “I will sink ever further through stagnant tides with my lungs overflowing and my eyes blind, sinking past the places beyond the light of the living world.”

And paradoxically, it is in those dark, hitherto unknown crevices that lay the secrets to release us from these very moments of darkness that we resist. Secrets that life will reveal, only if we allow ourselves to feel - even as the poet proclaims:  “I will touch the solid core of the Earth with cold lifeless hands and wish that I did not feel.”

When I read this poem by Jade Kennedy, an English poet who lives in Kingston on Hull, [whom I met on a Google+ community] I felt a stab in my gut – of recognition of something I’d felt too, but hadn’t been able to put into words, at least not quite so poetically,

 I empathized with the poet and echoed her sentiments. This poem gave me solace in knowing that someone else felt the same way, which counts for a lot in my book. It  made me realise that the poet in allowing herself to feel the full intensity of being in that given situation which echoed something I too was familiar with, had been able to articulate what many others like me may well feel, but are unable to express  - put into words and find this kind of clarity. But reading the poem lent that clarity and with it a sense of relief too.

It is in sharing that we lend a bit of ourselves to others so that they may find something of themselves in that. And it is only in finding these fragments that we do in effect, experience some sense of wholeness. In a world where the essential spirit of our being is separated by form and identities that question each other, what other way can there be to experience this?

It made me think - If as a creative person, I could enable people around me to find a piece of themselves, this alters my perspective on being an artist and writer. It allows me to feel less selfish and self-indulgent, for needing the time and space to put my life into perspective – deal with my feelings.

 Even as I continue my lament alongside the poet when she says:

“I will touch the solid core of the Earth with cold lifeless hands and wish that I did not feel.”

Liar, Liar, Liar.....

Through my explorations of things that create marks in the mind -  those thoughts that disturb my energy levels and lower their frequency, I realised it was not just places where I judged myself that this arose, but when I judged other people I also felt a similar discomfort in my being. In ripping them apart for something, in effect, also seemed to rip apart the equanimity of my own mind.

I started looking at those words and ideas that caused these reactions - of lowering energy levels. As part of the exercise I put out a question on Facebook with a list of words that I had thought of and asked people on my friend list to add to them. Using some the words and ideas that they shared with me, I started writing these words, seeing what would happen to the word-mark if I kept repeating the written word.

I was trying to recreate the stains created while drinking tea, where it had been my carelessness in pouring tea into the cup.  Sometimes it was because of the greedy gulps I could not quite manage to mouth, while drinking from the cup that also created the stains on my saucer. In an earlier exercise I had left a four-piece- layered muslin on the saucer to absorb the stains. At first I thought I would use this fabric itself, but the marks faded with washing and therefore I had to find another way to create these marks.

So, going round and around the contours of the identified words in Hindi or English I found similar blobs could be created. I also combined a few words like fat slob or stupid bitch and even tried repeating them. If you didn’t know which words had been used – they actually looked a lot like the tea stains I had observed in my saucer. 

My hand writing is small and I wanted to enlarge the word-drawings. So, I went down to the newly opened photo-copy shop housed in our building complex.  Nitin runs the shop and he was curious about what I was doing, so I shared the idea. The next day, when I went back with some more drawings and asked him to enlarge them still further, he asked me if my rendition of ‘Liar’ intentionally had two faces.

I had pencilled in the word next to the drawing so that I knew which word I was working with and he had read that. It was an interesting interpretation which intrigued me because I had not quite come to that point of identifying the association a viewer might give these word-stains.  Therefore, I decided to begin the embroidery work with this word-stain/blob.

I don’t know if the ‘liar’ I had drawn could really be interpreted as having two faces, but it does sort of look like what could be double-speak, which is in effect what liars do. I also think that when we do something that is not really in concurrence with the truth, whether we realise it or not, some mechanism inside us does nag. When people shut themselves off from this voice and if confronted, they tend to appear arrogant. I also discovered that in judging someone, something similar goes on inside of my mind too.

One evening at the start of the swimming season I had finished my swim and was sitting by the pool drinking some [mineral] water.  As I savoured the spirit of hope in an early April evening with the fresh green of new leaves reflected in the pool blue, one of my neighbours came down with her daughter. I sat there sipping from a plastic glass wondering why this woman had not responded to my message inviting her and her child to come see the performance  my art class was putting up in the coming week. She had to pass me to get to the pool but had walked by without acknowledging me. She later did look in my direction a couple of times, but in refusing to make eye contact it seemed that she didn’t see me. I was directly in the line of her gaze so that too was strange. I couldn’t give her the benefit of doubt that I was invisible because with my height and frame I am impossible to miss, especially since there was no-one else at the pool at that time. 

I could have walked away, but I thought I had invited her, so maybe I should remind her of my invitation and reiterate it. I walked up to her and said hello and was asking if she had received my message but before I could finish my sentence she said rather abruptly, dismissively and a tad too rapidly, “sorry, I have been too busy to respond to your message”. She used the word sorry without a hint of anything remotely resembling the humility of an apology, it smacked of arrogance instead – implying that she was too busy to respond to invitations from a neighbour or anyone whom she, at that point in her life, deemed irrelevant to her. And clearly I was in that category – a nuisance rather than an asset.

This idea has always bothered me. I often wonder why is it that I never seem to have the capacity to deem anyone irrelevant enough to ignore them or their invitations, especially when they are known to me and there has been no contention between us, or the capacity for it. Is it because I am not busy enough? Sometimes I do forget things, but during meditation or Reiki things just pop up and this luxury, if one can ever think of it as such, does not exist for me. Once prompted, I do the needful.

Her dismissal of me and my invitation didn’t end there, and I wished that I had not taken that step to talk to her because her attitude was offensive and it left me disturbed. However, I wondered, did it bother her at all?

Did her double-speak which came forward as arrogance rather than a genuine apology, create the kind of blob in her being that my drawings had? When she was speaking to me in that defensive way, clearly implying that she was not really telling me the full truth and that behind that facade of being too busy to respond, something else that had been creating the need to make it seem as though I was irrelevant- did that ring out ‘Liar,Liar, Liar!’ in her mind? I wondered.....

Dealing with what I felt, at the receiving end of this attitude, which at some level, dealt with not telling the full truth. This person was not being able to say whatever else had been festering and that resulted in this strange and unexpected attitude - and in that sense dealing with an untruth, I felt disturbed. I knew that it had less to do with me and more to do with the person and her own mind, but I realised that the energy levels do get passed on and when we know that someone is lying or not telling the full truth the fabric of our own mind begins to get fraught – at least mine does!

I can’t just shrug it off. Eventually I do, but I first need to allow the feeling to speak to me. In observing what went going on, I realised that it tears at the fabric of mind. It shreds it and pulls it in different directions because I’m trying to figure out, where did this come from and why? Have I unwittingly done something to upset this person and what could that be? Since we are not exactly friends and nor do we have much to do with each other and  are barely passing acquaintances who have lived in the same complex for about 4-5 years. We meet at the park or the pool and other common areas and events – and that too occasionally, so what could it be?

 I could feel the fabric being pulled here and there – the sentiment and grace of reiterating the invitation, was being shred in my own mind. Why did I have to do that? Should I have walked away and let it ride? In effect, I could tell that she was avoiding me and perhaps it had to do with the fact that a workshop was in the offing and there was a charge and it embarrassed her – to say that she did not want her child to participate or something on those lines? But whatever it was, it was better to know, rather than let it ride and create a sense of awkwardness in my mind. I prefer not to do that – at least not now at any rate, though I have to confess, I have been guilty of avoiding asking such questions earlier on in my life.

And through this drawing of the threads of thought - on one side and then another and sometimes ripping the whole fabric of mind apart, I could hear ‘Liar’ ring out. It was my judgement of her. I had decided that she was not telling me the whole truth and that was why there was defensiveness in her attitude that echoed arrogance rather than a graceful regret at not being able to attend.

This incident and my feelings about it reminded me of the embroideries that I had been working on where’ Liar’ was the ‘word-stain’ I had been dealing with. I had used the ‘word-stain’ or blob that the word created – inserting this between layers of muslin. After seeing what the marks did when over-laid with fabric that had been pulled apart, I wrote ‘Liar’ in long hand with needle and thread. I was working more from a sense of feeling rather than any conscious realization of things. But, when I picked up the embroidered pieces later that evening, I saw that intuitively I had actually created a texture, evoking the same kind of feelings I had experienced, in relation to this incident by the pool.


And imagined it must be what gets created in all minds - knowingly or unknowingly.  When the judgement is repeated, thinking it would form a rigid pattern – a kind of defence mechanism that actually adopts the idea inadvertently through the process of denial, I have worked it in cross-stitch. I used the letters ‘LIARLIARLIAR’ to create a pattern of sorts.

When you are faced with something similar.... innocuous perhaps..... but then perhaps not - would you say that the marks left in your mind are akin to these thread renditions?

Can We Celebrate The Stains of Being........?

In all the years that I have lived, from when I started becoming aware of and trying to understand life – the last thirty years or thereabouts, I have realised that life is not about getting anywhere. There is no destination; there is nowhere that one needs to get to. It is about the journey and that journey is a rich tapestry woven through the way that we experience people, places and things and as such a tapestry of our emotions.

For me the sense of joy is a great feeling but, the things that have kept me more than fully occupied are those uncomfortable feelings - when someone has angered me and when I have felt insecure or upset. These feelings have been the ones that have taken me deeper and deeper into myself, compelling questions that have been impossible to answer. And, in a bid to understand and share my dilemmas and wanting to know how others around me experience life, has arisen the need for creative expression.

Stains, for me, were some of those thoughts and feelings that did not allow me to share freely. And in exploring the idea of stains for the last 4-5 years now, in various ways, I have realised - and it seems really silly when I say it as simply as this because in just saying it so, the profundity of the realization is diminished. But the truth is that for years, feeling uncomfortable and carrying around this burden and with it anger and resentment and more, wanting to find that pristine space where I felt good about being, I began realising that the stains of being were inevitable.

I have started looking at these as the marks of experience that are proof of having lived. And the larger the gamut of emotions, the more full one’s life has been. They were the marks of winning and losing and of falling and failing.

And the other day, just thinking about the stains in my tea-cup which had encouraged this exploration, I suddenly had a thought:  when I look at the saucer with the spilled tea and the cup with the dregs inside it, I am fascinated by the marks but when I look at my life, there are regrets, there is a sense of loss and also a need to erase some experiences from my mind - I want to be rid of them and there is a sense of shame for experiencing those uncomfortable feelings. 

The saint-poets advocate non-judgement. The new age teachers suggest controlling the mind by putting an impenetrable shield around yourself of happy memories, gratitude and acceptance. All of this, at some level, seems to suggest that one should endeavour to shut out the experiences and their emotions so that we can live at a level of such power to create our lives consciously - to be what we want it to be. While the idea intrigues and tempts, it also bothers me.
 

Don’t get me wrong. I am a great learner of all of this and feast on this kind of literature - fascinated with the power of the mind that one can harness with the wealth of techniques out there. But as an artist and writer, I feel that there is such richness in our human feelings and wonder, what would the world really be like without the arts – the poetry of love and longing, of separation. And, what about those films depicting terror and violence - of battles men have fought since time immemorial? What would we do without these and other reminders of what people in ages before us have thought, felt and experienced – the solace of it all - the inspiration and more that emerges from knowing what life has been and can be?

 If you really think about it, then trying to work upon things - this whole concept of control and re-programming of the subconscious mind, would make us all into sages.  And what a monotonous, self-righteous world that would be!  I don’t disagree entirely with the concept and do a lot of this work myself, daily. But as an artist, I revel in the colour of emotions. And difficult as some of them are, they are what I have as proof of the extent I have lived. They mark my experience, my foot-falls towards that pinnacle of self –realization.
 

Much like watching one’s thoughts through the process of meditation, the creative process is also such a mirror. It reveals the inner reflections and feeling and thoughts. Which then also makes this a way towards achieving the same goal  - of finding the capacity to see and understand what the mind is computing and desiring, to  create our lives with greater consciousness.

For me this is a rich and sensual process that embodies words and images. And ironically, greater connectivity with the spirit/soul has led me to find greater acceptance of this as the way that I choose to watch my thoughts and feelings – through expression, rather than control. Transcending those that create emotional blocks by experiencing them fully. This in effect, leads to transformation through the very process of expressing. But, having also learned many of  the techniques advocated by spiritual masters, I find myself doing so with greater awareness.
 

My embroideries and my writings, become a tapestry of threads that I have chosen not as a tool to narrate,  but to live my life through. And with this understanding, the stains have taken on an altogether different meaning.

They may well be the means by which I grieve but, in giving them another life  through these embroideries - expressing and sharing, it seems that we can celebrate the stains of being........

For they also represent experiences, which when distilled, that give us the wisdom to live each day.... happier and more fulfilled....

The Significance of Stains

Are you not ashamed of yourself? you should be!

As a young girl studying in a convent school, one was often chided with this idea and as with much else that one is exposed to as a child,  this kind of thinking becomes embedded in the subconscious and judging one-self based in this way affects the psyche till such point as it drags you down. When, as Kabir says, the fabric of our being becomes so marked that, the inner guidance, which I refer to as the poet, or inner voice, cannot kindle that passion for living because the garb or fabric of being,  is dampened with stains of shame.

गुरू बिचारा क्या करे सबद न लागे अंग ।

कहे कबीर मैली गजी कैसे जागे रंग ।।

                                                                             - Kabir

                    Guru bechaara kya kari sabad na laage ang

                        Kahe Kabir maili gajji kaise jaage rang

          If the poet's words don't  
          arouse your passion.
          She is not to blame.
          It's fire cannot be kindled
          if your garb is dampened
          with stains of shame. 

For years I have been working with the idea of stains. I have studied the stains or marks in my tea-cup which led me to explore the idea of stains in the mind - those things which mark us in our own perceptions is what I call stains. The stuff that does not make us feel good about ourselves, diminishing our self esteem and therefore extends to reflect those thoughts of guilt, embarrassment and pain and at some level also blame where there is anger and resentment for someone’s behaviour, which affects our sense of self.

I also found that textile-saint-poets Kabir, Namdev [Maharasthra] and Dariya Sahib of Bihar also referred to the stains or ‘daag’ in the mind which must be cleansed to find passion in life and the New Age philosopher Wayne Dyer also says that “Happiness is not something you get in life. Happiness is something that you bring to life.” This pretty much says the same thing to me, which implies that in order to feel happy and bring that happiness to life, one’s sense of self has to be uplifted, which infers that it has been diminished and in this sense, the significance of these ‘stains’ in reducing our sense of self becomes huge.

After years of photographing the marks in my tea cup or saucer, I wanted to study them, make them as I found them but this was a tall order. I don’t really like the finished effect of a drawing on paper, there is something about fabric that brings things to life for me in a way that paper and canvas cannot. And while I could have used soft pastels to get a good likeness of the marks that fascinated me, like I said, paper was not the medium I was inclined to work with, so this got shelved and then another year later, which is today, I suddenly came up with the idea of using some fabric on the saucer, beneath my tea-cup to let it absorb the marks that would otherwise mark the saucer. And this exercise was revealing.

First and foremost, it showed me that the stains came, in the first place, because I poured the tea into the cup rather carelessly. I used four layers of muslin cut in approximately four inch squares, loosely tacked together. And while the top fabric seemed to be faithful to the liquid tea as it dropped onto the saucer-covered-fabric, in the lower layers, this spread as if to say that unless you clean up the mess made with your carelessness, the stain gets bigger and bigger with age, with the various skins that one develops through life. Ultimately this blotch becomes unrecognizable and then also more difficult to resolve.

I am not sure how I am going to develop these marks but I am certainly not done with my exploration. Held up to the light, each layer reveals its own outline of the mark that is growing, like a feint outline. The photos I have taken do not do justice to what I can see with the naked eye and neither do I think that as the mark dries that it will remain as strong. So one thing that does come to mind is that I want to trace these lines with thread, to let them show through the fabric layers to bring out the point – a very significant point, I think, that if you don’t clean up the mess or deal with things as they crop up, then the stain gets larger and larger, impinging needlessly on your sense of self.

I know it is tedious to be so particular about putting things into perspective and sometimes I feel very hemmed in by a habit that I have formed in trying to do this.  Actually, I have to because otherwise I find blocks in the channels of connectivity to the source of energy that makes life sublime, effortless and magical. And while I can see there is a contradiction here because it does require effort to achieve this kind of connectivity, I have to confess, it’s better than feeling stressed and unable to figure out what is going on....or why something is occurring when it was not what your intent was to achieve.....etc.....etc.... I think you get my drift....

And as Dariya Sahib Saint of Bihar says:

                रे मन सुिमरि ले सतनाम के िफरि औसर टरी।
                काया कागज हाथ हरि जनि जासि अवघट मरी।।
                समुझि लीजे चरन सतगुर काटु जम के सरी।            
                निहकलंक तन निरबान पद भौ प्रेम बाती बरी।।
                ब्रह्म जागेव भर्म भागेव कर्म काटवे करी।           
                अमी सरवर पिवन लागा मिला निरमल जरी ।।
                तप्त तन के त्रिमिर छुटेव फूटि जम जुथ डरी।
                दरस से प्रतिपाल कीन्हो सकि्त पाएन परी।
                गुप्त मंतर जंतर कीन्हो ज्ञान गुंगा गरी।               
                त्रखा बुताने प्रेम रस बसि रहत गागरि भरी।।
                दनि के दुख तुरंत मेटेव कष्ट कागज फरी।
                कहें दरिया दाया सिर पर क्रपा करि जन तरि।।

                re mn sumire le satnaam ke phiri ausar tari
                kaaya kaagaz haath jani jaasi avghat mari           
                sumijhe leeje charn satguru kaatu jum ke sari
                nihaklank tan nirbaan pd bhau prem baati bari
               brahm jaagev bharam bhaagev karm kaatev kari
               ami  sarvar pivan laagaa milaa nirmal jari
               tapt tan ke trimir chutev phooti jum juth dari
               daras se pratipaal kinho sakit paayan pari
              gupt mantar jantar kinho gyaan gunga bhari
              trakhaa butane prem ras basi rahat gaagari bhari
              dani ke dukh turant metev kasht kaagaz phari
              kahe dariya daaya sir par kripa kari jan tari

                    Repeat, again and again. Endlessly
                    beckon the purifying spirit by name.
                    Lose not this opportunity of time in frame.

                    The fruition of desires; your mistakes
                    and choices are determined by thoughts
                    held in rein, beyond this conscious mind.

                   So call out by name, again and again
                   as you sift through the dust beneath
                   the feet of your experience and mine

                   for the compassion to heal
                   wounds of ignorance, inflicted upon
                   yourself and made another blind.

                   Only when, these marks left by pain,
                   have faded in the knowing light, will love
                   shine forth to share the secret of it to gain.

                   Chant silently, repeat again and again
                   beckon the purifying spirit by name
                   and awaken to the universe’s treasure

                  far greater than illusions that limit
                  the pleasures yet known to those
                  who hope to quench the thirst for love

                  through hearts that deny the divine.
                  Repeat again and again, beckon
                  the purifying spirit. In all humility,

                  urges this poet-saint,  battle
                  the dark stains of judgement.
                  Stand rooted in faith and it will

                 rip through your travails with
                 the drunken splendour of bliss.
                 A love so true, words cannot define.

creative interpretation of re mn sumire - gopika nath

NB

History tells us that Dariya Sahib was a mystic; a saint who lived in the eighteenth century in Bihar. Some say he was Hindu while many refer to him as a Muslim tailor whose father was also a tailor. He opposed and strongly condemned idol worship and animal sacrifice which brought upon him the wrath of the orthodox Hindu community of his village. The local pundit categorized him as a highly dangerous man, whose devotional practice had made him insane. When upset about one of his disciple’s attempt to remove their goddess from the temple, hiding her and leaving her hungry for three months, the villagers threatened to sacrifice him to appease the Goddess. In response he said : Don’t be afraid of those who strive to prosecute.  Sing, every step of the way, that name of the eternal within. 

Needle by My Side - Guest Post by Financial analyst Renuka Mahajan

 

Since childhood, I’ve watched my mother knit, do crochet, make rugs with a hook and do needlework. She always encouraged us three sisters to follow suit and we all succumbed.

Till today I love to do my needlework - I find it therapeutic and my evenings are spent mindlessly watching TV and mindfully stitching. Where I get a large sense of fulfilment is when I create these cushions or picture frames for a loved one. The time spent, laboriously painful at times, seems worth every moment when I see that face light up in gratitude and admiration.

 

Coming from a business background I was never in desperate need materially, however I felt a huge void spiritually so I joined a group in Mumbai called Vedanta Life Institute headed by Sri A Parthasarthy affectionately called 'Swamiji'. This changed my life for it made me realize that there is more to life than just birth, marriage and death.

 

I've stitched for a charitable cause organized by the Vedanta Life Institute, selling embroidered napkins and mats on a matted blank cloth, which I made by following a pattern from a cross stitch book. Challenging and fun. Stitching for others has its own sense of fulfilment. Even creating a financial plan for my clients, which is my vocation, does not give me as much satisfaction as making embroidery for someone I love. Then I discovered these tapestry kits by ‘Dimensions’ in the UK which had all the guidelines of how to follow the marked out pattern  and included the required needles and coloured threads. The cat series and other pictures were made using these kits.

 

When I'm stitching my mind is empty & yet brimming with thoughts, I'm relaxed and at the same time counting the stitches to make sure I don't make any mistakes. It's just me and my handiwork, uncomplicated, unquestioning, and undemanding. I'm at peace.

 

This is a dying art in this fast paced world but the luxury of slowing down and introspecting while you create this work of art is unparalleled to all the physical wealth that one collects. It's everlasting till the body permits and something to look forward to at the end of a chaotic day.

 

When I wear the woolly cap my mother had knitted for me I feel proud and consoled about the fact that my embroidered tapestry is cushioning her back or soothing her feet as a foot rest.
 

 I carry my needle work with me wherever I go; it's always by my side.

 

Lighting Up Yet Wanting to Rip Things Apart

The week before Diwali was intense. I volunteered to help with the condo lighting. It was an impromptu thing which I thought would be a breeze. But, I ended up spending five days yelling instructions from the ground to standing on shaky bamboo ladders, hanging onto tree limbs, rounding up the condo staff who were involved in all manner of daily errands to come help me put lights on branches, wrap strings of tiny bulbs around tree trunks and hang the made-in-China-lights at even lengths and create patterns that required discipline and a sense of aesthetics they were just not used to.  My assistants were the firemen, plumbers, electricians and house-keeping staff that could be spared, and each day I had to train a new set. All in all it was an experience to remember- both annoying and enjoyable but, not all moments were quite as delightful as when the lights went on in their full splendour.

 

In the evenings I would be exhausted after a day of work that was  physically quite demanding and it would be difficult to settle down and embroider. But at that point, things were mostly in place for very rhythmic work that was more therapeutic than thoughtful, so I was able to do an hour or so each evening.

 

The lights were not good quality which made the job at hand a rather frustrating one. Through the day we hung the lights with such care and perfection of length, height and design but when we switched them on as the sun dipped, they would light up as would our eyes in expectation, and then fuse. And in all that glowing splendour would be dark spots that were not supposed to be there. I just never quite got a sense of satisfaction when I looked at the whole picture, and this did not go down well with my innate desire for perfection.

 But, when I zoomed in on the details, it was satisfying to see the Champa [Frangipani] tree trunks embraced by tiny blue bulbs and the laddis [strings] of white and yellow lights, cradled by her leaves. Or, for that matter the long line of Ficus hedge surrounding the garden, garlanded from its height of over seven feet, along with a neat row of blue lights lining the railing that belted the Ficus in.

 

I had worked around things in a way that after circling the burned piece of muslin, which was almost like creating an energy vortex or even a healing vortex, if you like, I found myself stitching on small boxes of matte that I had cut up.  I had already placed some matte to embroider on the organza and it was while doing this that I felt the need to do some more. The ordered process of doing cross-stitch was appealing and the boxes have all been set in place for me to embroider, but the hand is restless and wants to tear through the nice round lines of Kantha that formed the healing vortex, to shake things up again.

Each day,I had to muster a great deal of patience to keep going especially since there had been no real planning behind the lighting design as it was just a spur of the moment thing, so there was a shortage of everything from lights to wires to the electrician’s tape and even manpower. But I used everything in my power to get it done and it was satisfying to hear all the compliments and especially to see the delight in the children’s’ eyes when the lights came up as they played in the park.

Those weeks leading up to Diwali week had been very steady. My daily routine was easily adhered to and therefore I found myself working from creating the vortex with Kantha to forming an ad hoc grid of sorts, using cross stitch matte. It seemed that order was coming into place. Those thoughts that had been processed through the fire, had been further cleansed with the vortex and were now entering a grid, and things were falling into place. Or so I thought....

 

This year at Diwali there were the usual parties and also more family do’s than usual. Siblings and cousins and nephews with fiancés were visiting from all over the world. I was out four evenings in a row, in addition to the lighting affair and buying of gifts and mithai for everyone, which is way too much externalizing of energy for me. I like my time alone, but with Diwali, and all that it brought this year, this was not an option. I mean, the last thing I want to be doing is sitting alone stitching, when there is so much going on around me.

 

 I keep looking at the fabric, feeling uncertain about what to do with it now. This transition from an utterly busy week with so much energy being given outwards; desperately wanting to return to that space of calm collectedness but just not getting there, is very frustrating. There is so much contemplation, so much to process and put into perspective that the transitory phase seems like a lot of time is lost in contemplation!

 

At this point, about two days after all the festivities are over and there is some semblance of order returning to life, there’s a kind of screech in my head that I cannot quite contain and it seems to be coming out of my ears. [I can certainly hear it in the tension and tenor of my voice when I have to deal with people who are just not performing up to the mark] To top it all Mahipal has also gone on leave which means that I am short-staffed at home and also without a driver. And the maid is new and so raw, that much as I am grateful to have some help, I am tearing my hair out at the moment [to put it mildly].

 

I have this intense desire to put the fabric back on the hoop, stretch it taut and then cut through the spaces between the parallel circular threaded lines of Kantha. Those translucent spaces – the very idea of space when my head is so crowded is irksome.  I want to take a pair of scissors and rip right through them, then take apart the warp and weft – shred them. It would feel like I am not alone in this frenzy and I think that somewhere that is an important place to be in, where I don’t feel alone in being disconnected from my sublime self.

 

But yesterday I held myself in check. I followed the pattern already set in place and said that before I did something drastic that I would regret, I should allow things to settle. And there is nothing quite like the rhythmic motion of doing cross-stitch to restore order to one’s mind.