The 12 laws of Karma: THE LAW OF RESPONSIBILITY

If I ever save a fairy and she is ever so grateful and she decided to abide by the fairy tale rule of granting me one wish and she considers my first wish (to have as many wishes as I like) as an invalid wish, then my only second wish would be to never forget the lessons I have learned in life.

One lesson I keep forgetting over and over again is to stop playing the victim; to stop blaming others for my misfortunes. It’s me. It’s me. It’s me.

I was talking to someone in her early 80s and he was nagging about his kids and how ungrateful they are. I met one of his daughters later on that evening and the things she said about her dad…well. let’s just say he’s got great kids that they still talk to him!! If what the daughter told me was true.

Then it got me thinking…so when I complain or am upset with certain people in my life, could it be that it’s not them, it’s me?!! Am I just as blind as that old guy. He truly didn’t see that his current situation is the result of his actions (or mistreatment of his loved ones). My question is: How do I know if what happens to me is not the result of my bitchiness?

I guess I got my answer today. I was surfing when I came across the 12 laws of Karma. One of the laws is: THE LAW OF RESPONSIBILITY

THE LAW OF RESPONSIBILITY
Whenever there is something wrong,
there is something wrong in me.
We mirror what surrounds us
and what surrounds us mirrors us
We must take responsibility what is in our life.

No Expectations

I don’t know why for the past few days I wake up with a smile…a deep, light, sincere smile.

I don’t know why for the past few weeks all my dreams of mom are as if she never left. As if 2009 never happened.

I don’t know why my soul started decluttering without discussing it with me first.

I don’t know why my logical side no longer seeks answers.

I don’t know why I no longer feel angry; I hold no resentment against anyone; I no longer loath any thing or anyone.

I don’t know why I am calm; I am light.

I don’t know why I no longer want things, nor need things.

I don’t know why I no longer have any expectations from myself, from others, from god, from life, from destiny.

I don’t know what took over my soul; all I know is I like it.

How or why it happened, I don’t know

WHY???

Dear Mom,

This is the first time I talk to you directly since you…well…I am not even sure what to call your departure…first time I had to inform Afshin, I said you had gone to be with God…first time I informed my work in Kuwait, I said, you had found your eternal peace… First time I had to inform anyone…was Azi and Nazy…they had came running outside and were starring at me, mouth open…I just plainly said, “You are gone.”

Are you? Gone?

Why?

Why are you gone?

It was all a mistake. It shouldn’t have had happened. Somewhere something went wrong…I am sure it wasn’t your time…why did you have to…have to go?

It’s been 96 days as of today….I am not sure which stage I am at now…the anger is still with me, the denial, the pain, the whys, the illusions, the joking around with friends hoping my laughter  wud change reality…I go through all the stages in the same day…every day…everyday for the past 96 days

The only constant question I have is…why?

.

Why did I refuse to believe the doctors when they told me you have 6 to 1 year left back in July?

If I had believed them, maybe you would have…

.

Why didn’t I encourage you more to stick to your green diet?

If I had maybe you would have been cured

.

Why did I change the topic every time you wanted to talk about the end?

If I hadn’t, maybe you would have gotten a lot of things off your chest…maybe that would have cured you.

.

Why did I not believe the doctors when they told me in October that you had already outlived their expectation?

If I had, maybe I could have…

.

Why did I have so much hope?

If I had accepted reality maybe I would have said all the things I c

.

Why did I take you out on that chilly night?

If I hadn’t, maybe you wouldn’t have caught that cold, which made you spectrum worse.

.

Why did I take you to Tehran?

If I hadn’t, maybe the doctors here could have tried a different treatment.

.

Why did I give you that glass of water?

I f I hadn’t maybe you cough wouldn’t have gotten worse.

.

I am so sorry mom…there were a million things I could have done differently and any one of those could have altered your departure.

I ran into that colleague of mine yesterday whose mom was in the same room as you. Remember? He asked me how you were doing. My heart literally shrunk sending out a succession of pain throughout my whole being…and again my only thought was why.

He too was surprised. He said he thought you were doing well. And I smiled…and I said, yes you were…you were laughing a lot…I took you out in your wheelchair…the one you had the nurse, the one with the neat handwriting, write your name on it…remember how we ran into one of your doctors one day at True Value…you wanted me to wheel you over to him…I said, let him have his privacy, he’s out with his family, but you were determined…you rolled yourself over to him and proudly announced, “See, doctor, I am all well. I am out”…that was precisely 3 weeks before your departure….WHY????

I hate it when people say you have found your eternal peace…mom you were a fighter…you wanted your peace right here…

Windmills of My Mind

Never ending circles

.

I want my inner zombies back…

Being blissfully numb is gnawing at my ferocity.. .

.

Had been blissful before, had been numb before…just never blissfully numb

Yeah, I want my inner zombies back, this utopia is too drone

Want my dystopia back

.

.

The winds have been turning the windmills of my mind again…

Sleep is laden with illusionary images again…

The reel, the snowball, the carnival balloon, the carousel are all here

Was it something I said, was it something I should have said

Will I ever get put the fragments together, will the puzzle be ever completed

.

.

I want this jangle to irate me, I want this temple to misguide me

I want to trade this blissful numbness for a teacher …for a joker

.

First I will break the wings of my angel,

Then I will bury my dancing shoes

How should I drown out the piper I wonder?

Need to inject some toxins in my spirit,

Need to combat the voice within

Need to dry out the sweet rain

.

I can’t tell,

Can’t tell where I left my soul shaker

Don’t know,

I don’t know how to throw the dice on the game of snakes and ladder anymore

.

.

.

Wrote this at wee hour of a Thursday morning after listening to “Windmills of your Mind” over and over again. I first heard this song in music class in grade 2 or 3. The melody was stuck somewhere at the back of my ‘windmills’ for many years. I ‘found’ the song 2 years ago on one the blogs but didn’t quite get it till this morning. Finally the lyrics clicked; now that my mind is entangled in the same whirlpool

The original version of the song and in my opinion the best version

.

.

Dusty Springfield’s version is the best female version of it.

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Lyrics

The Windmills Of Your Mind

(from “The Thomas Crown Affair”)

Music by Michel Legrand
Lyrics by Alan Bergman and Marilyn Bergman

Round, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel.
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that’s turning
Running rings around the moon

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream.

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly
Was it something that you said
Lovers walking along the shore,
Leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand

Pictures hanging in a hallway
And a fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong

When you knew that it was over
In the autumn of goodbyes
For a moment
You could not recall the color of his eyes

[if a man is singing, this part would be:]

When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair?

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circle that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Kuwait, Iran, Malaysia

About 3 months ago I picked up a book called, “Eat, Pray, Love’ by Elizabeth Gilbert at Kuwait’s airport on my way to Iran. It’s a travelogue of a woman in search of herself in Italy (eat), India (pray) and Indonesia (love).

A few minutes ago I was thinking I kinda (albeit an itsy bitsy teeny weeny kinda) had a similar experience. See, the past five years in Kuwait I have mostly focused on attaining my masterdom in the art of the worldly pleasures in all things gluttonous (eat). So Kuwait was my Italy. My last trip to Iran sealed my quest for inner peace, it was purely spiritual (pray). India was Iran for me. So could Malaysia be my Indonesia? hehehe doubt it

Next post, random pix of Malaysia:

No longer a Mirror Polisher

Today marks the 18 month-and- 20 day anniversary of when I wrote my first post (don’t look at me like that, I’m sure there’s some tribe some where in the world that actually celebrates an 18 month and 20 day anniversary).

I was in the middle of writing a post on “The Five people I will meet in Heaven” when I realize that the phase of being a “Mirror Polisher” is completed. Here’s an excerpt from the post I explain the story behind the name:

Why Mirror Polisher? Coz I used to dread mirrors. I would only look into one in the mornings when brushing my hair, and even then only at my hair, never into my eyes. For some reason, staring straight into my own eyes wasn’t too comfortable for me. Maybe it was because our eyes are mirrors of our souls; if you look deep enough you can see the essence of one’s soul. For me a Mirror Polisher is a person who is not afraid of seeking self-awareness, who polishes the mirror to get a clear reflection of their soul.

Well, people, I am done polishing. I now know who I am. I am now happy with who I am. I now love having mirrors all over the house…and these mirrors are so well polished that the eyes that stare back at me no longer intimidate me.

So, it’s time I left this blog.

Just like I left Magical Droplets.

But who am I going to be now?

……

……

……

……

……

Hmmmmmmm…..

I’ll be me.

No nicknames, no words that best describe me, no symbols of what defines me, just me…

Actually scratch what I just said…I can’t use my real real name!!! Not that I write anything I wouldn’t want anyone who knows me in real life to read, but still…it would be creepy knowing that they know about my blog but I don’t know they know

Hmmmmm, give me time to think of a new nickname.

*goes to think*

Shoo, shoo be gone you pesky conscience!!

I need a new conscience; I’m fed up with the one I currently have; it’s way too loud, obnoxious and never ever shuts up…oh and the stupid thing never takes my side!!! Seriously, anyone knows where I can get a new ‘inner voice’ or better yet interested in exchanging yours with mine

[Background to my plea]

So around 7:00 pm I logged onto Facebook and I see that there’s a lecture by DADI JANKI on “Secrets For True Wealth” at Salwa Al Sabah Hall at 8:00.

Me: Mom get dressed; we’re going go to a lecture on spirituality

Mom: Ahhhhh what’s the point? They don’t say anything I don’t already know. If you are in the mood to be lectured I can go on the mambar for ya. Here we go: Be good, be nice, be honest, let go of the past, be forgiving, be satisfied, be…

Me: Hahahaha very funny…come on… it starts in an hour.

[Blank look from my mom]

Me: Well, Dadi kinda looks like Lata Mangeshkar

So 30 minutes later we walk into the Hall, and who do I see sitting right on a couch as I enter—the only person I have ever treated not so nicely in my whole life and never apologized to. The same dude I was talking about in this post.

Me: Why, oh why God? Why do I have to see him here..and tonight of all nights.? Is this a sign?

Inner Voice: Yep, come on, this is your chance to be good again.

Me: I ain’t walking over to him…no way!!…and you have been seeing “The Kite Runner” way too many times!! WTH is with “you can be good again”?!!

Inner Voice: Fine, have it your way.

[A few minutes later]

Dadi: Honesty…I myself have never lied…why should I? What’s the point of lying? What are you afraid of?

Inner Voice: See? What are you afraid of?

Me: Shh…I’m trying to listen…hey hold on. I NEVER lied to him.

Inner Voice: Nope you didn’t lie; but you weren’t completely honest with him either.

Me: Huh? Look what I did wasn’t all that bad. Besides I don’t owe him any explanation for my action.

Dadi: Parents have to spend time with their kids to teach them morals

Inner Voice: See, your parents taught you better than this.

Me: Would you please Shhhhhhh. Seriously get off my back. Look this story goes back to my ‘dark’ days, and anything I did during those months cannot be held against me now.

Inner Voice: Do you think you ran into him here by accident? Why of all the nights, do you think you saw him tonight?

Me: Seriously, bug off….I’m trying to listen…ok fine…I’ll talk to him later.

Inner Voice: No you are not. At least be honest with your own inner voice. You never do the things you say you will do later.

Dadi: We have 3 enemies: carelessness, procrastination, and…

Me: ok, that’s it. I am out of here.

Inner Voice: Hehehehe…see I told ya so.

Here a video clip of Dadi…not the lecture she gave in Kuwait though

UPDATE: Thank you Grey for pointing out that I misspelled “conscience” …opps

The Tour Guide

This post was written a week ago when I was still in Iran

Ever had a feeling like…well like…like you are walking with…yourself. Several times during this trip to Iran I felt this way. Those times that I floated through familiar streets, streets whose walls were like a photo album …with each brick bringing back memories…memories that though you created no longer feel like yours…not the new you anyway. Ever heard your old self talking to you while going down these streets?

Today I went to Payetakht—a mall in northern Tehran that is the center of computers. I used to come here at least twice a week years ago. It had somehow changed now. Those days it was mostly bootlegged CDs, now it’s laptops, digital cameras, plasma TVs, iphones, mobiles, macs, etc. Just like those days I stopped at each shop studying the variety of models. Before I knew it I slipped into a conversation with myself.

“Now that’s a beautiful Sony Vaio…hey I haven’t seen that model in Kuwait…why do some companies export certain models to only certain countries…oh look there is the official agency of Panasonic…let me check out their camera….”

“Hey remember this shop? This was the shop that you got that SPSS CD, remember? Remember you needed that statistics application CD for your thesis but it was difficult to get hold of the latest version? This shop promised to bring it for you? Remember?”

The memory was mine, but this wasn’t me talking to myself anymore… I almost felt her presence walking next to me…like a guide, a tour guide, guiding me through ‘my’ memories…distance memories. She also stopped with me at each shop, with each shop she painted a vision in me of the shop as it was years ago…just like a tour guide.

Ever felt this way?

I FEEL ALIVE

Ahhhh my good old friend has wrapped itself around me again. This time though it doesn’t come alone, Who are these friends? If I remember correctly that’s the sweet smell of a wild berry tree drenched in spring rain, and aahh there’s the cool air that’s bouncing off that brick wall, just listen to that music our pure stream is playing…yeah of course a canary has to be whistling amidst this ‘earthy’ aroma. Thank you dear breeze, thanks my old friend for bringing new friends with you this time.

I FEEL ALIVE

Ahhhh yeah, today (Tuesday) was Sizeh Bedar (Thirteen gone out); it’s basically the last day of Norooz and as part of our tradition, it’s a day where THE WHOLE nation goes out to have a picnic. In every single park, river bank, meadow, gardens, or anywhere there’s a patch of greenery you would see families barbequing, playing badminton or volleyball, swinging on makeshift swings, smoking hookah, and dancing…yes even dancing but not in parks (too many prying eyes there )

I FEEL ALIVE

So mom and I are back in Tehran. During the past two weeks we went to Masouleh, Shomal (northern cirites of Iran near the Caspian sea), Abyaneh and Kashan. We still have to go to Isfahan, possibly next week. During this trip I have come to understand that:

1. Iranians are very sociable/talkative

2. Iranians favorite past time seems to be fighting and dancing

3. Iranians are neither leaders nor blind followers.

4. Iranians don’t appreciate their cultural heritage or historical sites

In separate posts I would elaborate on each. Till then here are some pix from around Tehran and places we visited.

Swing in Abasabad Jungle (shomal)

Historical House in Kashan (Borejerdi House)

Pic taken from a moving vehicle enroute to Masouleh (shomal)

A window in a Tradtional House in Kashan (Tabatabaee House)

Shop in Tajresh-Tehran selling Nowrooz stuff

Melat Park-Tehran

Abasabad Jungle-shomal

Ceiling in Tabatabee House-Kashan

Abyaneh woman wearing tradtional clothes (will post more details about Abyaneh soon)

Abasabad Jungle–shomal

Back Home from Home :D :D :D

Mom and I are on a plane back to Kuwait. A family emergency has forced us to cut our trip short.

“So, what were you dreaming about?”

Still dazed, I could barely make out the face that asked me that question…it took the daze a few minutes to settle…moments later I could make out my mom’s bright big eyes.

“Huh?”

“You were smiling in your asleep…so..tell, tell?”

Tell, tell I will. In the next posts, but in the meantime here are some posts I wrote in Iran but couldn’t publish them coz blogspot was blocked: