The Vibe now: On Misogyny, Name-calling and my Future Quest across seven seas~~

“From the idea that the self is not given to us, I think there is only one practical consequence: we have to create ourselves as a work of art.” ~~MICHEL FOUCAULT

Mercury conjunct Jupiter, in Scorpio- look what it has made us do? Share pain and grief collectively. PURGE!!! Look at the death and rape culture around you. It is a cult of war and violence, a civilisation brought up on deception, dishonesty, violence, misogyny and apathy. Look at the almost Pavlovian mind control the ruling elites have rooted in our society. Look how conditioned we have become. So desensitised. Our behaviours so self-destructive. Where is all this leading?

The NM in Libra was…mmm…well, not like your conventional Libra energy. It felt dark, deep and a lingering anxiety remains. After the Mercury conjunct the Moon in Scorpio, the next day, I began to finally get a grip over the energy.

The #metoo campaign with its sordid narratives rocked my world. Scenes and shots came back from my past. Fragmented, disjointed memories of pain, hurt and suffocation.

Those hands on me, those disgusting crawling hands all over my body…the memories drove me nuts. Sounds and smells came rushing in while I read stories of rape and abuse from women all over the world. It reminded me of all the times that men have violated my boundaries and it is a large number. Be it in asking me to smile or calling me bossy or calling me a slut because I will not sleep with them, men have used and abused their positions numerous times. But we women are always expected to take everything with a pinch of salt.

I come from a country where there is a particular brand of cinema called Bollywood that has a specialised synchronised dance track which is called ITEM NUMBER, as a beautiful woman in scanty clothes, her dance troop of a bevy of girls(half naked too) behind her perform a sensual dance moving seductively to a male audience that is hooting and cat calling. She is the item. So we sorta know how to take misogyny to levels most people cannot even envisage.

 

You know, I have been called so many  names including Manhater, Feminazi, Female Supremacist, witch, bitch, whore, slut…blah, blah…but nothing matters. I work from my heart and I do not hate. Yes I speak up against injustice, yes, I seek a revolution or an evolution…but not with hatred. Men I do not hate you. Men…I love you!

But maybe it is time to DECONSTRUCT YOUR METACOGNITION/COGNITION and POST COGNITIVE PROCESSES. Maybe it is time to think about how you think. This might actually make you a more effective thinker. But at the same time, it is also time to FEEL. Think about how you feel and why you feel so. Do you even allow yourself the luxury of feeling? Because I know how society ridicules you every-time you show emotions. Be a man and what not. But feeling my love are not a luxury, let me tell you, they are a necessity for healthy functionality in life.

I know some of you hate me. Think long and hard. Why do you hate me? Why? Because I speak the truth? Because I can see the toxic patterns of patriarchy? Because I think and feel and actually speak up, unlike so many of my sisters? It hurts the most when women misunderstand. Because it is high time we women stop enabling patriarchy.

And men…what when tomorrow you have a girl? What then? Sleep peacefully, you have WILD CRUSADERS out there and the tide will turn. Let us be that change.

You cannot label me. Every single time you start to think that you have me all figured out, I promise to surprise you. You know why you cannot label me? Because humans cannot be labelled. No matter how appropriate the label might be, the labelling by itself is redundant. I will dress the way I want to, because I do not dress for your gaze. Yes, I want you to look at me and appreciate me, but my reality does not revolve around how much you fancy me. I want you to want me, but with respect and dignity. I want you to see me for what I am…a multidimensional being of light who is having a human experience. She is a woman who is free, wild and adventurous and I like looking at life through her lens.

But I am not her…this is not some WOKE BS. This is in fact the very truth of the fabric of this reality. I am not ME, not this body, not this pussy and not this orgasm. Hahahaha! I am in constant flux, forever shifting and I already exist in the many versions in the many multiverses. But I am also here, typing this so you can read.

Absolutely overwhelming? Do not let fear engulf you. You are an astronaut of the mind, aren’t you? Or else why are you reading this?

Just because a woman wears make up and skimpy clothes does not make her a slut. Her mini skirt is not an invite for your lust. My red lipstick does not mean I am saying yes to you. Understand that. And that is what I am here to show you. Women cannot be put away in tiny little labels. So stop calling me a whore, slut, manhater or whatever the fuck your toxic mind can think of. Jupiter has deployed his archetypal lens and activated my third house of communication which happens to be Scorpio. So the intensity and the truths will come out. Look how the brave women are speaking up and toppling the status quo.

Today, the Scorpionic Moon trines Neptune and the dreamscape opens up for me and oh, I am bleeding since the NM in Libra. You know how my psychic energy swells every time I menstruate and it is usually during this time I have my most profound visions and epiphanies or aha moments. Menstrual blood is very potent for magick and can be used in multiple ways. In fact sex during this time can most certainly be magickal, for both involved. It takes on a primal oeuvre.

Back to the splintered visions. There are fragmented, chaotic dreams…dreams of the snowy Himalayas, dreams of cymbals clashing, dreams of the pale red dot of a Sun…I can smell the incense, I can hear the chanting, I can feel the vibe, it is electric with spiritual energy.

Scorpio season is all about digging up the metaphorical/metaphysical dirt and really getting down and dirty to investigate, so I will share with you an experience I had a few months ago. Let me know what you think of them.

So this monk from Tibet, Lhasa writes to me. He tells me that he has known me for many lives and in the last incarnation we worked and studies together in Tibet, in Gyanganj.

In fact, I had told him in that reality to come and find me in the 3D world through some Youtube videos I have made in 2011 or so. He told me that I have asked him to remind me of the mark in my chest. Look I have no mark on my chest, but I wanted to get a wolf tattoo done there. But for now, there is nothing.

He told me to meditate on this and get back to him. I regret not taking this whole thing seriously and in fact I did try to sit in meditation, but my baby was all over me and the cats had to be fed, so I could not really tap into any vision.

I did not respect the monk or even pay attention. I called him brother and he told me that monks are no one’s brothers. They are just monks and that I am a Nun from the snowy slopes of Tibet.

I am aware of my connection to Tibet and the signs and synchronicity that I am experiencing have increased significantly over the last few years. I know Tibet has been my home during numerous incarnations and I have meditated and studied there. The Himalayas are my home and I know this.

And then there are memories of the kalachakra initiation. Let me tell you one thing, my greatest desire in life right now is receiving the Kalachakra transmissions from the Dalai Lama. This particular Dalai Lama has been my teacher in many incarnations and it is time we meet.

There is so much spiritual telepathy between us that I am actually shocked that we have not met yet. I dream of the Dalai Lama with a strange persistence. I have never dreamt of one person so much. He is always there, in my dreams. Everything becomes silent when he smiles at me and calls me to his arms. Everything becomes silent and just the way it is meant to be.

I hope to travel across seven seas soon and go to one place which has been calling me for very many years. I can feel myself there too and I think a wild adventure awaits me. Actually this Libra NM journaling was much about that. It felt good to finally decide that I want to go there. Now let’s see if the Universe responds.

 

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Notes on #PussyTalks: Sluts and Whores~~

Wow thank you all for the letters and the notes, the memes and the pictures; they made my day just that much brighter. I had retreated into a very deep place, something to do with my natal Pluto, Mars and Venus aspects from where I might never fully return. Astrological work will be coming up shortly as well as more on Sacred sexuality.

Jupiter in Scorpio brought about a wonderful surprise, remember it is on the third house from Ascendant. The house of communication and the energy is Scorpionic with Jupiter amplifying all those attributes. I spoke to a group of empowered Escorts and sex workers who know and love their work. They also love their clients(well most of them).

You might not know, but I have been interacting with escorts, Johns, Dominas, Tops, Bottoms, Crossdressers and many others from the sex industry for very many years. Collecting data and looking through a Uranian filter on such SCORPIONIC ISSUES.

Something about the way women’s sexuality presented itself in society did not do much for my identity as a sexual being. In fact, I told that virginity was something to be saved for your husband. Fuck yes, I remember it. Fuck, everything to do with sex was such a stigma. All the time.

Obviously bad girls like me do not listen and we do what we need to do to experience life in all its awesomeness. How can you leave out sexuality which is at the very crux of human civilisation?

It made no sense that it was so hush-hush. It made no sense why my BFS got so jealous if other men(including their brothers and their best friends) looked at me or spoke to me with excitement. They behaved like I was their possession and it pissed my rebellious spirit off to no end.

In fact, it happened to me recently. I lost an old friend because her husband could not contain his excitement at meeting me! And this is one woman who should have known that I will never be into her man. Even if he was my type. It hurt me tremendously and is a wound I have been carrying for a few months. There I spoke of it…

Such is the place from which Pussy Talks was conceived. I had to discover for myself that I was not alone. I was not the only woman who CRAVED TO CONNECT. I was not the only woman who wanted it uninhibited, raw, deep and fiery.

I knew there were others.

That is when I learnt of the Virgin/Whore archetypes. That is what society has reduced us to. Either we are good little virgins(wives, mothers, sisters) or we are whores(free minded bitches). I may be a wife, but my husband knows very well and loves the fact that he does not own me. I am as free as he is.

I saw girls gossiping amongst themselves every-time someone lost her virginity. There were always the most psychotic, obsessive, desperate-to-accomplish types who held on to their hymens.

It was strange the way they held on to their virginity as a commodity with which they could in some way leverage a better deal.

Not for me. Hahahahahaha! Some even went for hymen transplantation. Such is the saga of human sexuality today.

Working through the sacred slut archetype yesterday with the ladies MADE ME SO EXCITED that I made up my mind to write this post. Every woman has the right to feel this orgasmic bliss that rocks her whole being. It is as much your birthright as it is mine.

Most times, men will not give it to you, so you must learn to give it to yourself till you find the ONE you can merge in sacred union with. Trust me there is someone who will make love to you and stick all the broken parts back together. Dreamy shit…hahahaha!

Anyway girls, your virginity is not a commodity and the first time you make love, keep in mind that even if the person is not your Mr. Right, even then, be PRESENT in the moment. In the NOW. Be there. Smell him, feel him, feel the whole scenario and just experience it. Do not feel upset if it is not what you had in mind. Embrace the reality while knowing that the fantasy might happen, someday.

There is nothing as disturbing as losing your virginity while drunk or drugged. In fact, if you decide to lose your virginity, make sure, you and your beau abstain from alcohol, especially if you are doing YONI PUJA or tantra meditation sex. Remember, this is not Neo-Tantra, so my ideas may differ from what is being sold in the West as Tantra.

I know that to activate your sexual energy, you have to connect with your pussy. It has to be done. My work with women focuses on activating the GODDESS FORM INSIDE EACH OF THEM and the YONI or the PUSSY becomes a direct symbol of the GODDESS.

The ladies I spoke with were working with sexual energy and if they work with the GODDESS FORM, they might find more magick in the work they do. The men will also respond to this energy flux. This might result in lots of kundalini activity.

Although they were pretty adjusted on the surface, yet, some of them failed to really tap into their INNER SACRED SLUT/WHORE and sex work can become healing work if you just understand how to work with the energy and it all begins with INTENT.

Most girl were telling me that they find no time to meditate or do anything spiritual at which I told them and showed them how putting on your daily make up can become a meditation.

They were thrilled I can tell you that.

As Jupiter moves through Scorpio, society will be confronted with FEMALE SEXUALITY like never before.

Believe me, wild sister, man wanted monogamy. You did not. He decided to control you while you were pregnant and had to depend on him. And look now, what has changed. Women’s reproductive rights are a joke.

Women are way more sexual than men and the Courtesans and Sacred Whore of yore knew this. They were SLUTS because unlike the wives they did not belong to any man, but chose to mate with whomever she liked.

No man controlled her, not with money, not with sex and not with children.

She was free to explore her sexuality and in most cases made it a spiritual practice. Women have this inherent wisdom and trust me, talking to sex workers from all over, I can tell you that they are some of the wisest and experienced women, especially if she has successfully drawn on the COURTESAN archetype.

For the Courtesan was a truly accomplished Artist and MUSE, sometimes of really powerful men. She was a Philosopher, a musician, a singer, a confidant, a seductress and even a top in bed and she played all these roles to perfection.

Why are wives sacred of the Courtesan? Like some women are scared of sexually empowered women? These women are your witches, your bitches and your bossy bosses. Don’t you just hate them? Hahahahahaha!

The wife fears the courtesan because the courtesan does not need any man. But the wife does. Remember she is a wife and her whole identity is wrapped around that little concept.

The Courtesan is free from this. She is sexually free, in most cases(if she is smart, lol) then she decides and chooses her lovers and they in turn provide for her. Yes the Courtesan is seen as a FREE and available woman and in most cases vilified, but it was not so in ancient times and it is also imperative to end the stigma behind sex work and prostitutes. They are girls, like you and me.

Escorts and sex workers have to understand SACRED SEXUALITY, because they work with kundalini energy at the very base level and if they manage to rise up in vibration as a collective, then imagine what could happen. Our society could change.

Being in love with somebody and cohabiting with someday- two totally disparate concepts. How can you love someone if you know them intimately? The courtesan provides the allure, the mysterious. Whereas the wife is an open book that the husband mostly ignores because he has read every page. So instead of going through the painful process of reinventing yourself over and over again(spending tons and tons on the way you look and getting stressed AF), wouldn’t it be better if we redefined feminine sexuality.

It is so very important for women as a collective to come together and scream out that- WE RECLAIM OUR SEXUALITY, our reproductive rights…We will decide as well how sex and sexual imagery will be portrayed in media and in society.

Look at the images in front of you…hacked and quartered limbs of women selling you products. The breast will sell you everything, but when it pops out to feed an infant- ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE. While breastfeeding my toddler the other day at the airport, I was stunned at how many men stared at my breast, forgetting the fact that they were once babes suckling on their moms.

Look sexual imagery is created for the MALE GAZE. There are no spaces for women to express their sexual preferences, desires, fantasies and the rest. Fuck that, there is really no avenue for women to be sexually empowered. Look around you, wherever you go…the violence on women is apparent and evident.

You cannot hide from it now.

Working through SACRED SEXUALITY and all the archetypes in our consciousness must be a top priority, not just for sex workers, but for all women and men out there.

Men are being fed a garbage diet of misogynistic porn and soon to come, robot sex. Think hard. How will a man handle the idiosyncrasies of a real woman. So men, tune into your sacral chakra. It has a lot of wisdom.

Men are not from Mars and women are not from Venus, although they are the cosmic archetypes of masculine and feminine. Both men and women are from Earth and it is time to join together.

A woman is way more sexual than a man. Believe me and please note that the walls of the vagina do not get stretched or loose with sex. In fact the pussy is full of elasticity, the muscles and tissues can expand and contract easily and return to how it used to be.

I have heard so many women bring this up as a lack of interest in the men that I feel like shouting it out from the roofs tops. Google it bitches…check it out. You can start the Kegels later on now.

There is so much bullshit propaganda around female sexuality thatt it has perverted human sexual expression and its freedom. Society never makes women’s sexuality a priority. It is a filter through which a male can masturbate and enjoy. Watch the lesbian porns out there and you will know of what I speak. You already do.

The clothes we are meant to wear. They are so freaking uncomfortable, some of them, yet they serve the purpose of the male gaze. Look at the bikini, it is an elaborate subterfuge to get women exposed so men can stare at them while sitting with their wives. Making the wife insecure and getting her hating on the younger girl. See how it is a vicious cycle. The wife hates the sexually free woman, even though they both stand oppressed in the hands of patriarchy.

Little girls are falling under the trap of hyper sexualisation and that is creating a more perverted scenario where they find it hard to fit in and adhere to set norms of beauty because they are unrealistic.

If women became sexual beings and decided to take matters in their own hands, then things could change. Women can bring about a change in the way society perceives and separates us.

Maybe there can be BALANCE if men and women contribute to the sexual repertoire. It will benefit us as a culture.

Ladies reading this, you need to reclaim the INNER WHORE and trust on your vagina. You have to begin a relationship with it and start to love it. Like your womb.

You can only bring pleasure to your husband if you learn to pleasure yourself and take sex as an artform. If you tap into the COURTESAN archetype, you will see how it shifts your whole energy signature and sexually awakened tigresses are beacons of hope for the rest of the females because we have been so repressed and controlled in that department that we have lost our voices to speak of sexual pleasure. Or wait, people might call you a SLUT/WHORE.

So what?

 

DONATE TO ME AND SUPPORT THIS WORK

I intend to work with escorts, sex workers and others from the sex industry and am available for Talks, Seminars and Discussions. Feel free to book me for such events.

tina@tinaheals.com

The Mansfield Story

BELOW IS A PART OF MY NOVEL CALLED THE MANSFIELD STORY.

IT IS ALSO DEVELOPED AS A SCREENPLAY.

HELP ME PUBLISH~ BECOME MY PATRON

 

CHAPTER 1

SHAMBHAVI’S POV

I am not going to pretend that I’m this master story teller, in fact I’m seriously beginning to question my choice of vocation as writer/ filmmaker. No HD has my film on it and the analogue era was before my time. I have made all these films, in my head. From script to post prod, I’ve created these monstrosities and they exist. Don’t know where, don’t know how, but they do. Mistakes are portals of discovery, right Joyce. Works every time, doesn’t it. But then you were seeking to be immortal, hence the elaborate subterfuge, but for me. I am the nothingness, the mistake. These films that I’ve made in my mind, over and over, lead me nowhere in the real world, for they don’t exist. Neither does she, but there she is, invading my senses, my ideas, my dreams.

I think of these bizarre stories and it’s not even that I write them, they write themselves. I’m just their victim. They laugh at me, they torment me, they wake me up at four in the morning in jest, they drive me insane tossing and turning in bed at night. They are my oppressors. Not always. There is a friendly angle to our relationship. It does exist.

To the world, I’m this depressed writer who types away for hours on end on her laptop, writing God knows what. I’m in the fraternity of paid-poorly writers who are paid next to nothing to develop content. That’s my day job, at night I’m batwoman! You wish right?

I write screenplays and then make my films over and over again. And then there are these surfeits I have to deal with, like my friends from these stories, they begin to cohabit with me. These characters, they decide to pop right out of the Final Draft document and strut their stuff in front of me. There’s a reason why I’m constipated. How do you drop the excrement off your body when someone is reciting to you, a fluke line out of Keats, or no Shelley, I think. The Romantics definitely. Or you have this beer bar dancer doing make up! She keeps wanting to know if she’s looking saxy, not sexy, but saxy.

How the fuck is someone to shit in peace? Then there’s this boxer, he’s got tuberculosis and I write about it. Bam! I develop this terrible cough and an unbearable pain in the chest. The next day, I go to clear my throat and the phlegm sitting in the basin has blood. What does the boxer do? He laughs at me.

Then there are these pregnant women. I don’t think I’ll get into that right now, but yes you guessed it right. My periods stopped coming. Who could be the father? There were three possible candidates, but no one I could discuss this with. Not like they were my live-in boyfriends. They were nothing, not even friends. I stared at the pregnancy stick, yes, two lines. It didn’t matter how many times I re-took that test, it was the same. Now I’m no fool, I use protection. So did it not work? Did the bloody condom burst? Am I… I don’t think I could bring myself to voice that word. PREGNANT!!! I was and I did what I had to.

Not only am I plagued by these people, but strangely the things I write come to pass. No don’t think of  it as some kind of gift, it’s a fucking curse actually. It might have been a gift if all I wrote about was unicorns and fairies, but here I sit in silence and type away. What do I see? The desperate situation we’re in, yes us humans. I see the pain, no I think it’s more like I am in pain. I suffer day and night, sometimes with reason, sometimes without. I’m just a sucker for pain and my heart is perpetually broken. These films that I make are extensions of my tragic self and the most persistent theme of them is suicide.

You can say that I have a morbid fascination for suicide. My mother committed suicide when I was four or five, her mother too killed herself and so did her father, so yes it kind of runs in the family. I’ve been subjected to hours and hours of counselling so I don’t jump off a high-rise or hang myself with a dupatta. Morons! As if those sessions helped.

You see to me suicide is an art-form. You’ve got to be an artist to kill yourself with grace. You’ve got to see the beauty in death and embrace it. You’ve got to worship the power you have, the power to decide when it’s over. There is no fucking God, there is just you and the choice is yours.

My mother named me Shambhavi, I have an abbreviated form that I’ve chosen- SHAM! Yes I’m a sham! I’m not artist, if I was then I’d have already created the master piece- my death! The suicide, but I am not an artist, just a writer.

There are these three projects that I’m working on- developing for filmmakers who are too lazy to write their own shit and need to hire morons like me. The boxer does tend to get on my nerves, otherwise I am actually pretty involved with the rest. They tell me what to write and I do. It seems to be working. Of course there are times when these directors feel the need to impose upon my feeble intellectuality and ask me to make corrections. Temper tantrums will be thrown, but somehow we manage. We don’t exist without each other. We need each other.

Then there are these turbulent characters that take birth from my mind. They wreak havoc on my life, depressed, suicidal, maniacal, it’s difficult to deal with them. There is no sense of closure, no sense of comfort with them, only angst is the best way I could describe the feeling.

I have also tried setting MSS on fire, but once they’ve been conceived of in my head, there is no annihilating them. They are a part of my life, actually these creatures are my life whether I like it or not. The only way I can get rid of them is to finally begin work on the masterpiece.

It was so strange, when I met her that night. She stood in front and for the life in me, I couldn’t fathom her identity. There was something so familiar about her. P.S- I don’t subscribe to God or reincarnation. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive as I did when I saw her.

Don’t ask me how I landed up there, but I’ve had such strange and absurd situations happening to me recently that I just let go and watched her. She was tiny and her hairdo reminded me some old flick on Joan of Arc. Dressed in all black, there was this pendant around her neck, a spiral in jade and it looked like a fern would spring right out of it. Waist-upwards she had this sphinx like quality, her short crop was unkempt, her bangs fell on her forehead. She blinked her eyes through thick glasses as she looked at me. It had to be me, right. There was nobody else there, just a cat.

She lumbered across the vast living room. I could see her legs did not carry her well and she was stooping. There was a fire in her eyes which I could see even through those thick glasses. She sat right in front with a cuppa tea. I was not offered any. We sat like that for I don’t know how long. I was looking to say something. “Hello, I’m Sham,” “Hello, I’m a sham.” But I said nothing.

There was something that caught my eyes- an old calendar that screamed 1922.

Okay officially I have lost it, I know it to be 2017, not 1922. That made me look around. The deco was very vintage English, complete with Victorian furniture and then there were books. Quite a collection! I could happily bury myself in there for the rest of time and not bother about those people who live in my head or even the person in front with her sparkly eyes. She was not old, maybe thirty, but she looked much older. Her body was bent out of shape and her face showed signs of physical pain. I could tell she was sick and ailing. I looked on.

That belligerent and witty tongue could lash out at me, but it remained mute. It could raise a tempest but the waters remained still.

“You know I want to be like those ballerina’s of Dega, frozen in their graceful posture…” Those were the first words that came out of her mouth.

A reply, it came quite effortlessly. Then I bit my tongue. Crap! I sound like an idiot, I thought. “But those ballerinas are frozen, there is no life in them. They’re dead, like dolls…”

She threw her head back and laughed. That sound awakened a primal part of me and the ballerinas of Dega were right in front of me, suspended in space. There was this one figure of a ballerina and right next to her was this strange woman whose face you could not see, hidden by a hat in black attire and they both seemed to be waiting. It felt like us, that moment that time. I felt like the ballerina, massaging her foot in eager anticipation to perform and she was like the chaperon, waiting for that moment when I would set the stage on fire, pushing my body for fleeting moments of grace that would captivate one and all. I do that every day. I push my mind so I could come up with that work of art that would have entire generations enthralled, now you see what a SHAM I AM.

She wanted to be like those ballerinas. Why? Did she not feel their pain, their exhaustion? Did she want to be frozen in time?

“I never leave the house anymore and don’t like having servants,” She told me.

“T.B is painful and in 1920 it is incurable and you also have gonorrhoea, you must be in severe pain, most of the time.” I replied.

“You speak as if you come from some other world.” You can tell the gutsy woman she is.

“I come from the future…” I burst out laughing as I said it. “It sounded like some corny Sci-fi that no one would go to watch.

“You mean the motion picture…” She sounded interested, but then who is not interested in film.

“It’s very interesting that you would bring up the motion picture, because I have this story that I’m working on and the protagonist makes motion pictures, but from a feminine perspective, you know…”

I knew. “You want to explore the feminine angle? You seem content telling us stories through the male POV, Point of view…” I had to explain as she had no idea. Feminism, not one of her strong points.

But then what do you expect from her in 1910? Seems a bit bizarre, absurd if you ask me. I reach out in my pocket to stroke my I phone 6. The screen is cracked, just like my life.

You do not abandon your husband in 1920, you’re a woman and your place is right by his side. There are no other options, do not seek them. She seemed to know about real people, not some theoretical characters, but people of flesh and blood. That captivated me for years. How does a woman of her class and upbringing understand the human condition that well?

How does a marriage last only a day? There are no answers to such theoretical questions? Are writers really so crazy to get married to see what it feels like? Is this research? What is a marriage anyway? There was so much to talk about, but we sat silent.

 

CHAPTER 2

MANSFIELD’S POV

The tuberculosis has drained all my energy, the pelvic pain is getting worse, but my dream portrayal must continue, if anything today there is a seeing that I have felt. It’s not writing, it’s seeing. There are moments when I see all black before my eyes, need to sit down and gather myself, but the imaginative process never stops, it’s akin to breathing.

Much of my work remains unpublished and there are days when I lovingly gaze at them as a sign of acknowledgement and appreciation. Writing or rather seeing is a need and it must be done. In fact this sabbatical from my amorous lifestyle has given me time to write and I am thankful for it for all my stories come from the depths of my being.

Bliss and other Stories has just been published this year and it seems to be doing rather well. But there is suddenly a story inside me. I don’t even know what it is, suddenly I see Maata’s face and her breasts like a motion picture, a silent film and once again I’m back in the Hippodrome and I see the audience. Predictable! Their hands, their heads, their expressions.

I dreamt a story last night, every little detail etched in my mind, down to the smells and sounds and I was a part of it.

I see her eyes. A dark melancholia! An intense hankering for experience in the world of echoes and shadows. Who is she? She could be my alter ego. Her olive skin glows like logs burning at the fireplace, her long, dark hair is threaded like the negroes. Her mind is where she lives, the outside world has no fixity for her. I remember gazing at the audience, why not, I was a part of them. In this story I’m a part of both- I am her and I am the audience.

This story about her, this absurd protagonist who writes these films. Could it be that she makes them? Lumbering away with that heavy contraption of a camera? Who knows in the future there just maybe such women? I’d have loved to discover that platform.

Story-tellers tell stories, it doesn’t matter what the medium is. I have been told my writing is descriptive, just like the way they do it in the studios in America. I could have gone there, but travel for me is not a possibility. It’s why I cannot even go home- New Zealand!! Oh my pain and pleasure.

I’ve been criticized, compared to Chekov, snubbed for my hankering to be free, my will, my feisty nature, but people forget I’m just human. Where is the time? I’ve lost so much, I’ve gained so much. I have cried, I have laughed, I have lived and now I will die.

But this story, it wants to be written. Murray will surely publish most of my work even though I’ve told him not to. It sells, my writing and so shall its fate be, it’ll be sold! I need to sit down on days when the pain is bearable and write. I want to give my readers hope, yes everything is twisted, but there is hope. I was tired of reading every single thing out there from the perspective of a man, I mean how long is society going to ignore us? The fact that the women in my stories have decided to speak up shows me there is hope for us. Our voices need to be heard.

The Fourth way may just be my way, reading Gurdjeiff is a complicated process, yes it has opened up new portals to my experiencing life, but then there is so much left to be discovered and do I have time? Regret, don’t we all have a pinch of that with every sip of life we take. I for one, am swamped with regret. I regret my childhood, I regret the taunts and mocking because of my rather hilarious glasses, I regret not writing more often, I regret not supporting the women’s suffragette in the U.K, I regret not being vocal about it, I regret not telling Maata how much I loved her, I regret my obsession with Chekov. No I take that back, no regrets there. I regret my brother dying like that. I can still see him in uniform, bloody and dusty.

Although I have been quoted as saying that I do not regret anything. I have asked my readers to never regret, but that is only the half truth. Yes regret is an appalling waste of energy and nothing can be built on it, but it exists. I wish I could just erase it away. REGRET ERASED!

The Work must be done, it’s 1922 and here I am in colonial India, Calcutta to be precise, all alone. A sick white woman in the midst of all these natives.

Then I saw her, she was vibrant, her olive skin was smooth as it tasted the Sunlight which played on it and created so many hues that I just watched. I don’t know how she arrived right in front of me, definitely not dressed like the ordinary native girls or like an English lady. She had on trousers like men, I think they’re called denims. The road workers in America wear them as overhauls. I never expected a woman to dress in them and then her long, dark negro like hair. I thought she was a figment of my imagination, the medicines playing a trick on me. After all I was a sick woman. I waited for the apparition to disappear. But she sat there and just stared back. I think we briefly spoke, about Dega’s ballerina’s, but it made no sense.

Theosophy and Gurdjeiff! You know the three types of men or women found in this world- those that are centred in their physical bodies, then the ones centred in their emotional space and those that focus on their minds. What type am I? I have never been able to quantify myself in any one category, I’m indeed a mixture of all three. I have lived centred in the physical, more than not I have existed only in my emotions and then of course my mind is one of my favourite places to visit and spend some time. So yes, I’m a bit of all. All writers are as we have all these stories inside us where we become those people when we write them.

I remember alluding to this story of this woman who makes motion pictures, these dreamy silent films. I think she is my protagonist.

Right now, all I can think of is Van Gogh’s painting- the self portrait. I consider myself a writer/painter. I paint too like Van Gogh, I paint with words.

I just wish I had more time. I want to be healthy again, to experience a full, living-breathing life. I want to be with the Earth and see all the wondrous things- the sea and its infinite waves, the mellow Sunrise of a perfect morn.

I know I exist in this state of hypnotic waking sleep. I want to wake up and I’m willing to see if the Method will help. This story needs to be written. I need to find her again. That woman, no she’s more like a girl. I need to find her.

And then I see it, the Insect scuttles away and there are these strange voices that I can hear. Sounds like some Hindu chants. What is it?

Is my illness getting the better of me? I see myself, is it me or some other woman, no wait it’s her, dressed as Van Gogh, holding a gun to her face. She pulls the trigger!

I see a thick manuscript by the coffee table and note that’s its rather gloomy this afternoon, the wind shakes the trees so. Flashes trouble me- I think I see Lawrence. Murray tells me that THE LOST GIRL is modelled on me. I know, I know that my writing and me in person have had a significant influence on him, and he’s drawn parallels between me and some of his noteworthy characters, but why do I see him, in Colonial India?

My neighbour from Cornwall, my friend, the eminent D.H. LAWRENCE. I am his Albina and we both struggle everyday for our independence and outcasts we’ve become. We shared a number of things in common, I was a colonial outsider; he was from a working-class mining town. I am more like Lawrence than anybody. We are unthinkably alike, in fact. Four of us did form a peculiar brief and uneasy friendship in bleak Cornwall, yet, I treasure those days.

And now I find this letter from Murray. It does nothing for my mood right now, but leafing through it seems to be my only option. So I do it.

“You are all about me – I seem to breathe you, hear you, feel you in me and of me.” I actually wrote those lines for him and felt like I was home in his tent, sitting at his table. It seems far away, back here dreaming of silent films and Virginia Woolf.

There were times when I wanted to strangle my beloved Murray. I go back in my mind to one such incident. It left a sour taste in my mouth. I was cruel, we were verbally bashing one another, oblivious of who was present. I’d like to think it was tragedy that kept us together.

There’s nothing I want more than a cigarette. The curls of smoke rise up to meet their oblivion as I take a pull. It calms my frayed nerves and I take a sip of the tea. Darjeeling tea from the foothills of the Himalayas, a colonial addiction. Tea snobbery!

As I relax, she appears in front of me. Seated in a cluttered desk, she seemed to be looking at something. It looked like a boo, but a light emanated from it. She seemed to be typing like it was some sort of type writer. I couldn’t see properly, the smoke and mist clouded my vision.

The Art of Touch~

Do you know the inner resonance of your frequency? Do you feel the vibe of your core truth? Have you decided to explore it ever?

Working with spices as I bleed is so profound that no words can describe it. It is like the spices come alive to share the wisdom of my womb which is connected to the cosmic womb. Your womb is also connected to this very womb of the Great Mother.

The last two days there has been a geomagnetic storm and the solar winds, mingled with the eclipse energy, retrograde energy and the Pisces FM energy is making me retreat somewhere deep within to connect to my womb. It is from this sacred space that I come to you with love.

I am not here to heal you. No one can do that. I am here to love you and love you I shall. That love will create a scared space in which you will heal yourself My Beloved.

The geomagnetic storms affect my whole being and it is radical. I cannot explain the whole process because I do not understand it myself. It is also changing you and your physical body. Be mindful to the subtle energy shifts and you will begin to feel them happen.

Today I feel compelled to talk to you about touch. An essential component of human healing is touch and believe me being a Venus in Virgo, I have always been a huge touch-me-not. Even before the sexual abuse that took place in my life.

And after that, touch became a scary thing. Sex became hollow because I was faced with so much guilt and shame that somewhere intimacy was lost. I avoided kissing or looking into the eyes of my lovers.

Richard was the first guy I did not feel averse to kissing on the first day while we made love, which is why I am still with him. He made me feel comfortable and I opened up to his touch and kisses like with no one else. Of course it took me a lot of time and work to be able to touch myself and truly make love to him. And the fear not only isolated me from myself, but it scared me shitless to touch other people, but all that is the past and now I feel no fear at touching because it is coupled with love and healing intention.

Although I confess I find it easier to touch women than men, but that fear of being touched and touching is gone. You know why? Because now the love component is back in the equation. Without love for oneself and the partner in question sex can become cold and scary; just a chore.

Intimacy and sex are two sides of the same coin. You cannot truly immerse yourself in sexual proclivities if you fear intimacy. Even if you are with a stranger. Sex requires surrender. It requires you to be engaged in the moment. It requires you to give your egoself up, at least temporarily.

Healing can happen with touch therapy. But most people equate touch with “happy endings”. Tantric massages are raking in the big bucks, but is that touch truly healing? There is nothing tantric in those massage parlours.

When a healer touches you, they absorb all the negative, positive energies in your auric field and that is extremely challenging especially for empaths or emotional sponges like me. When I embrace you, I absorb your feelings, your emotions, your thoughts and that can leave me feeling out-of-sorts. Yes I am a psychic energy worker, but trust me, nothing in this realm is fool-proof and even the most experienced healers have been known to be overwhelmed at times.

As I come in contact with your physical body, our magnetic bodies mingle and we can literally download information from each other. That is why the body behaves in a certain way when we are open and receptive to another person.

Notice the next time you feel attracted to someone or just feel really close. Watch how your body reacts. This is how holographic information gets exchanged in the simulation. And all human beings behave the exact same way, which is why we all have the same micro-expressions to emotions and situations.

Touching and hugging not only makes your brain release seratonin, it also releases oxytocin, which is the antithesis of adrenaline. Oxytocin makes you stress free.

I work with touch therapy because I believe that touch is a way to say things that words cannot. And when I touch you, your response to my touch often times guides me to work with your energy.

Inner child work cannot be truly accomplished without loving touch. Scientists have discovered that at whichever age, the child stops receiving love and affection, that is the age in which the individual remains stuck in. If till seven you were loved and suddenly that love went missing or was replaced with discipline and work, then it is likely you will remain a seven year old in your mind.

Touch therapy is very effective for individuals looking to heal from mother centric issues. Sometimes touching these people like a mother can open their closed hearts. It is beautiful and I have seen it happen so many times.

Our physical bodies are feeling great pressure as we adjust to the shifting frequencies of the 5D Earth grid. This can become excruciatingly chaotic to handle and if this energy is not dealt with, then it can manifest as disease.

Touch therapy is the best methodology to help the physical body go through this change. Touch amplifies feelings of peace, bliss and tranquillity. It is the answer to loneliness.

You can help raise someone’s resonance by touching them with INTENTION to heal. Try this. Hug someone who really needs it and while hugging, think of them being healed by the Goddess or Cosmic Intelligence. Whatever works for you.

Touch can numb painful external stimuli as well. Try it, especially in crisis situations.

That is why, you must never leave your baby to cry and soothe herself. You must always hug and hold your baby. I suggest baby-wearing. That is what I did the whole time with my baby. And I wore her in a saree, using it like a cloth.

In fact “touch” therapy even works if it is at a distance. But there has to be openness between the two involved. You can consciously “touch” someone who may not even be in the same country. How does this happen? Through the quantum morphological field.

The floods across Gaia have been due to the intense eclipse energy and it also has to do with Saturn retro in 21 degrees Sag until September 13 when it moves onto 22 degrees. Then the sign of The Woman Giving Birth appears in the heavens on September 23. The Houston hurricane is symbolic of the water breaking before the woman gives birth.

We are giving birth to a new era collectively and let us not underestimate the importance of touch.

 

 

 

 

For Mothers and Grandmothers and all our Ancestors~~How Astrology connected me back to you~~

Nothing in life ever made sense, everything was too arbitrary, too random, too chaotic. There was a larger pattern somewhere there, I knew it, I sensed it. But how could I find that design? I knew somethings were connected and sometimes events and scenarios repeated themselves. Why? I’d ask myself. What on Earth was the connection?

But the connection was not just on Earth you see! The connection is quantum, the connection is everything. Looking up at the sky, I knew that there were stories there. There was a pattern up there I realised, but did that pattern somehow relate to the one below.

Then I discovered astrology. I think I was sixteen and it changed the way I looked at life. The planets above spiralled through the highways in space and entered different signs. Sometimes they appeared to go retrograde. No they are not moving backwards, they just appear thus to us.

The situations and scenarios that led me here have to do with the veil lifting slowly. Yes the pattern exists. I was ecstatic. Kinda EUREKA moment there! AS ABOVE SO BELOW. The natal chart became a fascination for me- mine, my mom and dad’s, my baby brother’s. I became obsessed reading all kinds of astrology books.

II used to go to the National Library, which is the largest library in Asia to study up on the occult. Astrology was a favourite. Things started to fall into place and in fact this perusal of this ancient subject got me more and more interested in spirituality.

By then Blavatsky had happened to me. Bailey opened my mind to ESOTERIC ASTROLOGY and till today I have not stopped learning from them. HPB has made herself known to me through many meditations, channellings and writings which I will share with you as and when she asks me to.

Her first instructions came when I was asked to open this group on FB around nine years ago I think.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/hpblavatsky/

Again I divert. Back to how astrology not only made me connect to the COSMOS in an abstract way, it also directly connected me to my ANCESTORS. Developing my psychic gifts have opened up so many portals, so many narratives and meta-narratives, so many visions and illusions, so many worlds and Universes. Every human being is gifted with this psychic capability and BECOMING AWARE and BE-NESS(state of just being) are steps to come closer to these powers. They will manifest in everyone in due time.

My mom left today. She was with me for the past month and a half and today she is gone.  sit on my WC and howl my lungs out. The cry is primal, it is raw and it is NORMAL(especially under a Pisces Moon, ah, it is also the last Moon to conjunct Chiron, in Pisces as well). Crying and letting go of emotions is very healthy. Do not stop anyone from crying, let them CRY for fuck’s sake, there is too much Pisces going on here. ha! Their tears are cosmic healers. The tears will not only cool your breasts as they fall on your chest, they are the balm the Universe is sending you. Let them come, let the floodgates break. This primal feeling took me back to the Scorpio full moon we just went through. Boy! Was that heavy!!!

The Gemini season is lighter, less intense, but it is intense when the Moon in Pisces squares Saturn in Saggy.

But still I cry…I cry for all the time lost, the useless harsh words uttered by me in moments of rebellion(very strong Uranian energy), the intense events that I afflicted on her(Moon in the 7th can do that for you, especially if it happens to be your SEVENTH HOUSE).

I cried for my lost childhood and I cried for my daughter. Her granny is her whole world you see. I cried for all the lost hugs and kisses, all the sweet stories and tea-parties, all the lullabies and playing dressing up.

I cry for the LOSS OF INNOCENCE, I cry for IMPERMANENCE! Because as a mortal, nothing scares me more that these shifts. I know not that everything is a vibration, pure mathematics. I only know of emotions and raw feelings- of pain, loss, suffering(Pluto aspects in the natal chart do this) and of course of love and bliss. But every feeling, every sensation is TEMPORARY.

No matter how strongly I try to hold on to it, they just disappear, like evanescent bubbles, each bubble a Universe unto itself. So many Universes coming into being and then dissipating while new ones appear.

Dear Ma,

As you are well aware, I have been doing these special RELEASE and FORGIVE meditations since February. It is done to FORGIVE ones parents. We have to forgive our parents for every thing we may blame them for consciously or unconsciously. You know that as we have spoken in-depth about this.

You know how everyday I have created this sacred spot for you where you and baba have visited. I have surrendered all my anger and resentment maa, you know that. With each meditation, I have released you from any known or unknown karmic ties of suffering that I might have unleashed on you. In turn all I ask is your forgiveness. I know you have always, already forgiven me. The Dasein has anticipated your forgiveness ahead of time.

This meditation that I created to forgive you made me overcome so many psychological repressed issues that I finally let go. I wrote about it, I meditated on it and cut the toxic chords forever. I have grown maa, ready to take flight on my wings and be the butterfly you wanted me to be.

This overwhelming crushing sense of loss at you leaving has left me so vulnerable, that today I understand that the meditation has opened up this block and today I experience FORGIVENESS as I have never done before. The intensity was rapturous. A rush of endorphin, Release of serotonin. Oxytocin.

Maa today I cry as I know that our story must end one day and that breaks my heart. I know we have had a complicated herstory. I know ma. Lilith in Cancer can do that you know. See this placement of Lilith means that the mother will sooner or later, through her action, words or deeds hurt the person!

Yes maa I was hurt and I hurt you. I took your protective love to be oppressive when I should have looked at the scenarios with less selfishness and more compassion. Today I know what it means to be a mom as I cuddle my daughter in my arms, as I smell her hair, as I listen to her sing to me or when she kisses me. I know how mothers feel. I know how you felt.

Maa you have a sensitive artist’s soul and no one can hold a candle to your illumination. Your heart always so full of live and wonder! You are a gift! To me from the Universe. Maa you have been my first Guru, my first spiritual guide.

From teaching me Shiv Puja to Adyastotram, from taking me to yoga classes since I was ten, to making sure I meditate daily during my school and college life. Maa today I see how important you have been in my spiritual journey. You are irreplaceable in every way.

You know maa, as a child I had this inexplicable fear of losing you. It was my worst fear and you know what as I explore this spiritual vibe, I can tell you that although I know how interconnected life and death are, it still makes my heart skip a beat when I think that one day you might not be there.

As the North Node has entered Leo, everyday I am becoming more of me and today I forgive you for every bloody thing. And maa, today I am sending spirals of love vibration to all the women I have shared my mitochondrial DNA with. I love you all.

Thank you ~~tintin

Dear Gita,

I want you to know that you are a part of my soul tribe and you are truly a remarkable woman. You lost two children and still continued to spread your love and light to the world. Your contribution will never be forgotten while me and my daughter are alive.

Your stories will live on through the mouths of my descendants I promise you that for you may have ended just this life, not the IN-finite fractals of narratives and meta narratives we have created through incarnations.

I met you in one of my most intense regression sessions last week. You are a part of my 144! Gita, I release you from all stigma, shame and guilt that society may have thrust upon you. I also release you from every karmic pain and attachment I might have inflicted on you knowingly or unknowingly.

I ask for your forgiveness and readily forgive anything and everything for LOVE is all I feel. You see nothing matters except the huge samsaric seas of consciousness where we have forayed together since infinity.

Gita I love you and always will.

Thanking you deeply~~ tina

Dear Namita,

You left leaving me hollow from inside. Your stories, your songs, your spiritual side, left a profound impact on me. There is so much to say today and I wish you could see the work I am doing. I know you knew where I was headed.

Your fascination for books and literature amazes me today. What depth of knowledge you had about Bengali literature and culture. What insights and you never shied away from providing me with guidance.

The paternal grandfather is the 10th from the 10th = 7th house and the Moon sits in my seventh house. The Moon(SUBJECTIVE MIND) has to do with INTUITION and you have helped me immensely to develop that gift.

You have meditated with me as a child. You have shown me the details of havan and puja. Namita I know you have suffered, but each time you have opened your heart and let the light shine through the crack and you have taught me the same.

I have learnt to open my heart from you. I pay homage to you and your mother Namita and all the great women who created you and me in turn. I send you spirals of love energy.

Thank You~~tintin

I bow down to all the mothers and grandmothers of my lineage going back to 14 generations and beyond. I salute you and your femininity.

I bow down to all the mothers and grandmothers out there, through all of space and time.

I bow down to the original FEMALE who is all our ancestor.

I bow down to the MOTHER MATRIX or DEVI energy.

I bow down to you in reverence as I am a vibration of you, as you are of me. We are FRACTALS of that ONE CONSCIOUSNESS swimming through SPACE. We are the Universe watching itself.

Blessed by the Sun in Gemini, this is my offering….I don’t know why but I compelled to urge you to CONNECT with your MOTHERS and GRANDMOTHERS~~Please call them…please…astro

Prologue~The Plan, a novel by Tinaheals


Publishing parts of my novel…help me publish!!! Fund me!!!

Prologue

The hunger in her soul, the song in her eyes, and the vibration of her heart called out to me from the hologram.

What hologram? The one you exist in my friend!

It’s the cosmic television, like the one you stare at for hours every day. What else do you do when you return home from work after a long tedious day? TELEVISION na?

That same kind of television; imagine it in a slightly grander scale, nope, maybe not just slightly, imagine it to be grander on an unprecedented scale!

A cosmic television! Aha!

You experience me and your three dimensional space as you do images on the T.V.

Listen listen, at this level, everything there is, was or could be exists as a super-holographic sequence. Everything exists simultaneously. The albatross of doom over your head?

Forget that bird, listen carefully. These lines exist now and have always existed, in a sense I have always been talking to you, you in the hologram, me in it, sometimes out of it, nope I’m in it too; she is a hologram.

I don’t know quite how to explain it,

Something in her craving for truth, something in the way she depicted existence called out to me. A very abstract, unquantifiable sentiment entangled the abstract in me. Things don’t usually impact me as they do you.

I am myself an abstraction concretized!

This Book of Life and Death may give you some answers. Are you looking for answers? If not then bandh karo and chalo.

A story it will be, yes definitely! Let it oscillate in your mind. Let it do the disco dancing.

The ouroboros of a story, without a beginning or an end!  Now you’re confused. Don’t be it’s just a story or is it? But while observing this story, remember, I take the artistic liberty to leave anything out, the very subtle nuances, the finer intricacies are often not done justice with words; soak the emotions up, let them begin to ferment in your mind and sprout ideas, thoughts, actions like a bean when soaked in water overnight; such strangeness does exist and such a strange narrator may or may not.

Time, time, time, cut its throat,

Ambiguity personified.

Derelict dreams, dysfunctional dilemma.

In the beginning was the word and then I appeared as the silent witness of all this mess, , the frequencies or sound in the light and the vibrations or light in the sound.

Mighty civilizations have appeared and disappeared without a trace, Zeno’s paradox has been thought of, if everything has a place, then place must also have a place, yes or no, to ad infinitum; the megaliths of Puma Punku have been built but now lie scattered as shattered memories of a bygone past that no one knows anything of, the dinosaurs have roamed the Earth and have been destroyed on the Western Ghats, the Kumari Kandam was lost to the sea taking with it a chunk of land from what you call India, and of course emperors, maharajas, kings, Prime Ministers have been assassinated, dethroned under my watchful gaze.

Listen to this, it’s her poetry. These few lines she wrote that had this stark honest, raw and original feel to it, yes, it made sense in all the nonsense and it made me want to collect this in the Book of Life and Death.

The human body is the war ground of Kurukshetra,

Reality lies is the five senses,

I see you, I hear you, I feel you, I smell you and I taste you!

In the world of dreams there are no differences,

I still see you, I still hear you….you get the gist!

The dream world is full of thoughts,

They are like drops from an ink pen, falling blot after blot,

They are like smoke from an incense, here one minute, gone the next.

They are like lightning, you see it for a nano second,

They are like thunder; you hear it, loud and clear, but then just the sound of the rain.

I am vexed!

These thoughts, they are my defence, my escape, my dream.

It was her grandfather, a kriya yogi, one of Babaji’s very own crusaders, who told her this truism as she crunched autumn leaves under her feet; the sound thrilled her to the very bottom of her soul- crunch, crunch, crunch!

Yes the human body is the esoteric Kurukshetra, more on that later. Who is Babaji? Even I don’t know.

 

Think about it, think long and hard,

Of the fragments, the notes all jarred,

The way things are designed, the way things feel,

In reality, there are no eyes, no ears, no mouth, no tongue, and no touch!

Is this a little too much??

Only electrical stimuli interpreted by our brain,

Do not ridicule this concept, do not think it insane!

You’re definitely wondering how you got stuck in here? Reading these lines and for what…do not despair my friend, it’ll be well worth your time, just read on, enjoy a writer’s psychosis.

There is no material reality,

I am asleep, I am dreaming, I do not realize,

That all is just perception!

These words they create just the sensation, an awareness of stimulation!

Now I wake up from this dream,

I seriously think I have entered another one,

The so-called real life, I hear it scream!

What is this life, but a dream? Do not for one minute think that your dream world is any more real than this solid physical world you inhabit, in fact the Sun, the Moon and the real you are all hidden away; it is every bit as real, yet, unreal. Makes no sense, it probably never will, but just read on…sapna, sapna, sapna…

Now this, it seems as true as my dream world,

How am I to know the difference?

My reality is blurred, it swirls and twirls.

This world is nothing but a habit,

Our belief, our dogmas, our prejudice!

A futile edifice, a worthless emphasis, an abject sedative

Of Nothingness!!!

Form = emptiness, emptiness = form
Emptiness is not separate from form, form is not separate from emptiness…all is nothing and nothing is all.
Whatever is form is emptiness, whatever is emptiness is form, you know that the atom that you’re made of is empty, yes, my friend, mostly empty. Hulk-like we stay in the understanding that the body is solid, but it’s not.

 

The brain is not the Perceiver or the Perceived!

Who am I?

What is this world?

Who are you?

Who thinks these thoughts?

Who is this ME?

Who is writing these words?

To what avail?

 

I’m just a ghost in the machine,

An echo of an echo of an echo,

Reverberating through time and space!

Who is this seer?

Who contemplates this Universe to be unreal?

Who has all these thoughts in the head?

Only questions and never an answer!!!

A man and his thoughts are indefinable, and why so, because in the beginning he is nothing. His identity is shaped by what he can conceive of for himself; imagine all the poets and novelists creeping through the alleys in the urban atrocities looking for inspiration, staring at hollow faces coveting their neighbours meals or wives, the morbid fascination to see accidents, CSI shtyle. The flâneurie you take, to clear your mind, but there are questions and more questions…how is the human reality carved out from this nothingness?

Yoni shariram- the form appears from the vagina of Gaia,

Of Dharitri, of Zemia, of Erde, of Terre…

She is the mother, the sanctum sanctorum of creation.

This human body is the cause of such conflict,

There is segregation, separation and destruction,

In her very womb, we have been tricked by addicts of violence.

 

For a split second during meditation,

Comes the realization-

It is the Atman,

Matter has no self governing existence,

All things perceived, interpreted and seen,

Is a dream within a dream, a dream within a dream…?

 

The Indian subcontinent is the setting. It’s an oxymoron really- the youngest country, the oldest civilization!

The Sapta Sindhu is the beginning point in this case, then mutated to the India you see today the children of Lord Macauley, yes, you; at one point it was taken over by the East India Company, it’s holy books misinterpreted, unbridled fabrication of its history by so-called scholars who sought to assuage the Imperial agenda. The modern Indians, good little examples of Macauley’s vision; Pygmalion of the British Raj, just perfect, innit?

Bapuji Gandhi, assassinated, yup shot through the heart by Godse, GOD SAY?? Subhas Chandra Bose taken out of the equation, “Give me blood and I’ll give you freedom,” his naares did not do him much good, Delhi chalo, a flop show. The resilient cries of Vande Mataram drowned to the gunfire of the English army; what else could be expected? The British crown required the Kohinoor, which was just a drop in the pond, but you see why they had to control Bharata. Silks, spices, treasures, ancient texts, secrets, UFO anti-gravity technology and what not!

And then the finale- the unrestrained Anglicization of a country steeped in timeless tradition and time-honoured culture where every Indian was made to feel ashamed of their skin colour, clothing, customs, mores, literature, traditions, values and hoary heritage. Brownies were good as kerani, slaves, considering themselves as babus, who were created to suck up to their English civilized lords, the great white civilization.

Sycophants gathered in large numbers to appease the egos, fill up the stomachs and pockets and offer their heads and arses (maybe not literally, bloody buggers) in return to the Angrezi Babus. For what? Goods, ideas, concepts from vilayet! Aha! What amazing things they had and yes it was deemed to sell off the country piece by piece for these lovely things and for progress.(???)

 

The body of ancient Bharatvarsha hacked to create Pakistan and Bangladesh, its bleeding remains termed as secular India.

A new era began with the corporate takeover and rampant Americanization, you’re all living in America, HAARP and underwater nuclear detonations creating Tsunamis, the death industry of Macdonald’s and KFCs, fast food bhaiyaji, engineered famines with the Monsantos of the world, Islamic jehadis and Durga Vahinis, unrest and suspicion, religious intolerance and forced conversions, death and destruction, Nehru’s dynasty and Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi’s legacy of khadi and molestations, Congress under an Italian and BJP under the butcher of Gujarat as the country jostled and elbowed its way into the twenty-first century to sit at that table with the big white boys; witness, I was to it all and will continue to be….

The H-Bomb at work almost destroyed what you humans built, but do you seriously think this was first time in history that such a disaster occurred- nuclear weaponries have been used before in this very subcontinent. Yes my friend…Now I am become Death, the destroyer of world, yes Opperheimer, you can be the key to destruction of your world in your times. I have seen it happen and we’ve all been destroyed by it until another dawn awakens to the call of the creator. A new hologram is fractalized!
The watcher must now be a narrator and I must say it as I see it, Time for you right now is anthropomorphized.

Impatient kya boss? What about the story?? It’s coming, wait for it or you want it instantly. In this age of instant coffees and instant karmas, do you want an instant story as well?

Let’s do some akkar bakkar for a little bit more; arre don’t be so grumpy, chumpy. Humour me. Tick, tock, tick tock, it goes on and on in your psyche. Think hard, who am I?

Got it? Or no? Well…

You are in fact my slave, from the aam admi to the Prime Minister with his acche din slogans, from Mr. Mukesh Ambani cocooned in his billions of dollars Antilia, to the hungry beggar on the street. I rule your life, your little everyday existences.

I keep everything from happening at once. You can’t even imagine what chaos that is. Measuring me through the clock or your wrist watch all day, do you now know who I am, can you at least guess. I think you’ve got it, so do you know me?

But of you, I know all, every little detail.

Your little human condition, your little miseries, your tiny triumphs, your pathetic tears, your belly rumbling laughter, does have a way of making the world go round the Mulberry bush, you get the drift?

Well I have all the time, so let’s begin.

Funny concept, can time have time? Can an infinity be greater than another infinity? You smirk, but trust me the world is far magical than you have been made to believe, haan ji haan, sure it’s about cheque books and Kaun Banega Crorepati, but it’s also about altered states of consciousness, states you cannot ever envisage. Life is not about black and white or green and red, it is shades of colour you cannot ever hope to see with your eyes, life has colours you can never hope to smell, taste or touch. Yes colours can be felt in those ways, just not in your world! And in some worlds I am not as relevant as yours, and in some I have no relevance! I do not exist!

Do not go all freaked out on me, can you not imagine TIMELESSNESS; but it exists, I warn you, especially those OCD freaks out there, desperate to control everything.

Enough of meandering….
So who am I? Let me formally introduce myself. I am TIME and as promised I do have a story, a juggernaut of a story, an unstoppable monster and you’ll be forced to submit like wide-eyed little chunnu-munnus listening to your nanis at bedtime.
 

Twins. Rape. Murder.

Bollywood, breast augmentation, brainfart.

Poetess, plastic surgeon and the Sleeping Beauty.
Titillated?

Come on now, I know I have you! A violence-loving society like the one you’ve built starts salivating at all these contextual concepts when thrown at you. Murder is sweet, but mutilation is sweeter.

Blood and gore thrills you, outrageous humiliation of the body sends tingles through your spine, so stop this bourgeoisie sensitivity where you appear dismayed by such plots, but deep inside you can’t wait to curl up with your Sidney Sheldon! or Shobha De!! or Chetan Bhagat!!! by your bed side, reading about sex, rape, murder, call centres where Arun is called Aaron leading to a suppressed pathological schizophrenia, cheating on your spouse, wife swapping with keys and other new born urban atrocities.
It’s not every day that TIME tells you a story, a story about infinite probabilities.

A bit about me, saale, haramzade, time waste mat kar! A note in the Book of Life and Death!
I have existed for eternity. To you the word eternity probably will have some signifier, what can a finite mind grasp of the infinite?? Still I ask you to think about it. Think of something that never ends. Is that even possible, you ask?? The cogitation must never cease.

You think, therefore you exist, right??? Or you eat and defecate, therefore you exist, or is it copulation which cements your existence?

But what is the point of a process if it never ends; you will think to eternity about one question or be involved in sexual intercourse for all times(it’s not even a possibility) or eat yourself to death.

Does that mean you exist or not? Is it just the process of cogitation or copulation that makes you “exist” or is it the cogitative/copulative subject that’s important?

The journey or the result? A particle or a wave? Or a bubble?

Haramkhor time, procrastinating must have been my invention.
Mankind has managed to fall from an incredible level of sophistication to a dark age of barbarianism, like the age you’re an inhabitant of. It is a cycle- civilization and destruction!
Anyway, even though you did not exist, TIME was always already there! There is no escaping that idea.
I was born too you know, not as a babe from a mother’s womb, but as a concept from your mind.

To let you into a secret, I did not always exist. All I know is that this visible world is finite and periodical and so am I. I exist because of you.

I am born and then just like you gone with the wind; believe it or not, you and I are same in this way- WE ARE MORTAL!

This cycle of birth and death of TIME is the alpha and omega of recreating worlds. So in truth, you and I are finite, but IT, infinite.
A linear sequence of events is how you’d describe Time, but what happened when you were not there to count, the Big Bang baba? How did I exist?? So in a way, my dear friend, I exist in your memory and expectations, so essentially I live with you and die with you. Do not think this idea to be so far-fetched, even I can be put to death in your mind! Baap re baap, yes sir! I am fearful of my obliteration, of my extinction. I am born from you and I die with you.

I am your slave!
Well now I have your undivided attention to be sure. You humans love to know you are important in the equation. Am I right? But then you are, right?? God’s greatest creation. Hah!!
A plastic surgeon. A Poigant poetess, Phd student. A wannabe Bollywood starlet. No it’s not one of those haikus she writes.

Cadence of morning breeze-

Lofty silences-

A cup of tea.

Haikus she writes…
Yes I know Bollywood, the Bacchans, the Khans, the Kapoors, I hear the little whispers here and there, I see the deals done under the table, I know of the clandestine fornications in the back seats of SUVS, I know of which homes were wrecked by whom, and all the jazz! That’s some serious junk info. I’m the official knowitall bhai, for now I’m Mumbhai.

The Book of Life and Death is not a conventional book as you understand the definition, it is ever changing, an entity in itself, capable of conscious thoughts and feelings.
This story has come to my interest inumerous other worlds I inhabit.

Yes, you are there too and if I look, I will find you. The difference between you and them is that they know about these worlds, their consciousness shifts from one to one and they have observed me observing! Maybe it’s my imagination. In the many-worlds that exist, all the possible outcomes of a quantum interaction are realized.

You know all that you see around you, the world, the stars, your family, your lover, the Universe, it’s actually not just a Universe, and it’s actually a multiverse. Imagine the hairs on your skin, your world is one such hair on the body of abstract space, the evolvement happens in a deterministic style, embedding all thinkable possibilities within it.

So these twins- NINA and ZEENIA are moving through the arrow of time. They are moving to a fixed point, in one reality and to another point in a different world. Momentum and position are never constant, they’re all probabilities. But you get an omelette from an egg, not the other way round, the same way radio waves disperse from the antenna, never converge into it.
So now finally let’s cut to the chase and begin at the beginning. Not the conventional beginning point, but the very beginning of our story.
to be continued….

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