today, i find myself  waking up to a rare morning breeze… collected myself to a new place for a training… that is supposed to be formal… yet the officials treated time leisurely, casually…. i began to settle in more or less relaxed.. and lots of time is spent waiting… waiting… while i chatted to 2 new strangers beside me… i felt comforting….

there were a strange assortment of faces …  the personalities flashing before me were intriguing… i felt kindness and loveliness in some of them… perhaps they were so casual and down to earth..  and there were a pair of cool couples… cool coz they simply looked cool.. esp the young girl’s hairstyle. they look bohemian, arty farty sort.  they were old men, in china suit — white plain short sleeved shirt and brown/black pants – and balding.  they were a few well-groomed tai tais… there were intelligent looking young adults, all of them individualistic and outstanding. .. and of coz, there were a few cliques of blurry vague persons who simply added to the atmosphere in the room..

such a rare day of new encounters — new place, new acquaintances, new experience…

.

Caught in between past and future,
my panic syndromes reign,
surprise attacks catch me off hand,
unprepared and helpless, totally in its mercy

Then today, glimpse by glimpse,
that appears a painfully held flicker of relief and hope,
I remember to live in the moment,
I remember – Nothing to do, nobody to be
And I breathe hard and deeply
Resisting against the tight chest and constricted muscles

What heavy loads have I carried in my lungs!?
The burdens of an identity and mold I need to live in

Sometimes, I really do not know either,
Where these much panic and fear come from
It makes no sense,
I do not even fear death, what else can grip me in its grasp!?

I fear pain, the pain of living,
There are indescribable entanglements in my stomach, in the solar plexus
Very problematic messy stomach
Indigestion

Yes, indigestion of all the elements of living
What keeps me here?
What keeps me coming back again and again, life after life?

.

There is red bean soup from mother’s love in the early hours before dawn. I wonder why she needs to prepare this, and the only sensible reason is - out of love.

The silence in the air at home may be strange. It may be a projection of my constricted and contracted existence. I am afraid. I am afraid anyone asks me the same old question; and although this question is asked of me so many times, the frequency never lessens the pressure it carries. Now a hint of that strikes my nerves like a nail mercilessly on cotton.

Don’t ask me WHY. Don’t ask me why things happen in my life the way they happen. I lost the ability to answer, because i feel my left brain has shut down - rot, decayed or deranged. I search relentlessly for justification, for explanations, for comfort & assurance, for hope; and i have expensed my dignity, self-will, lots of energy and time.

The stars on the sky at my birth is one explanation; the lines on my palm and face is another. Psychics read into a dimension of me I can’t see; some flipped cards and showed me mystical figures who influenced my life. And dozens and dozens of books that serve to help people come closer to life and destiny. I sat facing myself alone while hours and hours tickled past; I journeyed through layers and layers of altered states.. all with promising glimpses into who I am.

Perhaps these are all part of my journey. Part of a journey to search for the forgotten memory of knowing Who I am. Perhaps Buddha and all awakened ones have gone through the same journey. Perhaps it does not matter how long we take to reach the destination, I just have to keep on it – the ways I know how, the ways I was shown how, the new ways I was to discover.

Don’t ask me WHERE I am and where I am heading. These questions are hurting. I lost the compass to my heart, I surrender the navigation to my soul. And the last time I heard, the answers and directions have no words. My disengaged head and ego could only nod and follow. I may continue to resist a thousand years, rebelling, banging and hitting myself against the wall.

But only what’s not seen that’s most important, they said.

Defies LOGIC? Defies logic?? 

I know.

.

Friends are like flying kites. Sometimes u pull the string tighter, sometimes u need to loosen; sometimes u snap it for whatever reason, sometimes u just need to let go. Sometimes u think they are gone for good, and they appear in life again; sometimes u think u r great friends, only to discover paths have led both of u distant for a long forgotten time.

Sometimes u feel safe around a friend for some time, n u talk more; sometimes u feel cheated and betrayed.

Sometimes it’s better to have friends around, sometimes it’s wiser to be alone.

Sometimes u think a friend is around n u can rely on to pull u up, only to realise u need to find support in someone else.

Sometimes u feel strongly that it all matters much, and u know u r the only one feeling that way. Or u don’t know. U don’t know that they don’t know, and u feel strongly they should know. Then it’s wise to remind yourself, it’s after all a game of flying kites.

Sometimes u hold the sadness and disappointment about a friend for ages past, but little do u know the daily prayers of blessing he/she send u from their hearts.

Sometimes u r blamed for not helping and showing concern, but u know u have your limits and self-responsibility. Sometimes u r blamed for being cold and insensitive, but u know u have your judgments and projections.

Sometimes u feel that clarifying does not lead to truthful communication, sometimes u just don’t bother.

Sometimes u feel really miserable that u just can’t put things right in any relationship. Then it’s wise to tell yourself, it takes practice to fly kites.

Sometimes u feel like giving all up, but life knocks and presents all sorts of people at your door once more.

There is no boxes for u to put different friends into, there is no labels for u to classify. The kite does not know when the wind blows, the kite-flyer does not know its forms either. Relationship is like the field in the air – no form, no color, no direction. So, manage it like one flying kites -

sometimes give a little tug, sometimes loosen the rein; and
when it’s time to let it all go, please don’t cry. After all, it’s just a game of flying kites.

.

Written at this time when I feel disconnected from all friends and not sure if it really matters. Maybe the vacuum is still normal, since I really do not have regular social meet-ups like:
-  healing circle
- study group
- religious circle
- media entertainment kakis
- sport or interest group
and i do not have spouse and kids to occupy me,
and i do not have partner to romance with,
and i do not have activists and campaigners to hang out with for a cause……………

Maybe these are the things that keep people occupied, and these are people identified as ‘friends’.

.
________________________________________________________

image source:

http://jackipaper.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/kite.jpg
http://mikelaprevost.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/kite.jpg
http://familyhealthandhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/go-fly-a-kite.jpg

.

i enjoyed my daily sitting at my study table, making reading my main focus and task. I completed a 2nd reading of  Rick Philips’ Window to the Soul, with the 1st done in 2005. I must admit i absorbed not a single word from that time, and life took me these years to understand the messages contained in this book. Now I appreciate it better, working alongside with my reading is retrospection.

Significantly, I recalled the sessions I’ve done with Rick, and marvelled at the depth of symbollic meaning those sessions revealed. I also understand more, firsthand, what emotional body clearing is. Wonderful that learning has its own pace happening in my life, slow but better than never.  

Those peaceful, introspective moments of reading were intercepted by anxiety nevertheless. The usual pattern of dilemma, desperation, conflicts, polarity…

That Window to the Soul is a nice side-track. K.W.’s The Atman Project is still my main dish. And i relish the momentum and flow of coherence of his ideas. This is a difficult book to keep up. I remembered holding this book at the airport in Delhi just one year ago, stuck at the first chapters. And I must have started on this even prior to that. And I am moved, grateful that clouds in my mind is finally passing its way out. I finally get to the momentum of reading it chapter after chapter, AND comprehending it !

Half way into Robert Kiyosaki’s Rich Dad, Poor Dad which i allow myself to indulge today. My bro has bought it and left it in the living room. Reading it fills me with new understanding the effects of Hwee meng’s teaching has had on me. She has taken pains to let me unfold my journey, leading me to see some of the insights as shed in this book. __ the part on driven by fear and lack, and running the rat race.

Each point in life, when you look carefully, holds two sides of its nature: what appears to your eyes, and what lays hidden (shadow). . .    

.

我心里有个缺口，埋藏着自儿时的痛。

我辗转人群情感之中，多份零散的友情、职工情及与服务对象的感情，无为不是为着提醒这冷却的心，遗忘的痛。

这份工，我只想把它当作一份收入来源。但灼灼逼近、反复围绕的是人情，耳边一直听到“亲情”、“朋友”，感受到触动、碰触、慰问。。。

each time i leave a job, i’ve betrayed the trust and hope that employer had on me. i repeated the pattern of leaving, escaping, for fear of the hurt induced on me in childhood. the pain of rejection, dispel.

i end up yet in another job, that brings up and mirrors all the tensions i feel inside. the cold distance i felt, the warmth given to me, the feelings of kinship, friendship, concern that is taking place, building, making its way into me.

i recall and recall, scene after scene, friendship after friendship, with mother, until i come to the deep pain in my heart, the father who chose to leave me behind in my grandparents’ house in which i felt totally stranger and lonely.

the father who chased me out of his house twice.
the father who abandoned his daughter.

i failed to overcome this deep distrust. a father’s love and acceptance has been so crucial to any child/daughter; and the lack of it resonates itself in every single relationship i have with others. cannot trust, fear of abandonment, rejection. afraid to be reminded of this pain that has never healed. the longing for a happy united family never came through. the missing father. a very deep pain i felt, finally, do come through to me now.

how can i bring healing to myself? to my heart?
how can i love myself once again?

i saw each friend, each teacher, each acquaintance through the way my father treated me. i don’t know how to trust.

i saw life, heaven father sky, god and all masculine figures through the way my father treated me. my heart fills with suspicion, fear, hurt of misplaced trust. and there is lots of grief, from broken dreams.from distorted reality. from the kind of happiness that comes with happy family that was never in my life.

my heart colder than winter and the biting breeze.

how can i make it up, for myself ?

.

the day passed peacefully. i am experiencing deeper calmness in my centre of being. now i begin to understand the meaning of this unwavering core, unperturbed by how others relate to you. even if there are strands of unpleasantness, they pass and move on.

the video interview:
one interviewer said she began to let go of negative thinking. letting go of the habit of thinking cynically, pessimistically, suspiciously.. it’s first a realisation, then a conscious effort to abandon what’s unwholesome.

at times i still think of her. and the consequent hopeless, helplessness, resignation and numbing. sigh. 

.