Author: Rhea

I didn’t end up going for the trek, after all. Many reasons, fell sick, got worried about someone sick, emotionally not ready, to name a few. I thought I would feel really bad about it, but strangely I didn’t. Sure, I decided, worked towards it, something else, happened that I had not anticipated and I quit. For me it felt right in my heart and body. But then I had a conversation with someone, who made it sound as if I had “Failed”, And I was reminded of a few other things I had “failed at”.  And slowly the conversation,…

It rained last night. And how. If I was quiet enough, I swear I could hear the hissing sighs of the earth, that was scorched, for so long. Or maybe they were just mine. I shook my head several times to make sure I knew… My head spun, on the inside. Something just broke open. The carefully managed silos Of thoughts and dreams, and fears and hopes The joys and heartbreaks The vivid and hazy pictures of the future Just as the vivid and hazy pictures of the past I can’t remember or understand when and how they blend. But…

I went for a walk in the evening, almost on a mission . As I am preparing for a Himalayan “Ridge” trek, next month. The quotes are important. A ridge trek is different from other treks, in that you walk on a path, narrow raised part of a surface, especially a high edge along a mountain, one formed by the meeting of two faces of a mountain. It’s likened to walking on the edge of a knife. On my way back, I stopped to pick some stuff from a pharmacy store, I don’t usually go to. But I happen to…

Last evening was difficult. I was called to hold space in the form of an Empathy circle for some people from Russia and Ukraine. It was heart Wrenching. To hear the words from both sides, they said and felt the same. Fearful, sad, angry, hopeless, confused, apathetic, numbed, uncertain, patriotic. And yet they were here, in this circle, voluntarily. To find a place to rest, to speak to be heard, where their feelings were not a problem to be fixed. Or a slogan to be written, or a white paper on the inner workings of a war. These were people…

I loved the Ocean As a Child I am told, I got concerned for it, at low tides I cried thinking it was draining…. I felt grief at its retreating from the shores But as I grew, I learnt – It was just a phase The sea comes in again, as it goes out again This reassured me. And the as I grew older, I noticed I kept a distance A friendly distance The way I lose my ground when the waves retreated after hitting the shore Was disconcerting to me. I felt, I would lose control. So we agreed,…

Born in a Christian house, Jesus was quite a known figure. It was on the altar and pretty much everywhere. He even came in my very vivid dreams. I remember a very personal connect with him as a child when I could not talk to anyone about my worries, fears or even hopes I would speak to him. I would even complain to him, it was often a conversation. Without too much protocol. And even ask him for help. I remember I would get whatever I asked him for. It became so strong, this faith, I stopped asking the people…

It rises as waves, this longing Waves that rise with anticipation and crash with disappointment And withdraw into the heart of the ocean The saltiness of the sea, I sometimes wonder if it is from all the tears But then just as surely, the wave comes back, to meet the land, again I am at once sad for, and proud of this wave. So fragile and yet so strong Maybe, it is strong because it is fragile? Or it is the other way around. Even as I ponder over these question, the Ocean continues To move and yet,  to just…

This neighbour came home, last evening She just walked in, purposefully And then, just meandered in conversations. She has a lovely smile. She is always smiling. She spoke for a while of many things The trees and the shrubs and birds and how people are no longer sensitive to these things. “Who will raise their voice for them now..”, she asks a rhetoric I listened.. fascinated by her passion for things that grow And she then also spoke, Of how she can no longer really see all the things she is describing Perhaps she recalls from memory,  I think. Thank…

It’s 12 years today, since my mom passed on I feel, it will be better every passing year, This hollow in my heart won’t feel so empty. But it doesn’t go away. I feel it will not make me ache But it does. As I understand grief, and just let it be, I know Love more. What is happening, Is the things I remember are now different The things I remember about her ..I have begun to also see and accept in myself This day as I sit and remember her… I find myself smiling through the tears the tears…

She is soft, not weak. She is moist, not dirty. She is slow, not dead. She is deliberate, not random. Don’t mistake her tears, for your victory She uses them to water the deeper underground rivers. Don’t mistake her going in, as withdrawal She uses that time in isolation to sense Where the world hurts And where kindness is necessary. She is soft and hard She is the seed and the soil that nourishes it She knows where she comes from, and where she will go Do not try to soil her You forget, She lives there. Do not try…