A seekers path... part two.

The rain that fell during the following season was a reflection of life itself. Pouring and popping, tapping and splashing as if it were a creature, a living soul. The way it tipptoed in the morning, romaged and roared later on or the way it leaned over and hit the ground from an almost bizzar angle. I will not lie if I say it fell in a thousand different ways during that period. At least it felt like that because it cept on surprising me in the way it sang me to sleep, talked to me during long midday hours when there were nothing else that could be done, wispered ancient wisdom or laughed at me when I tried to take cover on the way to the warung and back. Even the geckos fled it. Clinging, like they were pasted on the walls in the little bungalow, never mooving when someone were watching but all of a sudden gone or located elsewere.
I had arrived at the airport in the middle of the night but the air was so hot and humid it made my shirt soaked and sticking to my back in seconds. It was not the accual season for rain but with the changes in the climate no one could tell the forcast anymore. I was exhausted from the flight and was glad the cab offered a few minutes of airconditioned heaven as we drowe past fields of rise and Bintang Supermarkets, the new and the old in mixed bled and beautiful orchards in every available area in between, all along the way to The Three Brothers. The night was clear, no rain, but a starlit sky above. The magic of the land swept me of my feet. The energy buzzing in the air like a fine glitter. Imediatley at arrival I headed for the pool, dived into the soothing water and let the cool infiltrate my mind as well as my body. Feeling like a dolphin I swam and dived, played around and floated on my back watching the stars above. As I became still a thought came into my head. A question put into univerce: can a man change his stars?
My stars, I knew what they said about my persona and good future, but do they speak of a destiny about to unfold, no matter how I live my life or do they just point out where my soul is heading? Are my stars the same this time around or are they more of a follow-up to past lives? I remembered the old man back in Katmandu and how I never really had got an answer from him about weather he believed in reincarnation or not. Answers reveal themselves in time. I knew this, had lived to see it happen to and all had bin well if I had bin able to rely on thet and to relax but on the controversy I felt so mutch in a hurry all the time. As if I had a mission to complete, a quest to solve or at least something very important to understand and get into doing. Always feeling as I was wasting time, doing things at random lacking the knowledge needed to change and get ahead. This thoughts spinning in my head at all times, making me comfused and frustrated. At times I had believed I had got a clue but that clue only led to new questions, and so the quest continued.
Almost without noticing, I asked out loud; "God, how long will it take until I understand?"
And somewere beyond all counsciusness a voice, much like my own, answerd; "How long do you want it to take?"
Silence followed.
"I want to understand right now! I have wanted to understand all my life!"
The voice answering with the tone of a nagging child; "I want, I want, I want!"
I remembered what a friend had explained about questions, that if you don´t get an answer, perhaps you ask the wrong question. So I tried in another way to formulate a question.
"I... I...hm... i don´t know what to ask for....really.... I don´t know what it is Im looking for"
"Then go find it."
"Find what?"
"What it is you are looking for."
"Is it that easy?"
"Yes. It really is that easy. Finding is the doing in a nother sence. Only you decide weather you want to Do or to Find."

I suddenly recaled what a teacher had said about life points of wiew, that for some people life is a fight, for some a lesson and yet for others a game. All due to our perseption. I tried to put out another question.
"Is there a sertain level of consiousness that I need to reach in this life?"
"To...?"
"Well.... I don´t know. I thought you knew the reason?"
I felt stupid, but It seamed like whom ever I was talking to laughed out loud.
"Is´nt there a reason?"
"There is a lot of reasons; all made up by you. I only whant you to be happy. To live in peace with whatever and whoever you are. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"
"Well.... I dont´t know. Perhaps it´s to easy!"
"Life is easy! You are the once making it hard!"
"This is silly! I feel like Neal Donald Walsh, having a conversation with God."
"Do you think he is the only one being able to have such a conversation?"
"But I feel like having a conversation with God to, right now."
"Well, you are. The only difference is that you don´t write at the same time."
I have felt that urge to write so many times, I thought, yet I havn´t. I have had that urge to create in other ways to, why I studied both music and went to artschool. But the restlessness and impatience, the have-to´s and restrictiones cept me from falling into the flow and so I gave up that to and started to work instead. Did I run away due to fear of meeting God?
"Im here."
"God, I want to have this conversation...still I run away.... I guess Im a little afraid of you... Afraid of what it might lead to if I let go of all restrictions and just go with the flow... I know there is no reason to be afraid, still it´s hard not to... Will you wait for me?"
"I will wait all the time you need. There is no other option. I am always here, always prescent, always about to unfold before you if you dare let it happen. If you dare let Me happen."
"But I don´t want to waiste any more time!"
"Then don´t."
"But what shall I do? What can I do?"
"You can meet me in whatever form you like. If you want to paint, then paint with me. If you want to write, then write trough me..."
"But does it matter?"
"It only matters to you what you do."

Like I needed a pause, I returned mentaly to were I was, still flat back in the water, and I noticed how tired I was. Getting up and off to my little bungalow I thought about the matter I had chosen. How I had tried all kinds of artistic expressions but only to the extent where it started to pay off. Then something else had always turned my focus around and I had stopped with whatever I had bin doing. I wanted to believe in magic, the dreams and fantasies of mine. Wanted to make them come true but never had the guts to put my back into it. Ready for bed I snapped a book out of my satchel and started to read from where I had left of and this sentence glared at me from the page: "Youve got to give magic a hand sometimes, lad. Give it summat to use... the right conditions."
I laughed out loud at this, thinking God has a million faces and voices. Just look around, be a little aware and you´ll get the answear you seak. I closed my eyes and fell asleap right away, with the book on my chest and a little smile on my face, and as I did I new God was watching and smiling to.

Nu, såhär i efterhand, tänker jag på vad du sa och hur du var.
Eller kanske snarare vad du inte sa och inte gjorde...
Du var väldigt mycket frånvarande som jag minns det, var du inte det?
Där, men inte med oss. Som om du inte hörde hemma.

Tankarna krockar.
Du var ju hemma där. Du hade till och med skapat det själv.
Hur det var.
Hur kom det sig att du inte valde att vara med sen?

Jag lekte ofta med Barbiedockor när jag var liten tjej.
Byggde upp interiörer av böcker och saker som skulle föreställa nått annat,
garderober med skor på rader och bäddad Barbiesäng, för en sån hade jag. En riktig.
Sen, när allt var klart, då var leken redan slut. Då ville jag göra något annat.
Jag byggde upp världar men deltog inte i livet i dem. Inte jag heller.

Du levde ditt liv i periferin och lät mig utforska mitt på egen hand.
Skapade dina världar.
Så blev också mina världar min verklighet, min fantasi, min trygghet.
Och jag blev inte alls den du ville. Jag blev som du.

...a seekers path...

... Some time passed. I started to become a little restless, both worying and thinking about what had caused this event. Had something happened or did he just forget about me? Perhaps he had other, better things to do? Did he believe that me, on my hand was not to come back due to the rain and therefor passed to? I felt stupid. Sitting alone, underneath a tree that did not offer very much of a shelter from the rain instead of crossing the street to the nearest shop or restaurant. I thought I saw people passing by shot glimpses of mirth at me. Like I were some outcast child or a dog left outside a dinners while the owners have thir meal. I felt like that child, or dog to. Waiting in the rain for a man that I so dearly wanted to meet. So eager to talk with him, and to listen. Thirsty for knowledge and teachings to reflect upon. My heart started to ache and my stomach rumble. What if I were not to see him, ever agian? Perhaps he was just one of those one-time angels that sometimes bless us with their prescence, leaving imprints that lasts for a lifetime. The thought owerflooded me with sadness. I wanted him to be there almost as much as I longed for my father to be there for me when I was a child. Eaven now, grown up as I had become, I still longed for his prescence, his attention and console. My thoughts kept going, memories on replay. Me, left alone in this world to fight a battle I had not choosen. A lifetime struggle to fit in, to balance between beeing not to god and not to bad. Never more nor less than what seamed to be the norm. All the confusion, discord emotions and strangeling feeling of never being able to please the ones around me, no matter what I did or how. Emotions rushing trough my body, hurt and loss, dissapointment and anger. Some with memories atached, some new and out of the blue conected to this moment. It escalated and intensified, streams of icecold showers and boiling heat rumaging inside, like a vulcano and a lavin at the same time. It cept on for I dont know how long, but what felt like an eternity. But then it all stopped. All but silence and only this one sentence hanging in the air right before me saying; NO, THIS WAS MY CHOICE.

Like a lightning had strucked right down and into my head it all became clear to me. Everything I had ever lived, everything I ever did and were about to do, everything was my choice. Counscious or uncounscious. The result, my perseption colored by my mind and judged by the same, but neverthenless, the actual event was a cause of me making a choice. The insight was so enormous it totaly numbstrucked me and I don´t know for how long I remained in this wake. Hours passed. The rain stopped. Kids cried. Cars pushed the water aside as they passed by. The doves came back, the sun even peered through cracks in the clouds. Scents of mud and fumes, curry and ginger started to spread and intensify as the moist evaporated. A cow, white underneath the dirt and weat, passed in the typical lazy pace of thiers. I remained, however. Unable to move, and even if I had no reason. Images from my passed that once was draped with painful emotional covers now seamed obvious and resonable. Because I had not understod the meaning while it happened I had stored the memory with the first impact wrapped aroud it. Over and over I had let the events cause me, like I was a wictim of some kind, and tried to hide, to take cover or fight them as my enemies. Instead of embrasing the outcome of my choice I had fled, and I saw how this pattern had repeated itself throughout my life.

Slowly, as I returned to consciousness, to the enviroment, the city gained structure and focus again. Everything seamed to be back to normal outside and around, but inside of me everything was different. I was awake in a way I could never had emadgen being before. Saw everything in a new light. Carried a new feeling of freedom and a conviction that everything that had happen and everything that was about to, would be for a reason, and that reason were my choise to make and react upon. Univerce wants us to become perfect and so I did not have to be afraid. The choice of lurning trough fear or love lies only in our perseption.
Slowly I also noticed that I was soaking wet and shivering of cold. Remembering the hot chai I had brought for the Teacher, I opened my satchel and poured myself a cup instead and as I did so I realized that I was to a teacher. All knowledge is from God anyway, we only choose from whom and how to gain it. Smiling to myself I raised the cup and saluted myself before I let the hot and sweet chai fill up my sences.

... A seekers path...

The following day felt like a mess even before I got out of bed. The night had brought heavy rain and to most inhabitants it was an act of blessing from God, making sure the wells filled up and the fields ripened and gave a good harvest. That the streets turned into mud and flods of water did not concern them at all, honking and yelling from overloaded cars and mopeds as they tried to drive through. My head aced. I had to get up and attend at the morningpuja and there were still the meeting with the man from yesterday to reflect upon. Would he be there at noon today if it still rained? The thought lingered in the back of my head as I made it to the bathroom and sat down on my heals, feet on each side of the hole that made the toilet. I had got used to the conditions by now, but it took several turns with diarea before I did so. There is a point, wich you have to reach, if you are to stay here. The point from beyond you do not care about or question the poor being everywere and at you sleeve at all hours, that the water is probably even more dirty than you, that you do not have a bowlremovement that looks anything like you are used to and will not have until you leave and that women are nicely treated but never regarded as an authority. Once you get to that point youre no longer tucked by the sleeve, you use the right hand and have lurned how to swear in Hindi.

I stopped by the Pilgrims bookshop, for no perticular reason but just because I had the oportunity to drown into the oceans of unread stories and magic adventures stored from floor to sieling in the labyrith alike shop. The first time I almost got lost, entering the next room and the next without paying atention to where I first started and how to get back out on the street again. The back of the shop turnes into a peaceful oas with a restaurant, numbers of comfortable chairs and separate and sometimes hidden corners and tables. It had turned dark before I got out that time. Now I knew the place a little bit better and headed straight to the section with books about esoterica and religion apart from Budhism, that filled a room of its own. I wanted to read about the history of earth, history of man and the collective consiousness that keaps on spreading and reaching new generations of people all the time. Because most people tend to see the problems of the outer world as separate from the inside they also keap on blaming the world. The Dalai Lama say that all conflicts starts within and that there is no other way of making a change but to start with our own inner conflicts. What I was searching for was some kind of mirror to reflect my own. Thinking about how to know what to change and how to accually work the field was a mantal task I had carried around for many years and it seamed like the more I got to see, the more I saw that there was so much more to see. However sane, the quest cept me going, searching for yet another question to define what I did not know.
Eager to keep the time and to meet the Teacher, I left without buying anything but stopped at New Orleans to pick up some Chai. After all the Teacher had asked me to do so, eaven though the weather was nothing like the day before. Having to wait until all the men have had to order, I finaly got my termos filled up, stepped back out and into the anklehigh muddy water and began to vade my way through the streets. Exhited and curious about the encounter I kept on thinking about what I had to lurn today, the possible choices of subject and what I wanted to aks him. Finally I rounded the corner and entered the crossing street where we were about to meet, but the sight was empty. Perhaps I was early? Having a seat were he sat the day before I decided to wait.
......

...a seekers path....

"What about reincarnation? Do you believe in reincarnation?"
Underneath the shadowpatterns of branches and leaves the image of his face became like an mosaique. A watercollorpainting by someone great but sience long known or remembered. And so, for a moment, it transformed into a womans. Softer in the edges, more feminine and almost pretty. I was stunned. This had to be due to the circumstanses I thought, the magic of a remote city in a most remote land. A magic built up by tales and stories passed on from dacade to decade, generation to the next about the land and the caves where the masters and dieties took their refuge, the mastering of sidhis, the spirit of the land. Where people tigh strings of brightcollored flags everywhere and there is a secret route to Shambala hidden for all but the pure in heart.
The woman peered at me with a little laughter playing round the eyes and the intensity was so strong it felt like She could see right through me. The voice still belonged to the old man though.
"From the begining there was a certain amount of energy gathered. With evolution it turned into what we call the earth and all that includes. As far as we know, no energy can disapear, end to exsist or turn into anti-materia. Therefor I believe the amount is still the same. What happens when a body die and turns into dust is obvious, but what becomes of the energy is up to God to let us understand when that time comes." Closing his eyes again, face back to normal, the moments gone. A springflood of questiones rushed into my mind turning my head into a beehive, unable to sort one out. I knew that universe is constantly moving, evolving and transforming. Everything but God, and so the experience of God in us. Wherever I came in the world people explained to me the same truth, that the contact with that deep source is the only thing that remains the same, only expanding as we dive deeper into it. There may be milliones of teachings and tecniques, but the point of perfection searched are the same.

"You think to much, didi!" He said with a little chuckel and peered at me from where he sat. "Thats the reason why so many people get lost in this world, they think to much! Collecting knowledge and reasons and years and years of feelings inside until they are so full of everything else but what they are really looking for. I tell you, Didi, to find whatever answers you have, its not a matter of filling up with something but to let go of what is keaping up the space!"
With this I could tell he was finished and he made a move to rise up. The sun had shifted from noon to early evening meanwhile we talked and the street had slowly filled up from one corner to the other with rikshas and shopkeepers crying for atention, sad-eyed children begging for rupies, people walking, talking, driving mopeds and ox-carts, sellers, dealers and beautiful women in bright-collored saris dancing by with the grace of queens. Afraid of never seeing him again, I wanted to ask for another meeting, a moment, a chance to learn more. But before I had the chance to speak he did.
"Go now and when you come back tomorrow; bring chai and water. The sun is hot, even for an old man."

A seekers path...

I once met a man in Katmandu. In the heart of the old city where the sand by thousands and thousands of feet slowly has turned into solid streets. I saw him by the corner where the black marketeers hides from the sun at noon and the sweet smell of chai lingers. Underneath the Jasmine some doves had taken their refuge and the man sat down to rest both his elderly limbs and eyes by their side. I almost missed him, draped in an olivegreen scarf on top of a jaliskirt, as I stepped out from the crossing alleyroad, sun in my eyes and the heavy smell of garlic and foul meat like a invisible wall before me. The street being bussy even at this hour due to the stream of tourists and everyday people living the modern way.
The man leaned against the wall, hands folded on top of his spiny cane like a sword stucked in the ground before him. A knight of his generation, soon to be lost in time. The insight came to me in a split second; That man is a Teacher! and with that a sudden urge to fall down on my knees infront of him, asking for his blessing, begging for permition to wash his tired feet. I did not, of course, but catched by the sudden urge I came up to him and took a seat at a distance that alowed me to both show respect and interest. From my satchel I brought some of the leftover naan from my lunchpac and started to ground it between my fingers to feed the doves. Saying nothing I knew he noticed me.
Some time passed. Still he did not say a word but the bread and the doves gave me a reason to stay. I noticed he was watching though. Some more time passed by. Then, finaly he spoke.
" If the doves had not bin here for you to share your bread with, what reason would you have to stay?"

A million thoughts and answers ran through my head, rights and wrongs, judgements and discourages. What question was that anyway? Was this a ridle, a quest? Somewere at a distant a man cried for a Riksha. The wind touched my arms and reminded me that I was only wearing a shortsleaved shirt. My feet tired of being straped into Teva sandals.
Then Time stopped.
"The doves are not the reason why I´m here" I said, " they are only reminding me of what a blessing it is to have bread to share. The reason why I´m here is because I have long seeked answers to my questions and what seams like faith or God if you like, has brought me to this place at this perticular moment."
"So you are a believer?" he replied, a little curiosity in his voice now.
"We are all believers, in what is what differ us. But yes, you might say I am a beliver."
He hesitated and I took the chance to take the lead in the conversation by turning towards him.
" Are you?"
"It is true. We are all believers... For long I believed in my believe to. Lived as a monk in the temple close to Bodhana, you see. Everyday seaking the truth, everyday meeting the eyes of Buddha, turning the weels for making our prayers heard and spread..." He fell silent and closed his eyes, as if he could see the memories, like a movie, repeating themselves once again.
"And then?" I asked, "what happened?"
With his eyes closed still he took a deep breath, the way elderly wise men do and as to wait for the right wind hesitated before he let the words out.
"Nothing happened, that´s what happend."
"What do you mean?"
"It means; Nothing happened. There were no sudden enlightment, no changing in the outer world, at least not to the better, no siddhis mastered... Instead, Nothing happened."
"...please... what is the meaning of this, Nothing?"
Now he opened his eyes and also made a little shift in his position to face me a little bit better. And as he did, I saw him in a new light. I could tell he was happy by the lines of his face. A constelation of stars in each eye and the eternity carved into his light smile. The old man was gone. Instead I saw the boy he once was.The man, the monk, the seeker and I understod when I saw him what I could not understand. The abscence of time where he was.

To all of you beautiful people who spended the last week in Taizé; Thank you! I am truly Blessed to have met you all!
Thank you all for sharing your stories, your tears, your fears, your happiness, your songs, your truths, your hearts, your lives....

To you with whom I grow in peace, love and understanding; theres no words... I am but so blessed to be in your prescense!
This life is a beautiful gift because of you.

Beyond words,
I am,
Blessed!

Today I find it hard, to stay with what is
because of my heart
that seaks pleasure first

Today Im restless, weary and tired
stumbling across the inner field
of mine

Obvious; if I listen
Be still, take time
rest in silence, seak whats behind
and stay with it untill peace incline

I know, still I don´t

So tired, but sleepless
to restless to rest
Thinking makes no sence
not present in the present

What to do? Nothing to do!
I stay with my peacefull kaos
Rivers my flow from the deapth of the source
but I rest at the bank with my labour

Mitt liv, min kropp
min kärlek, mina ord
min längtan, mina villkor
mina tankar, mitt hopp

Din passion, din ödmjukhet
din frustration, din vilja
dina drömmar, din begränsning
din lust, dina lekar

Nej

Liv, kropp, kärlek, ord, längtan, villkor, tankar, hopp
passion, ödmjukhet, frustration, vilja, drömmar, begränsning, lust, lek

Inget mitt. Inga mina.
Inget ditt. Inga dina.

Jag
Du

Sen allt som rymms där i och emellan.

Men utan orden som förklarar
orden som benämner
orden som förminskar -
eller förstorar
utan dem Är bara det som Är

Utan rädslan finns ingen laddning
Laddat är det vi flyr och befäktar
möter som räddande änglar hos andra
eller väljer att blunda för

Speglar är vi för varandra
Speglar att spegla våra sanningar i
speglar att låta bekräfta det sanna
och allt det som är sant där uti.

Eyes wide open,
clouds passing by
reflectioning the greatness
of the sky

Green green grass below
resting limbs of mine
greatful for the softness
underneath my spine

So shimmering the buds of leaves
at the tips of every branch
so tender every raindrop
transparant

In blissfull moments
being
aware of the endlessness
no end and no begining

The sky above,
the clouds inside
the rain the sun
the open wide
within, beyond,
both far and near
all is that was
will come is here