This essay is inspired by a friend's question on reading one of my
poems. Here is the complete poem.
One of the stanzas has the lines,
"She sees these
portals of Purity
Her mind's eyes
turning Red,
As she contemplates her anger and disgust. "
As she contemplates her anger and disgust. "
And follows up the above lines with,
"With a sigh of quiet
resolve,
She turns to the day
ahead,
..."
The friend's question is, 'How did the anger and disgust transform?' (I am
guessing, such that there could be a "quiet resolve" in the next line). My initial
reaction was along the lines, "this is the practitioner's work, our entire
practice is that transformation(?); it is each one's journey and the 'how' of
this transformation (if at all) is a wheel that has to be turned time and
again, it is different for different entities..."
However, from awareness of some movements that happened in the mind
exactly at that inflexion point, and for the joy of this examination, I write
further.
An opening to the examination could be, I dont really think that the
anger and disgust transformed into something else.
The original last line of that stanza that had floated in my mind was
"As she contemplates
flying away". I paused at that point, looked up at my beloved, sacred
hill, drew him in with my breath, held him, allowed him to pervade my being,
and that union flowed out through my pen with my exhalation. I changed the
words to the current ones as my contemplation did, and sat watching this and my
breath for a short while (or it could have been an eternity) before the next
line happened.
I could dedicate this process to my daily, long-standing practice of
asana-pranayama-meditative-enquiry, that seems to have a life of its own, and
takes matters into its own hands sometimes. The yoga sutra, "Sa tu
dheergakala nairantarya satkara adhara asevito drdha bhoomih" (I.14)
comes to mind. [Meaning of sutra: Practice becomes firmly established when it
is cultivated uninterruptedly and with devotion over a prolonged period of
time].
And I could dedicate this timely intervention to the grace of Arunachala
whose town I reside in. “Bhagavat
Kaingaryam” (roughly, the grace of the Universe / God / Higher forces)
according to elders.
Much of the time all that seems to be needed is that pause and space for
observation; space for just being with what arises, between one line and the
next, one step and the next, one kshanam
(approximately, a moment) and the next.
Examining further, that space of contemplation and what was happening
for me then; I feel that words may never be able to capture those sensations
and nuances of movement precisely. I can at best say that, a larger love,
understanding, happened in those moments. Many pictures and scenes from my
life, and of others flashed in front of my eyes like a movie, and some
questions arose. Amidst pictures of many blurred uncertainties, the next
certain lines presented themselves to my mind’s eye in sharp focus, even as I
continued to watch my breath.
I did not see anger and disgust transforming into anything else. In retrospect,
I think that the pictures I saw were of instances where these emotions were
held and expressed in different ways (I want to add the word ‘appropriately’
here, but tentatively and with a question mark for I can only speculate on the
appropriateness or lack thereof).
And with quiet resolve, the crow could have flown way to other parts to
scavenge. She could have transformed to other colours, birds, doing other
things, each of them possibly pausing on other terraces and window-sills and
returning to crowhood. To burst again into more colours. I don’t know for sure,
the possibilities are endless. It may be another story the next day. A different
crow perhaps.
Herein for me lies the Art of it all. The art of writing. The art of
this very life. Many have looked at the meaning of art in their lives
and tried to describe it. For me, all Art seems to be a search and / or
expression of glimpses of an Infinite source of everything. It seems like we
are trying to touch and express something that is eternal, infinite through
what we can hold of transient and finite life, and death.
A painter is trying to capture the eternal beauty underneath the
grotesque ugliness of urban landscapes that he is seeing. A husband illustrates
the small moments of togetherness with his wife and family, attempting to put
in his frames, everlasting love. Look at the temple of Arunachaleshwara here in
Tiruvannamalai. There is something larger than life, larger than the finite
hands and bodies of the sculptors and workers that flow through the stone. What
infinity did they see that transformed their finiteness?
I am seeing Art as the channel, the medium of that infinite source
within us, within everywhere. And by this very nature, art lends itself to
other factors:
- It is a process that
is ongoing and reflective. I believe that it is not possible to touch, glimpse
or taste something in the subtler and finer realms, and give over to meta processes,
with the cognitive mind. By the very
swadharma of being art, it forgets / bypasses the cognitive mind and reaches
beyond this to a space of insights and subtle sensing. And this space is that
of Nature, of Life, of Reality – which means it is ever-changing, it is a
process. It cannot be bottled or packaged into a static form of time and space.
How paradoxical it is that we need to dive into a space of ever-changing change
in a search for the constant! A
corollary is that it is possible to express from that reflective state. Art is
that expression. It is also true that in expression, the cognitive mind can
also jump in out of sheer habit and propensity. It may also happen that a
cognitive mind and expression is necessary. And this brings us to another factor:
- That of context. Very
often (I actually want to say, ‘at all times’) the manifestations depend on the
context. There are many who would refute this factor. In any case, we cannot
really have conclusions. I believe that we are not looking only at art and the
artist. Both, the artist and the process of art exist in a context, and this
context I believe is alive in them, whether the artist is conscious of it or
not, whether others in the context are conscious of it or not. This is most visible
in performance art, in theatre. The art
is not simply a rehearsed piece that is performed on stage. Art is happening
with the active participation of the audience during the performance. It is an
alive conversation. The conversations
get more complex when the art involves, say, a poem. Like mine for instance.
The artist dwells on her reflections, and in the process of creation / art.
There are times when a third (say, you, the reader) is already present even
during the creation (like with this essay) and there are other times when there
may not be a conscious intention of presentation (like with the poem). Even
here there are complexities that can be examined, and conversations with the
self, abound. When a reader actively enters the scene, he / she brings in her
reflections and is creating art anew then. There are questions of belonging and
ownership that come up for me here. The same piece of expression could become
an object of analysis and cognition the next day.
Like today, I am looking at ‘my’ crow fairly analytically and dissecting
it, while also attempting to reflect and put together a larger picture. And we
could still be in the realm of Art. Or not.
For my crow this moment
is empty
and still,
all the anger
and disgust
having become
foam and froth
with the water in spate,
that flooded
every nook and corner,
purifying,
taking with it
fishes and plastic
garbage
and plant matter
all the same,
while gushing downstream,
towards its destiny.
--------------------------------------------
Notes :-
- At this point, the YS
II.48 comes to mind – “Tato dvandvanabhighatah” – From this, one is not
afflicted by the dualities of the opposites.
- I must say thanks to
my friend and co-sadhaka who spotted the exact point of inflexion and asked the
question which wouldn’t leave until I wrote this.