For my Carelessness
Hi Satya Ji, I hope this message finds you well
In my tradition, an offense must be repaid with a gift.
But what to give a man, that doesn’t exist.
Please, then, accept this handwritten note as my humble offering, hoping my tears may give it Rasa. Only to type this up after baking it in the Sun. And boiling it down just to make it quicker, sharper.
Tears of anger, not mortal suffering, that’s Monday. Tears of seething, dripping, venomous anger.
I found you on IG because I managed to find only one Truth after 15 years, once I found Valmiki’s song. Then Indra repeatedly fried my brain and my heart chakra, like a mouse, until I found the only path of any man who has responsibility, the path of no mind.
Maybe my imagination or maybe not, doesn’t matter. The one Truth I managed to find in 15 years. And it was you with the last piece, everyone else is dead.
Jiddu, Rajneev, Bruce Li, all dead tragically too soon.
Because Satya Ji, I’m from the US. And it’s decaying, there’s not a single Truth to turn on a light here.
The truth is right here, Satya Ji. Why! Why the fuck can we not bring one single Truth to our children here. Not one fucking Truth. Not one.
And now, they’re taking my brothers. I scream and cried to Ohm until people looked at me mad. But there’s too much to scream.
I had to fight just to get my Sita back from Rakshasa’s when I was not there. It was not her fault. It was mine. Fuck anyone to tell me otherwise.
They took my Father, 50 years ago, a few years after immigration, and I still have to write volumes just to give him a song to come back to. My job, fuck anyone else to tell me otherwise.
Bless Rukmini, they will never take my Mother.
The Rakshasas sit safely in the throat in my sisters, every sister on this side of the Earth - fuck!
Laughing at my weakness.
My own.
That is the only pain for me to face, which you can never solve for me.
But the fire and tears, what’s making my hand shake…
is that they took my nephews…
Before they had the chance to READ, Satya! I can’t cry hard enough…
But “oh don’t worry,” they say. “I bought them modi toys (a child’s very own Plush Durga toy for $34.99 plus tax)…It sings a mantra, don’t you know?”
Now, something needs to burn. It’s me or the Rakshasas. At least these fuckin toys that everyone can hide their ignorance behind.
They’ll never take our little Soma that my Sita is gifting me…
before this planet roars with my Thunder, and this world cracks wide open with my Sita’s bare fingertips.
But my fire is loose and mad, hopefully like Hanuman’s in Lanka, but not under the devotion of Truth, simply due to my stupidity and weakness. Nothing else. My fire needs Truth to serve.
See Satya Ji, you finally spoke the Truth, with a capital T. The one that finally reached our past lives and now we come, like moths to flame. Some very Dumbass moths. Capital D. Like me.
But we are sharpening our Vanara fangs with the light.
Clip our wings if we falter. Why the fuck would we or should we fly if we cover just one ray of the Sun. But we’ll never stop. We cannot.
Because there are Kshatriyas in this group. We’ll be brandishing our words, forever training, until we helplessly find the call, or until the call finally finds us.
I’m sharpening my ivory Vanara teeth you are growing in my mouth from your mind alone. I have tooth pain. Hanuman is laughing at me until I wake up.
This is why I falter. Not because I’m blind. That’s simple. Hard, but simple.
But, oh, the fire behind the blindness!
We don’t escape in laziness, not many here in the West. We escape because we are angry and we will either burn it all down (those strong enough), or pretend to not care. To “check out,” you see?
Thank you again. It’s the end of the paper and my tears crystalized into Golden Armor, maybe it can look like just a mere replica of Rama’s one day.
When they told Rama to not weep, he looked at them and said “fuck you this is my power.” I hope one day I learn.
I hope only my most virtuous thoughts finds you. When it’s dark there, feel come feel me dancing with the fire, under the daylight here. Everyone’s invited.
If you’re having troubling sleeping from my ever-seeking Nakhra-filled thoughts trying to find the TRUTH, please understand that to this, I will never apologize. I will pick up my shield to defend my brothers to do the same.
Sorry, it has nothing to do with YOU, it’s just the TRUTH. I hope you can understand.
But to my last infraction, making you waste your fingers for my carelessness, that’s fucked to do to a friend and deserves more slaps than I can ask for. But please forgive me in time. Only this one time.
Because if I don’t grow stronger, more virtuous, then simply burn me away.
WITH LIGHTNING, Indra is booming.
With Fire, Narada and Viswamitra are whispering
Crush me under mountaintops, Hanuman is pleading
With impossible tests of virtue, my ancestor, Dwaipayana, is teaching
My Sita, My Rati, she doesn’t care.
She’s revived me every time Shiva burned me into Ashes and Tears,
For my ignorance and pathetic sacrifices. Not due to responsibility like for Kama. What a hero…
And now she’s thinking,
it won’t be anything like what our little Soma will do to her father with the fire she’s cooking up.
“Now, is better than later”, she’s thinking right now sitting upstairs. Waiting for me to bring the Sun to our home, to our Kamapooram.
As she recovers in the one small, tiny ray I can provide at the moment, as I tremble inside.
My deepest regrets and gratitude to you Satya Ji.
As they say in the West, Ma Bad Bro, You’re the Man.
Keep singing! And I’ll keep dancing.
