Let the thoughts drip away,

like sweat,

For the force they exert,

Let the wisdom seep inside,

Subtle in their delight

Absorbed in this parched being,

Are lessons lived.

Wounds disguised,

Becoming every ounce,

Drenching every inch,

This whole is of sweat and turmoil,

But also;

of untold glory and delight….

-Rupika Moitra

The fight between the self ( ego and the one that surrenders) is bigger than any war going outside. Every outside enemy/ war that propels one to choose side and fight is but a distraction not to fight the ‘egoic self’

“And if I take your enemy away

Who are you then? ”

Transcendence happens either voluntarily ( ascension) or pain/ trauma will bring the shift (dissension) it will definitely knock..

It knocks harder many times and break the pretence of who we are as narrated by the ego.

Poets like Robert Bly have deeply thought about it. People who brood about a value diminished culture with developments that doesn’t cater to life or nature try to

hold on to the horses of the thought and remind ourself again and again of our Nafs and the real war within us. And everything else is a BIG distraction

Well, three practices of fighting nafs

Ta’Jeel or Swiftness. A good deed must be done immediately and there should be no laziness.

Tehqeer or Contempt. You must look at your good acts with contempt otherwise you will become self-righteous.

Ikhfa or Secrecy. You must keep your good acts secret otherwise people will praise

you and it will make you self-righteous.

I can try,

Only try,

Maybe writing to you,

I am writing to me,

Doing,

As soon as I think,

I must,

Maybe share content,

that’s substance to us

Reference

Chittick, William (1983). The Sufi Path of Love. State University of New York Press. p. 12. ISBN 0-87395-724-5

Baaz- umr,

Takte Takte,

Rihah huye,

Sulagte haste,

Bhor, subah, shaam,

Waqt ke dher,

Sarakte Sarakte,

Qaid, mushtek,

Baraste- haste,

Baaz-e-umr

Most of lifetime,

I stared at time,

I waited,

When freedom came,

I had burned myself yet I had a smile,

Dawn, morning and dusk,

Mildews of time,

They kept slipping away,

I am tied,

I am active,

I poured,

I smiled,

Then I looked at time,

Most of lifetime,

I stared at time…..

Rupika Moitra

“I have been circling for a thousand years”- Rilke

It’s not the bread

Or the soup,

I can’t count it,

It’s never one

or four,

It’s not the pot,

Nor the grains in it,

It’s doesn’t serve the mind,

Nor exclusive to one soul,

It’s somewhere around the edge,

In an unfilled left place,

Should I be scared of fulfilment,

Where will it stay then?

I travel in between,

When I am lost,

I find it,

I travel in and out,

I know yet I don’t,

The pot doesn’t know who pours,

It quenches deep,

But how did it fill?

And when ‘out’, it pours,

The space,

it lets out freely,

It doesn’t hold,

In between self and higher,

Amidst suffering and surrender,

The space beholds

– Rupika Moitra