Where from my Muse?

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. "  

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.