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1 Corinthians 3. 16-17.
‘Did you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person. For God’s temple is holy and you are that temple.’ And that is all I need to believe. That inner voice of cautious concern, that calm core that always surfaces during turbulence, that ethereal balance that keeps us on the right side of sanity, often generally and casually declared as the conscience or sub-conscience, yet what else could that be but absolute proof of the great presence residing deep within us mere humans? What else could it possibly be? That voice of reason that touches the inner ear and pauses every irrational behavior, that insists on choices and decisions be reconsidered. That just call that summons us from within us and which is never wrong, how can that possibly be a part of ordinary human sensibility? It is too powerful, too rightful to be anything but divine. And that is when realization strikes. I am beloved. I am cared for and worthy, worthy enough for the great Lord, the Creator of existence, to place His Holy Spirit within me. Then I wonder, surely the Holy Spirit resides in one and all? After all, every man is beloved to God. And of course so it is, but unfortunately only a mere few are truly fortunate. Fortunate and blessed to understand and experience the holiness within them. Most man remain ignorant of this glorious fact as the glowing shine of divinity within them is dulled, ignored and eventually buried under the incessant piles of torrid sin. Miracles do occur though, when lost sheep are found and gently but surely hustled back to the faithful flock, shedding ignorant materialistic existences and growing strong enough to empower the holiness within them, seating the Holy Spirit at the throne of their very being. Such regained souls are even more dearly endeared to the Lord. The owner of several vices, one being a strain of unfair possessiveness, I have surprisingly never experienced any qualms whatsoever over sharing my Lord with others. For I know with every conviction, He is too great to abandon me for another. Never has He ever made me want for anything. Never has He left me feeling empty and alone. During moments of deepest despair or greatest joys His presence surrounds me totally and I feel breathlessly engulfed, drowning in that great love He has for me. I can share it all with all I know for I know it will never end, it will only grow deeper and stronger the more I give of it. And that makes me feel so very loved, so very precious. How great is our Lord that He brings out such goodness in us. How wonderful is His unrelenting, total presence within us, calling on us to be true to ourselves, to make better choices for a wonderful life. For the Spirit always shows the way, and tells us what we need to do and still loves us enough to allow us to eventually make our own decisions. And if we fail, if we falter, He is there, within us, around us, making sure we never fall, pulling us back up on to our feet and leading us back to the top again. Probably hoping for our sakes that this time we listen to His kind voice! And if we don’t, and if we fail yet again, never despair for He is right there, holding our heads high above the water as he leads us back to safety once more. Faith is a strange thing. It isn’t really easy to blindly follow what we don’t really see or hear or know in black and white. But close your eyes, relax your muscles, let loose your thoughts and draw your heart, mind and soul to the calmness within you and you will eventually know you’re not alone. It takes a while to realize that it just isn’t when you meditate that you feel the extraordinary presence enfolding you, slowly you accept that presence through every moment of your life. He becomes your soul companion, your best friend, your guardian, your better half and He makes a much better person out of you for He shares your thoughts, your dreams, your fears, your aspirations, He shares everything there is about you and He teaches you not shy away from Him but to trust Him and believe in Him and let Him hold your hand always as He guides you down lush green pastures of an enriching life. Once you believe, then nothing matters anymore. You will want nothing, need nothing, for He knows what you need before you do and He has it all placed right before you. You don’t even have to ask. All you need to do is believe. All you need is faith. And that’s all He wants too.
Amidst the thickening mist, through the darkening clouds
Sometimes almost seen, sometimes seemingly doused. The tiny speck gradually grew, deepening and widening, frantically flitting and hurriedly struggling; Above the heavy, united sway of the clouded trees crowded beneath. A lone bird, alone in its determined flight, Besieged yet fraught to achieve a tremendous feat. So immense was the wind’s might That the fatigued traveler was oft pushed; Oft pulled. Almost torn apart. But its tiny wings continued its consistent and weary battle, Undefeated and dogged, a mere dot that just cannot be stilled. Perhaps someone high and beyond admired its unfettered mettle, For soon nature softened its harsh blows. Immediately the bird rose triumphantly. Joyously stretching upon its fore-planned path, Its wings spreading in merry pride, as it gleefully ascended- Above the dark trees, beyond the darkened mists and through the heavy clouds. Heading, perhaps, to an anxious feathered beloved, For his was a rigorous struggle, a resolute combat that defined an ultimate purpose, A reason to which his devotion was absolute. And what more could it be than the awaiting warmth of true eager love?
How do I appease the weeping heart?
Once, once again and yet again Battered and beaten and broken The mind knows the art Yet the heart never learns Again and again and yet again A fool. Always a fool. The heart can only weep. How do I appease the weeping heart? The mind knows the golden rule Yet the heart’s weeping does not cease Dreams never really breathe The living is real, life is cruel Hold your breath as you drown Then on you strive Battered and beaten and broken. Yet the heart won’t give in Always longing to be where it doesn’t belong Always giving, always weeping How do I appease the weeping heart? Always wanting what it doesn’t own Always demanding, always yearning, always weeping How do I appease the weeping heart? The aching loneliness just lives on. Proud, unwanted, unloved A sadness fills and hurts The joy is but in painful spurts Why is nothing ever enough? How do I appease my weeping heart?
Every time I get a whiff of the heavy dryness of a burning fire’s smoke, every time my skin feels taut and I long to lick lips that are chapped in parched weather, every time the heavens pour their mighty tears down my window, I am flooded with memories of that faraway place I’d known as home for almost a decade.
I had just turned ten when we finally left the town of Zaria, tucked away in a corner of Nigeria, and returned to my parents hometown Cochin, another town tucked away in a corner of India. Cochin is the place I now call home, but I often remember that land I had once lived in and the people I had lived around with, with much fondness. Not many would have been happy there but when you’re young and free and uninhibited with the fears and insecurities of a responsible adult who struggles to survive, it’s simply the perfect place to be. Running across large lush fields with your hair streaming in the wind, your laughter echoing as you scramble up the huge trees that fringe your mother’s garden filled to the brim with papaya and banana trees that are perpetually pregnant with luscious fruit. Screaming as you’re chased, either by your neighbor’s inhuman dog or a host of hostile bees. Staring up at the starlit sky and trying to figure out if the moon depicted a plump rabbit or a mother with a child. Wearing scuffed shorts and torn tees, and always skipping instead of walking, it was the perfect life, to be able to be your untidy, unkempt self in the place you loved to be, without a care in the world. Life was an unending adventure in those days. Days that were often dark when my family and all the families around us in the college campus my parents taught in, had to be, for long periods of time, without any electricity. But to my adolescent mind, it had been great fun, studying by the lamp, inhaling the seductive fumes of burning kerosene, enjoying the company of the shadows forever dancing by your side. I loved the daily evening outings with my mum, the car piled with laundry and Gerri cans, driving to other homes in other residential complexes, where there was a steady supply of water and the exciting opportunity to play even more! Now, as I look back I can hardly imagine living as my parents did all those years ago. I remember we would buy bread by the carton and stack up frozen chickens by the dozen, for there was no telling when they would be available next. Every middle-class expatriate home had a generator and a deep freezer, those were the basic necessities a family needed to survive in a land that was so wild in so many different ways and probably still is despite the years that have gone by. Maybe a touch of that wild streak of a country untamed and unfettered by so-called social obligations to be proper has rubbed a bit of a shine off me. For there’s no denying, the impulsive anger outbursts, the impulsive tears and the impulsive loud shouts of laughter have to come from somewhere or someplace if not genetic. I had my first dog there, a loyal companion during many a lonely day as I was the only sibling to a brother who was in another continent and in the next rung of his education after schooling. I learnt to cycle there, my mum’s student, a grown man with five kids of his own and who doubled as the house-help, running alongside me, releasing his strong grip on my cycle only when he was confident enough that I could make it on my own. I learnt to read there and I learnt to write there, and for introducing me to the two passions of my life alone I am eternally grateful to the school I had been in from morning to noon every day from the age of three and maybe the only school I truly loved going to without any compulsion. I had my first real friends there and I have them with me today too, though I am dependent on social networking now to maintain these rare and long lasting relationships. Friendships that did not care about the color of your skin or the place of your worship but solely concerned themselves with the person that you were. I learnt my first lesson on loss there too, when my parents brand new Peugeot was stolen from the parking lot of a supermarket just months after they bought it, and that too after years of deliberation and careful planning. Those were the days when my mother would cut my hair in the garden with newspapers spread around me, she would stitch my dresses in patterns copied from catalogues shipped in from Mothercare, with cloth bought from wholesale stores in the local market. Every other month or so, we would travel for hours to meet up her cousins who lived and taught there too. Church was fun, dancing and singing in praise of a Creator who has an imagination witty enough to create me and some of the crazy people I know and love. Holidays meant being outdoors right from light-break to the call of dusk. Indian festivals were awaited in eager anticipation, for they meant large events organized by the Indian Association which in turn meant days of fun and practice prior to the event in which every child had a role to play on stage, which reminds me, I first got on a stage there and from then on I have had the good fortune to experience and enjoy the thrill of being in front of an audience. It had been a good life, unfettered by inhibitions, where tans and scrapes and playing in the mud were a way of life. Perhaps these are the memories most people have of their childhood, but I would selfishly like to believe that the first few chapters of my life are not common to many. And I am thankful to my parents, though I know how difficult it must have been for them to live and call home a land unencumbered with the many, many facilities and necessities that modern life deems necessary for a normal basic existence, I am thankful to them for letting me know that virgin country and allowing me to be a part of its innocence.
The realization that she’s different is something I recently realized I would probably never get accustomed to.
Of course time thankfully sets a complacency that keeps you going most of the time, but one thing I know I will never get used to is occasionally and relentlessly being hit hard with the undeniable truth, especially when you least expect it. Maybe it’s because she’s different that she’s so special. 
But sometimes human nature can be such a pain, and the dull ache hurts even more when I sometimes wonder how life would’ve been like if she’d been any different from how she is. Would I have loved her as much if she’d withstood society’s stringent demands of so-called normalcy? And my answer to my own query is my sole comfort - I doubt it.
Still, and yet again, human nature turns treacherous as is its true nature, she is after all just a child, still so fresh to life, and as I look back at all the hardships faced till she blossomed this far a dread fills me, will my reserves of strength take me much further? Sometimes my perfidious heart longs for the ordinariness that most take for granted. The simple joy of hearing her mindless chatter, of watching her play with others her age, the effortless confidence of knowing she’ll one day be able to face life on her own without my presence to guide her. And my soul begins to cry, oh for the simple joys of being an ordinary parent! My only excuse for my betrayal - living a life of constant trepidation can be quite a toll after all; the consistent concern for her well being, of worrying for her, about her. But then I look at her and I see her dimples as she smiles, the light in her eyes as she looks at me, right at me, and my heart is finally appeased and I know, I would never want her any other way for she is my angel. She is precious, not because she is a part of me, not just for the person that she is but for being chosen to be one of the special few who will always retain that divine innocence that is beyond birth from another realm, that gives soul to our physical being, which the rest of us lose vision of. We were luckier than many, because we learnt very early on that she was different. In fact, her autistic traits were detected when she was just 18 months old. She was fine till she completed her first year and then suddenly, she wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. She wouldn’t respond to her name. She wouldn’t chew her food. And a voice within me told me it was time to begin this unpleasant journey that never really ends, to find help and to help her. From then on I have been in a constant state of apprehension and I am yet to get accustomed to it. I seriously doubt I ever will. 
Confirming fears did not really come as a shock, it never does, after all, it isn’t a fatal disease, it was still very early and optimism kicks in to keep you going. The expectations never die, you have faith in the healing touch of therapy, you believe both you and her will heal, she improves greatly, but you are never really actually cured.
And that’s when faith takes over. What I truly learn from all of this blows my heart away. God must really have a lot of faith in me after all He gave her to me believing I would do everything it takes to take care of her. How could I ever let God down? And thus the cycle begins to turn. For how could God let me down either? My faith is rock strong and I believe God has a purpose, with me, with her, with our lives. And I will do all I can to live up to His expectations. And that’s when I look back and see everything yet again but differently. I see the beauty of my child that had left me breathless right from the moment I had her. I appreciate the inner beauty she will always bear innocently within her and I realize how truly blessed I am to have her as mine. I realize how truly blessed she is to be constantly in the favor of divinity and how yet again I am blessed through her to know life differently from the mundane dullness of everyday living. And I know I’m lucky, I have an angel of my own, right here, with me, for always. And for the moment I have peace, as the tempest stays tamed until the truth hits me yet again. |