Friends dearest, Hope you are all doing well. Please write when you can, with details. My details, plus random thoughts and observations, are below. It has been well over a year since I wrote one of these. In fact, I started and wrote a couple of pages of this in february of last year, in the height of winter after driving back from Harrisburg through a blizzard. That seems so long ago, in a distant planet. Today I am writing this at the end of spring, beginning of summer "vacation," on a very warm and sunny day in Washington. Things are getting better for me, personally and professionally as well. So I was planning to write a very exuberant message, full of joy and celebration. But fate has intervened to make this a sad time in my family. Little more than a week ago, my uncle's (mother's brother) wife died of sudden cardiac arrest. She died literally in mid-motion, as if someone hit the pause button. Then last night, even before the mourning period had ended, my grandmother (mother's mother) died in exactly the same way. She was the matriarch and the pillar of my mother's family. She ran the family, and left behind my mother and six aunts and uncles, thirteen grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. She was 82. I am glad I got to see her when I visited in march, but that doesn't reduce the sorrow in her passing away. Though the end was sudden and painless, she went through a lot of pain both physical and mental in the past few years. I also wish I had been married when I saw her. But time waits for nothing... So the following random thoughts, written as a conversation, is more serious than silly. I have also modified what I wrote originally to fit with recent events. Look forward to hearing from you, love, Sankar As before, this is an imaginary conversation with an imaginary woman. Like all writings, it is based on real life experiences and real people, of course. Random thoughts (30)-- conversation 5/15/04 (started 2/23/03) We are sitting in the bustling little mall in Baltimore's inner harbor. My beautiful friend is eating a falafel sandwich with hummus in pita bread. I am drinking a smoothie and we are both taking in the nocturnal sights, through the glass wall facing the bay with its twinkling waters. "So," I say, reluctantly interrupting her, "How was your time in Seattle?" "Oh, great," she says, still watching the water. We both love water. Then she turns and smiles. "I am very happy to see you again. I missed you." "Well, I am happy to be back too. I wish I had some way to communicate while I was there hiking. But I must say I really enjoy the life out west. I have so much to tell you." "For a while, I was worried I might never see you again! Anyway, at least you got back in time to enjoy the spring weather." "Yes, the weather is indeed nice. But looks like the political weather is pretty rough and bleak." I could only nod in silence. "Life is as unpredictable as the weather, isn't it?" "So is death," I say. "I am so sorry about the deaths in your family, Sankar." "Thank you. It is just the time. The past few years have been the time for life -- so many relatives and friends of mine have gotten married, had children. Now it is the time for death." "Well, I hope it will be the time for life again, very soon." "I hope so, too. But these days, it does feel like the time for death. I can hardly bear to watch the TV these days. All you can see in the news is death, destruction and endless conflict." "But life has been always like that. Because of the non-stop news, you just feel it more intensely." "I don't know. But it does make you stop and think about these matters. Not just questions like what is life and what is death, but also things like who has to die for what, do we care enough about the people who die, about the death and destruction happening everyday? Every person who dies, leaves behind a grieving family, friends and lovers." My friend turns more thoughtful. I feel slightly guilty about creating sadness in her serene countenance, as if I had thrown a stone into a perfectly still pond. "We do have to think about these things. Not to burden ourselves with the world's sorrows, but to search for meaning and justice in our lives," she says, as if sensing my uneasiness. "We cannot always live like children, building castles out of sand." "What do we take with us, when we die? Does our consciousness die as well? Are we all then just machines, and our thoughts, memories and feelings just processes arising out of the actions and reactions of our lives?" "Maybe philosophy and spirituality is just a device we create to deal with the randomness and meaninglessness of life and death. Or perhaps life is meant to be just a mystery?" Sometimes she surprises me. For someone who loves and enjoys life so much, she could be very detached and unsentimental. (to be continued) Dear friends, Thanks to those who wrote back and offered condolences. The mourning period goes on for 13 days and on the last day (this coming friday) there will be a purification ceremony at my late grand-mother's house. To respect her memory I am refraining from most recreational activities until friday. So at home my TV is always on the Weather Channel. After a week of watching only weather channel I have noticed several things that I like about it: Weather and pictures of places all over the US creating a vicarious travelling experience; commercials about tropical getaways (always preferable to beer commercials) and gardens; no subliminal advertising (I hope) or programming meant to keep you hooked; nice, real-life, intelligent (and often pregnant) women anchors; scientific talk by scientific people who look nerdy like me; and if I am in the mood for some action along with some remainders of the impermanence of life and the power of nature-- "Storm stories." Saw a really wonderful, classic Japanese movie yesterday at the Arlington Unitarian church, as part of a fund-raiser for "Change your mind day" (june 5). Kon Ichikawa's "Burmese Harp" based on a classic book "Harp of Burma" is about a company of World war II Japanese soldiers in Burma during and after the surrender of Japan in that area. One of them becomes a monk and decides to stay in Burma. Very profound, at the same time very well-made movie. Below is the continuation and conclusion of rt30 from last week. Basically I have tried to distil my thoughts about life, death and their meaning based on my feelings during the past week as well as my experiences and things I learnt from various people during my life. As always, the best part is hearing from you. Hope all of you are enjoying the summer weather (or winter, if you happen to be in the southern hemisphere). Sankar Random thoughts (30)-- conversation --part 2 (continued from 5/16/04) 5/22/04 For a while we just sat in silence, watching people passing through the mall. Her remark about the apparent randomness and meaninglessness of life hung in the air like a glass curtain and the life in front of us seemed to be taking place in a virtual world behind that curtain. Sometimes you feel suddenly detached from life, as if you were simply an observer from outer space, invisible to the crowds of people. You are not quite sure if you are in a dream or if what you were seeing was quite what it was. "What are you thinking about, Sankar?," she interrupted, as she is prone to do if I get lost in thought. She is more curious than impatient. "I was just lost for a moment. Not necessarily in thought," I said, sheepishly. "Most of the time we are just participants in life, not thinking about what it means, and death is the last thing on our minds. But your remark got me detached from that driftwood state of mind, and suddenly I felt like I was just watching a movie or something." She smiled, and put her hand on mine. "There, can you feel it? Are you still feeling detached?" I laughed. She has a way of bringing me down to earth. "One could spend one's life in intellectual exercises about what it all means. Or one could just be part of the moment. I prefer to be just part of the moment, and I like to get lost in the crowd," she says. "I know that even when you get lost in the crowd, you are not really lost. I know that even when you are just part of the moment, you are fully awake. I also know that you say this because you understand that certain truths are beyond intellectual enquiry," I say. "How do you know? Perhaps I am just lost, asleep, and ignorant," she says, with the same mischievous smile. "No, I don't know. In fact I might be happy if you were," I say, and she laughs. "Well, how do we "know" anything? I don't think anyone can claim to know the ultimate truth about everything. I will be suspicious of anyone who makes such claims. Even the greatest teachers, such as the Buddha, asked their followers to ultimately follow their own path when seeking the truth," I say. "Perhaps they just meant that the truth has to be experienced by each person by himself or herself, and cannot be explained or taught?" "That is true as well. In any case, the result is the same. One can learn from many teachers, and believe in certain teachings, but ultimately, I think each person should question everything and seek the truth on one's own." "Yes. All we have to start with are questions and beliefs. Only a few know the answers. The ones who think they know all the answers are usually the most ignorant," she says. "As they say, ignorance is bliss." We both laugh. "Maybe the truth is that we know the truth if we think we know it," I say. But she doesn't respond. I am afraid I have said something totally pointless. She gets back to work on her sandwich, and then spends a few moments looking at the boats plying the harbor waters. "Sankar, aren't you just completely amazed and overwhelmed by the beauty of life, sometimes? Just observing life passing in front of you, without any sort of thought attached to it? I mean, just being lost in the moment? Why worry about what it means? And since death can happen at anytime, why not enjoy this moment the most you can? As if you know you are going to die tomorrow?" "Perhaps what you are describing is bliss, Nirvana, or rapture." "Whatever." "No, I am serious. Maybe the deeper you get into the moment, the closer you are to the true meaning of existence. By simply observing, and paying attention, we can also show our love to something or someone in a very pure, unconditional way. But the test is, can you do it every moment of your life, any moment? It is not enough if it can happen at sunset on a serene beach when you are perfectly peaceful and watching something whose beauty creates great joy in your mind. Also, what do you mean by "no thought attached to it?" That can mean a lot of things. To me, the less ego or perception attached to our observation, the deeper it is." "What if I am just not thinking, just doing whatever I am doing or watching whatever I am watching? Am I being mechanical or just an unthinking animal? Where does that fall in your spectrum of enlightened observation?," she asks, without any sarcasm. "I guess that can be like a good preparation. Thinking about something, or even being aware of doing something, prevents you from observing with all your attention. Just doing something helps you to get into a state of mind where you can start purely observing without any ego awareness or object perception. But you are still aware of your body, aware of doing, and you are constantly perceiving something as an object." "Like right now I am aware that I am biting this falafel sandwich. But atleast I am not thinking that I am only aware of biting this falafel or that I am thinking that I am not thinking about being aware of anything else, etc,etc,etc.,...But what is this about not perceiving of anything as an object?" "Actually not perceiving any object. That's where the ego business comes in. Most philosophers and spiritual teachers agree that, in our mundane lives, we are caught up in a rather programmed, mechanical and reactive mindset. Our individual ego is subject to all the stimuli and inputs coming from both within ourselves and without, including our feelings of pride, jealousy, fear, anger, greed, and whatnot. We are constantly reacting to these inputs. But many spiritual teachers say, and I believe this, that there is a bigger ego that is part of a universal ego or universal spirit or whatever you want to call it. In fact the Advaita philosophy goes further to say that there is only one object, which is the universal object, and that seeing many is illusion. So as soon as you perceive an object, you are separating yourself from the universal ego and being caught in the illusion of many. When you are aware of nothing including the universal ego that you and I and everything else is a part of, and perceive nothing, then you become one with the universal ego. Once you lose awareness of your individual ego you are capable of loving everything because you know it is all one." "In other words, when there is nothing at all in our consciousness we become part of one thing which is also everything." "Exactly. Even being aware of even the universal object means that you are also aware of your individual ego, because in order to be aware of an object first there has to be a subject, which in this case will be your individual self. There is this state of consciousness called 'dimension of nothingness' in the Buddhist 'Novice's questions,' which I think may be referring to this." "Like you said, Sankar, even this that sounds so great is something that you believe in. Maybe you understand it as true based on your experience, but it is still only your belief. I could as well say that I believe that all there is to life is just to completely live in this moment. Not only it gives me a way to love life, it gives me a way to enjoy it, to find meaning in it, and also to show my love to all beings and make others happy." Thus saying, she went back to eating her falafel sandwich, carefully wiping off the hummus that was sticking to her slender lips.