Archive for the ‘heart’ Tag

The final moments    Leave a comment

When I lay finally and nobody comes to get me. I’ll wait for you 
I’m waiting for her is all he could think of

At 84 he lay down with peace in mind and heart fluttering far away. He knew this was it. He lay in his Santorum. It was his heaven and his reason for existence for the last 53 years. He was the exceptional artist.  A painter, whose success was based only on one subject- Maya. Lying in bed he looked around all his creations that he had done over the years.  All he could see was Maya. She reflected in all his paintings, she was the single source of inspiration to him.  From the first time, he met her to finally what his imagination carved her out to be it was all there.  She was his love for the number of years he could not even remember. As far as his memory went he felt he was born loving her. May be even before. All his life he had strongly placed his belief and heart in the corollary that the events in our lives today were set in motion a long long time ago. There is an old Buddhist saying that, when you meet your soul mate, we should remember that the act to bring us together was 500 years in the making. So, always appreciate and be kind to each other. Maya was his soul mate. She had touched his life like no other ever had. Such emotions are a carried forward of another life time, may be many

‌He had spent 4 years of his life being in love with her and the rest of it in her memory, holding her in his heart. In those 4 years, he lived his entire life. Those years gave his life a meaning and reason for existence. That was his purpose.  4 years that were worth the 83 that he lived. Anything after that was unreal and unimportant. His existence became those paintings he did of Maya. He lived for those fleeting moments when he caught a glimpse of her.  Walking down the road or driving away.  He was never too sure how my times he saw her or was she just an illusion created by his mind to calm his heart. Then he realised that it could not be an illusion.  If it was, she would have been with him
Why was she not with him he could not fathom. There was no reason and no logic. She had loved him just as much.  Then how did she go from being the epicenter of his life to a distant dream.  Someone who he could think of but not reach out and touch and feel her physical existence. The love they shared he knew was theirs and only theirs.  He knew she was a good wife, a perfect mother but her heart and soul belonged to him, like his to her.  He ached at that thought.  Then why was she so far far away.  That question had haunted him all his life.  And when all rationale beats you, you live in a stillness and the calm of acceptance. If he could talk he would talk and tell the world, acceptance and stillness is bliss in an ironical way. He would tell the world that love truly was magical. That love truly was when you melt away in it even without the person near you. He would tell the world that this was a perfect love story. It may not have had the cliché trajectory defined by society norms but it was perfect and more.  He loved her not to own her but just love her.  He knew that she did too.  She always would just as he did. And as he breathed his last, he knew that there was one person for whom the world would now stand still. Forever. He knew he could breathe his last in peace because she would come and get him.  When nothing was left, he had everything

Death ends a life not a relation, sometimes it gives a new life to a relation rebirth

Do we really die?? Did he really die or finally live

 

 

Posted November 23, 2016 by nidhi khanna in Musings

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Kintsukuroi- Golden repair The art of repairing broken pottery   Leave a comment

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Kintsukuroi- Golden repair

The art of repairing broken pottery

Heart and its beats- from the outside

I read a book a couple of days back in which the author described an out of the body experience. Reading that made me think of how we almost always look at situations and things outward and not inward. Also, having experienced it myself at one point in my life made me think of this in a slightly different perspective

I am going to look at something which is within me from the outside and see what I see. Sitting protectively and cuddled in the arms of rib cage. The heart!The heart is graphically represented very differently from what it actually looks like. Juxtaposed to reality, we love changing its shape while we draw it red in colour with an arrow piercing through it. When it looks nothing like that, with a soft pink colour around it connected via major arteries having huge responsibilities towards the entire body. All this, while sitting lopsided in the rib cage. There are various theories about the graphical representation of the heart but that’s a paradox for another time

In all it’s an important organ which rules our life, physically as well as emotionally

Physically, it is the single most important organ that keeps us breathing. It tells us that we are alive. Emotionally, it takes the lead in deciding for us at all stages of our life and in all relations. It takes the burden and beating of those decisions. As we grow we become acutely aware of the abilities and capabilities of our heart. We crown it with being solely responsible for all the feelings we feel. Weather they are happy or a sad or nothing at all

Today when I step out of my body and cradle my heart in my hand instead of the rib cage it’s accustomed to, I am supposed to see what I see. I would imagine that I would see a perfectly healthy heart with a smooth pink covering the four ventricles, the arteries et cetera. But instead I see something disheveled which look like a bandaged sieve. This is not what I had learnt in my biology class in school. This is also much juxtaposed from the so called real pictures. I wonder why my heart looks like a bandaged sieve. This condition of my heart tore everything inside of me, all through the core of my body. And I did not know how to react. I experienced a new low in my life;a level which I did not know existed

A large number of these wounds were covered with band aid to stop their presence from being constantly felt. I held my heart tenderly, starring at it for a while and decided the best thing to do was to put it back in the not so safe rib cage. Just as I was about to do that a thought crossed my mind. I wanted to see what was under the band aids. If there was a chance I could see where they came from. I started ripping the band aid, one at a time. I should not have. The first wound sprouted like a faucet of blood. I dint try to stop it. I could not stop it. I was too numb for any reaction. It sent me spiraling down memory lane to the time when this wound had taken a permanent place in my heart. Some memories need to be forgotten. This certainly was and ripping the band aid bought back all the memories associated with this wound. The pain was so numbing that crying would have seemed like ecstasy. Sometimes tears are just not enough and this was one such instance

As I continue to rip the band aids I realised something unnerving. These were piercings which were made by the people in my life, all of who were close to me. My confidants. Every piercing left behind wound that did not go away. Some were light scars, some were deep wounds and even though they were dated way past in my life, they felt like as fresh as now. The pain had not subsided. When I looked at such wounds they still had the capacity to expel the air from every pore of me. I had thought I was over these instances. But in reality all I was doing was applying anesthesia by ignoring them and concentrating on frivolous things in life. Is this my survival instinct or escapism?

Every hurt, every pain, every shenanigan, every betrayal given to me left a wound on my heart.Some were self-inflicted too. Every moment of life in which my heart hurt, was embossed, may be for life. At least most of them were. Suddenly nostalgia was not what it used to be to me and I began to wonder the reason of my existence and reason for my life. Was it all about the suffering? Was this that was meant to be and how it was supposed to be? Is this how things end? Since I didn’t have an answer to those zillions of thunderbolt questions nor a solution the only thing left was to put my heart back in its place and forget it existed and go back to ignoring it- ignoring what it felt, ignoring what it said. An art I had championed in the course of my life. There are some haunting memories that refuse to die their own death, driving us towards our own insanity

I wonder if I had situs inverses my heart would not have been the sieve it is today and people would miss the mark

The truth is that we hurt most when people we love most hurt us, leaving scars that go with us to the grave. And most often it is about betrayal and then survival

Just when I thought that was my only option a thought crossed my mind. Buzzinga!! The band aids. What about all the band aids carefully placed on each of the wounds, which ensured that there was no constant reminder of scars. Where did these band aids come from? As I sat thinking back in time I realised something beautiful. For every wound given there was someone that reduced the pain and increased endurance. Every individual that left a band aid was trying to make my life easier and happier leaving me stronger

Life is all about choices, some we make some are made for us. In the end what is served to us is the residual of our choices. This auto bend of my mind’s eye makes me choose the soothing sensation of the band aid

This is the reason for survival of life. Logotherapy- every life has a meaning

Our survival depends on a lot of things, people, relations, our love, support system and a whole lot more. Ask a child and they say, because my heart beats. Wish that is all the heart did. As we grow older our heart beats start taking a lot of beating. Mine did too. But it also got a disproportionate amount of pampering it needed to heal and overcome the hurt dished out to me. It was not in ignoring that I experienced the anesthesia, it was in the love, support and care that made it all worth the while. Sometimes from the same people who were the owners of those wounds and sometimes from different

So my heart even though hurt was also bandaged. So why is it that I was scared to listen and feel the feelings my heart had? There is no better time to change and accept all feelings with grace and let them pass

In the end, all I can say is “find a place inside you that makes you happy. Visit it every time you feel pain”

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