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Break Up

Published February 7, 2019 By Bijay Shrestha

Be Alright – Dean Lewis

They promised to love each other forever,

which of course, in a long time, didn’t at all, endure the jerking-off of time and tides.

Long story short — He left her for another girl.

That full of $#!+, pathological liar.

 

He robbed her from bones to the thinnest of her skin,

and sucked all the winds away from her wings,

and black-holed all the lights dry, far faraway from her poor, heavy life,

suffocating,… killing her trust-ship wide-open, wide naked! Alive!

 

But, like all living wounds would heal someday,

like all sufferings would eventually sublimate one day.

She will too.

 

And it won’t be because of some vapid, woo-woo magic wand,

let alone one liner, cheaper than the table salt — wordporn shams.

It won’t be because of someone with a big mouth, full of sophisticated advices and pity craps;

It sure won’t be because of any rational poetry, or songs or gratitude ka-ta, et cetera.

 

She will.

She would’ve,

only,

and only,

purely,

b.e.c.a.u.s.e of her WILL.

Taking from US President Mr. Lincoln:  For herself. To herself. By herself.

 

p.s., break ups crack open the beauty in the devil. It’s true as gravity to say, break up seldom break you up.

 

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Love

Published February 2, 2019 By Bijay Shrestha

Mia Wray – Where I stand

Let’s open a book.

It’s called love.

As any normal lives, I’ve also been through defining, deafening blows. Plenty, plateful of heartbreaks, heartaches, and many,.. many mercilessly chilling, shrinking, airless chest evenings.

Gasping. Tired. Done.Battered, broken, all t.e.a.r.e.d up, all to myself in pity corner of rooms you all wouldn’t know.

I’ve seen my people walked, … and some still going through rocky roads.

Happily depressed. Unwillingly masked.

Lost. Lonely.

Sold to lies. Cold.

Cold!

I’ve heard of monstrous stories from souls no different than my own — stories of being mocked, mopped, of being beaten, being ripped off by their owns. Cheated. Cruelly treated.

D.a.m.n.e.d by fate.

Belittled. Betrayed.

Now, as they say, meekness is not weakness.

And, as I navigate around the ocean of knowing and unknowing.

I wonder if am I qualified enough to speak for  love  !?

I wonder if I s.h.o.u.l.d question more about  l.o.v.e, 

love, of real kinds,

of the rare kinds !?

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Assiduity

Published January 31, 2019 By Bijay Shrestha

Billie Eilish – lovely (with Khalid)

  Food for Brain.  

 

Oxford dictionary defines assiduity as,“Constant or close attention to what one is doing.”

Not very long ago, I learned of a wise American Investor by a name Charlie Munger from a lovely co-worker.

Charlie (a vice president of Berkshire Hathaway Inc.) once quoted ‘Assiduity’ which from my understanding he meant sitting on your arse, and think, and put on mountain of work around your time, and invest hours after hours of blood, sweat and tears into things you deeply care about.

Precisely, Charlie in his commencement speech at USC Law School in 2007 said,

“Another thing you have to do, of course, is to have a lot of assiduity. I like that word because it means: sit down on your ass until you do it,…”

Correspondingly, as I now navigate around my own body of experiences, it is fine to speak that I’ve written many rubbish forms of literature (or broadly speaking toiled over horse shit of fluid, volatile artifacts) in my life. However, in the same continuam, so have I also penned plenty that I am glad they did crystalize, and substantiate — that they did join forces or sneak peaked into this gigantic world of beautiful knowledge and infinite wisdom.

Well, regardless of what smell or scent they carried and left, or no matter how deep or shallow the imprint they imprinted; I wrote what came to me. When-in, both nature and nurture became my food and my feet.

I worked shamelessly, recklessly, lovingly, unpreparedly. Gracefully.

Assiduously. 

p.s. for a more simpler/ clearer perspective, assiduity can also be used alternatively with a pop-word the art of showing up.

And, finally, finally to wrap this whole thing,

I want to end with a quote from one of my favorite writer, Steven Pressfield: where he said,

“Put your ass where your heart wants to be.”

Cheers!

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Why, Stay Grounded?

Published January 24, 2019 By Bijay Shrestha

When The End Comes – Andrew Belle (Hushed)

“Sometimes people are more certain of everything than i am of anything. ”
– Robert Rubin, In an uncertain world.

At a risk of being called a smarty-pant myself.

I dedicate this specially to cocksure boys and men.

Girls, women, I don’t mind though!

 

.        .       .

 

It’s okay to be crude, novice and of course somebody who’d happily sprinkle the spark of humility fragrance on every chance than turning up as a cold, know-it-all, bragging, bashing, blabbing jack a*s.

It’s okay to err, reflect, learn and move on in life than become an arrogant, stubborn, these heavy, always-so-right, paranoiac, complaining, yammering, hard to deal with di*k heads.

Again, there’s nothing wrong with being open, vulnerable and emotionally enriching than the ones who’re shallow-bold, self-righteous, self-acclaimed dumb-intellect, taxing bag of bones .

Moreover, here’s a compelling catch; not something totally out-of-this-world, not anything synonymous to voodoo, grandiose, crazy shit but overlooked for sure;

A must learn art of staying grounded!

 

.        .       .

 

 

In a world which celebrates, the world which breathes and breeds on uncertainty — your cockhead-ness is distressing and irrational;

In a world where everyone’s undoubtedly a hero of their own life story, the world where all human h.a.v.e a voice —  you strangle-holding anybody with your half fcuked philosophy is barbaric and unethical.

In a world where mistakes, failures and imperfections are wonderful gems, the fire and the flame to our natural existence — beating up your chest and announcing ‘I’m forever right! I’m perfect! ‘ is a nonsensical narcissism. It’s plainly disgraceful.

So, my friends, I present to you a free, premium word of wisdom,

also, a message to myself. For Life.

 

.        .       .

 

Practice silence amid the world around that can’t stop talking (borrowed that line from Susan Cain’s spellbinding creation, Quiet).

Listen.

Feel.

Self-question.

Empathize.

Listen some more,

and then perhaps call to action (only if need be).

p.s. Like my grandma says, frequent demeanor is a justified cue to make sense of the person’s terrain and the peaks,

thus, train and tame your demon (believe it or not but we all have one inside us), your yang.

Again, for better lack of words;

Stay grounded.

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You

Published January 17, 2019 By Bijay Shrestha

A Message To Myself – Roo Panes

You.

You’re about courage.
You’re about growth.
You’re about love.

You’re about kindness.
You’re about a not-so-special DNA-ed humbleness.
More importantly, you’re about the work of art you paint over yourself, over and over again throughout your life; all too frequently changing; ever flowing and a never ending work in progress until one day your life’s finally finally over.

 

Heedless.
You’re not your dumb smartphone who’s been mocking at your stupidity for your urge to digest plastic emotions and pleasure it propounds verily.
You’re not one fucked aftermath of countless judgments, unsolicited advises, desperation for validations and approvals from paper people with tasteless ground.
You’re not these painstakingly filtered photographs of yourself, most of them shamelessly oblivious to the reality of stacks and stacks of boredom, inevitable despair and everyday struggle.
More importantly, you’re not a lost soul you think you are, lest you should be proud of your fight and blissful of your fleeting existence despite lingering death in the moment, in any moment.

 

Be mindful.
You’re these beautiful songs you listen to in a loop, the songs you hummmm… with all your heart,
You’re a living and a dying star my friend, who around life’s confined ebb is a wild, free boat.

Convulated. Confident. They will finger point your ass with as many nouns, verbs, adjectives…
You are probably anybody they want to see you to be.
But, your identity is a naked simple dear, you’re the sperm meeting the egg;
your worth — the words you weigh before you wear, before you speak,
your true worth — the fire you burn, the actions you make.

To the nutshell, and for one good last time,
scratch your own itch, you!
Ask, not who you are or who they think you are.
Ask, who you want to become.

p.s. Don’t forget, you are going to die.

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Dear 2018

Published January 6, 2019 By Bijay Shrestha

Aaj Jane Ki Zid Na Karo – Arijit Singh

 

First, 2018 was a year of loss. We lost our brother, Pramod Shrestha.

2018 was a year of more letting gos’. A year made of tough choices to leave beautiful souls walk their own miles.

Of many people I’d never meet, of people who’d never want to see me, perhaps ever […]

But, it’s okay.

2018 was also a year of more unpublished, poorly drafted, incomplete, procrastinated articles, poems and essays.

These still decorate a large part of this blog’s ‘draft’ section and handful of unattended ‘Google Keep’ notes as well.

2018  — again, was a year of books, role models, mentors.

Read, listened, learned and duly enacted as many possible.

2018 was a year of unconditional, true found  love. 

Love unbeknownst. Love beckoned. Love befound.

 Late than never.

2018 was a year of many more new connections.

Of kindling old companionship, of creating meaningful soul-friendships with the few new.

2018 by far was an adventurous year. Dhampus, unplanned hikes, bike rides.

Of my first international flight to New-Delhi, of reviving childhood, childlike masti with my twin brother Bishow Shrestha.

Lastly, 2018 was a year of sadness,

of contentment, fulfillment and joy,

of scratching my own itch, of sharpening wisdom around body of words,

of sacred contemplation, continual reflection and perpetual self-refinement along the process.

And from where I see, 2018 wasn’t perfect,

no,

it was just phenomenally real — tethered with repetitive drudgery, ephemeral melancholy and

warm rejoice of daily living.

p.s. Dear 2018,

Thanks for passing-by, subtly,

one day at a time,

one breathe at a time.

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Boredom, Words

Published December 29, 2018 By Bijay Shrestha

Man Like You – Tom Misch

These memories by Hollow Coves is playing in a fair, faint volume.

In a company of mere table lamp, and our holy pet, sanu, I lay in my bed; worn, done, sicken, thinking of thinking, for thinking,

trying to   think to write , and well, write to think.

 

Thinking … I remembered, I’d been reading and listening and hearing plenty,

matter of fact, more, more and more about the untapped luxury and wisdom that  boredom  conceals, … that, sometimes not-doing anything, anything at all, confers a life-changing ripple effect.

Munger calls it Assiduity!

 

And, without adue, I try to talk my feverish self in — “Fever to you, happened in just the right moment, to duly invite boredom. “

And taste it, and smell it from underneath your chin.

Live it!

 

And, here, I let her paralyze me, possess me, caress me, rule me, embrace me, fuck me up, bless me.

Clearly, openly, I allowed boredom be my guest in this warm, coughing room — and clear the blur,

  and, SHOW ME THE WAY.  

 

Thinking, … among  many other things, I remembered, it’d been a while since I wrote anything.

My relationship with  words  has gotten quieter, thinner, a bit unromantic and cold you see.

But I will bring them home, once again!

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The Mystery Never Leaves You

Published December 18, 2018 By Bijay Shrestha

‘It’s strange to be here. The Mystery never leaves you alone.’ Of all of the opening lines of the books I’ve read, that is the granddaddy of them all. That’s the first eleven words of Anam Cara from the late great philosopher-poet John O’Donohue. I love the opening lines of a book. See, the first lines of a book are a prophecy. It’s the threshold that sets the tone for the pilgrimage of pages in waiting. If I could distill this episode, those words –  ‘It’s strange to be here. The Mystery never leaves you alone.’ –  would be the whiskey, the barrel and the remnants left on my lips.

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This episode came to life a month before my newborn son. Inspired by friends, poets and writers I mused over the words to offer my son as he packed up his belongings from the dark warmth of the womb and worked his way into the shivering light of humanity. Finally, I put ink to paper. Once complete, the following letter laid in waiting alongside the clutter of discarded receipts and grocery lists. The sacred and profane cohabiting on my night stand.

Weeks later, my son was born. Upon his entrance into this world, the world’s response was immediate and in kind. Thunder clapped and rain poured in the desert. It’s strange to be here. The Mystery never leaves you alone.

Here is that letter to my newborn son.

Dear Son,

We just finished an appointment with the midwives. I sat on the couch opposite your Mama as she laid back with her baby belly in the air. I couldn’t see your Mama’s face, just the belly housing you. Inwardly I was chuckling, your Mama was all belly and legs. But then our Midwife smeared that celestial goop on her stomach and massaged a heart monitor on the barrier between you and the world. Bah-dump, bah-dump, bah-dump. Your tiny heart called me to attention, and my eyes misted with the primal recognition that you would be here soon, screaming and breathing, and laid into the crook of my arms. Your Mama repositioned, we locked eyes and she gave me a quick wink.

I am writing to you from my desk, pen in hand, on a sunny autumn day in Albuquerque, New Mexico just a couple days after my 38th birthday and hopefully a few days before yours. You have been bumbling and stretching in your Mama for 9 months now. We are eager to meet you little one, for your awakening into this world is also our own. We will see afresh the miracle of being human. You may find that to be the best part of your new life, your presence reminds everyone else that life is a miracle. No doubt your first prerogative is to locate your big sister, whose been hugging you from the belly side of the womb. She will be quick to give you the lowdown on your Mama and me and catch you up on all of the essentials, like how to track down the moon in the night sky and where we keep the band aids. Stick close to her, she’s a blonde Bodhisattva.

Since you will be new to this life, I thought a word or two about the world as I see it and the family you are entering might be welcome. I reckon it’ll be an equally useful practice for me. I wanted to get these offerings on paper before we give you a name and I am overwhelmed by the joyful flurry of your first few months. I’ll share the most pressing thought first, it’s good to be human. Life is a wild, wild trip full of adventures if there ever was one– you’ll find struggle and love and forgiveness drawing you ever forward to a fullness you suspect is just beyond the horizon. And sometimes, sometimes, when a soft wind brushes your arm and wakes you, you will taste its fullness in the present moment if you can bear it. But more on that later. The second reason for this letter is that I’m nervous. See, my role in your life as one of your parents, is to love and guide you on your unfolding path…a responsibility I don’t hold lightly. It’s been a hoot being a dad to your sister, but adding you to the mix is hard to fathom. To imagine a third human so tightly tethered to the strings of my heart is difficult. Yet I know when I first glimpse your squirmy little body that I will love you as fiercely as I do your Mama and Sister. I can tear up just watching your sister play with your mom (you’ll have to get used to this). It is in these moments, these snapshots of the Kingdom of Heaven, flashing before my eyes when I am most burdened by the fragility of this life. The beating hearts and rhythmic breaths of my beloveds can cast me into a reflective space, a tender wistfulness. I am slow to talk about this. For it is always on the backburner of my mind, the impermanence of it all, of our precious shared lives. How many years will we have together? Will we forge a strong enough bond to sustain the bumps and miles between us over time? Impossible to answer now, but these questions will be fretfully occupying my mind for years to come. The master poet comforts me when he writes, ‘Another word for father is worry.’ (‘Words for Worry’, Li-Young Lee)

Son, you are entering the world in chaotic times. But don’t be saddened by that, each member of our human family has always been welcomed to this planet by the rattle of chaos. The Dagara people in Burkina Faso have ritual where the children of the community are present at a birth, they respond to the first cry of a newborn with cries of their own, to assure the new baby that they will not journey through this world alone (Joy Unspeakable, Barbara Holmes, p 35 -36). I love that.

Our human pursuits challenge the stability of our planet. We just can’t seem to get a handle on what to do about it. Or worse, the courage to change our course to a more believable one. It can be overwhelming to be a part of the human family. Our history is marred by war, genocide, racism, pollution, and pumpkin spice lattes. We have also contributed to creating some marvelous rituals, neighborhoods, songs, poetry and laughter. Oh son, laughter is one of the greatest gifts of this human experience. When you are graced with an uproarious belly laugh that hurts, causing you to grasp for that next gasp of air. Enjoy it. Sink into it. You’ll notice that as people get older their laughter becomes polite and stifled. Letting go into ecstatic laughter can be seen as foolish or even a sign of your mental health slipping. But Laughter is often the best response to the absurdity of life. I hope you laugh often and loudly. Your Mother was gifted the best laugh my ears have heard. I hope it gets passed down to you. Alongside laughter, kindness is another remarkable human expression for chaotic times. Despite all of the self-help books out there yammering about kindness, it often comes in the form of simply showing up and paying attention. You will be a natural at this for years to come, children can lift a sullen heart or put a smile on a stranger passing by just by showing up. There is a subtle art to kindness that we hope to help cultivate in you, but it will be a unique brand all unto you.

I’m biased, but you won the lottery in the Momma department. She is much wiser than I, more embodied and in tune with the banjo of life. This doesn’t mean that I don’t have anything to offer, it simply means that I’ve learned more about being human from her than anyone else. That’s a marker of wisdom that I pay more attention to than ever, stick close to those embracing the fullness of their humanity. To your young ears that must sound ridiculous. Trust me when I say that this world is full of folks seeking to become someone or something other than what they are. Some call that spirituality, I call it the Gatsby delusion. But it’s partly true for all of us, the temptation to peel off our innate layers and wear someone else’s skin. And even worse, others will try to tell you who you should be. Discerning between charlatans and heartfelt humans is one of the major tasks of life, and often both exist within the same person. Jeez, see, I’m getting all existential, another reason to pay more attention to your momma’s way of being in the world.

Let curiosity be your guide, son. This world is full of so many marvels, histories, cultures. Let your boredom be a resting ground, because soon enough your curiosity will peek through a doorway you’ll want to walk through. Boredom is completely misunderstood in the world you’ve just entered. Unfathomable resources are being poured into goods and gadgets that will distract you from your God-given right to boredom. Boredom is a signal for so many offerings. You might just need a rest from the cacophony of life. You might be in the wrong line of work or relationship. You might be in the right line of work or relationship and just need the courage to dig a little deeper. Curiosity is your best pal for working through these vital questions when they arise.

Go inward, son. The world is not the only terrain full of marvels and mysteries. Your inner life is a confluence of many unfolding riverways; some will grant you solace to sit by, offering fruit and easy beauty. Others run underground, reluctantly showing themselves only in broken openings. Over the years you will wonder aloud, who am I? How did I become this person? You will discover your light and shadow are ceaseless dance partners. Watch how they touch, kiss and who takes the lead when. You’ll be tempted to dismiss one or both throughout you days. Now I’ve mixed metaphors, rivers and dance partners. But how could it be otherwise to attempt to chart out a picture of your inner life? For the paradox of life is found only in metaphor, in light and shadow, rhythms of being and spontaneous creativity, you become the answer to the questions you ask with each exhale…until your very last.

You should know that some of my best friends are dead. You’ll find their books lining our walls. I hope to properly introduce you to all of them someday, for now its good to know just a few; Merton is a cut-up who is always hanging around, Thoreau tends to be on a walk whenever I am seeking his counsel, Teresa is the first to break into song, Lao-Tzu knows more than he lets on, and Rumi, well, he is always up for pint down the street. I just didn’t luck out to be walking the planet at the same time as them. No matter. The friendships grow in their own way. My hope is you strike up rich friendships with some of my dead friends too.

Life is hard, son. It can be really hard. Your Mother and I will make mistakes. We will say or do, or not say and not do, things that will hurt you. You will also make missteps. Systems around us will confine you. Illness and death come for everyone. Responding with kindness, attentive discernment and laughter go a long way in these seasons of life. When in doubt, take a deep breath, go for a stroll under a canopy of trees and do the next most loving action. It will not solve or stave off the hurricanes of life, but it will increase your fortitude. You will need the support and love of family, friends, and neighbors too. We all need help, especially now. Why now? Because we always need one another; to expand our notions of love and with the same fierceness, receive it. Love is one of those intangible aspects of life. It comes quickly at times, others times not so, and needs the sustenance of attention, humor, gentleness and at times a bold edge.

You’ll be born into a white male body. This will grant you privilege in our world. And with privilege comes power. You need to know that. It doesn’t mean you get a pass on the hardships of life mentioned previously, but it will be easier for you. It also means you have the responsibility to recognize that privilege and do your part in dismantling systems that uplift the few and oppress the many. I imagine that sounds like a lot for you as you haven’t even taken a breath outside the womb yet. But I’ll remind you, it’s not all up to you. This is the work of loving community, which you are one fabric of. Celebrate your smallness and your greatness in being part of it. Call that humility. The brunt of those who imagine it is theres to do, and do all by their lonesome is too much to bear and asks them to become inhuman in doing so. Stay humble, do the work.

I’ll say it again, it’s good to be human. You may forget this at times. I do. All too often. One of the ways I am reminded of this is by your Mama, Sister, Friends and Family. Strangers too. Also, God. This is no religious letter in the institutional sense, but a sweaty, breathing one. I’ve had experiences that have marked me in relationship with the Christ Mystery. A God so intimate, that she tells me when my breath stinks. A God who is mostly known by forgetting what I think I know about him. A God who gets the joke, even when its a cosmic one. A God of the collective. It’s the most enriching and frustrating relationship I have on the books. I don’t always feel God, or believe in God, or know where God is buying the next round. When I’m in that space, I lean on my experience, my community and the wisdom traditions to trust that the Mystery is within, and without, for any wisdom I’ve gained is because I’ve humbly paid attention to her muses showing up in forms both known and unknown. The Divine is wily in that way. Take these wondrous words from A Natural History of the Senses to heart, Son. Eat them. Digest them. Live them.

“The great affair, the love affair with life, is to live as variously as possible, to groom one’s curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day. Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding, and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours, life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length. It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.” (p.309, Vintage Books, 1990)

Son, I don’t know what terrain lies ahead for you, but I do know that my love will be a backdrop for every shift in landscape and turn of weather. But…still probably a good idea to bring a sweater.

Much love,
Your Dear Old Dad

P.S. Son, these notes come out of my tattered life experiences, disregard much and retain what you can muster. You’ll be exploring life on your own terms. Your path will be all your own, yet springing from our foundation. I wanted to relay how I see things. Stand tall, son. I’m glad you’re here.

 

COURTESY: Contemplify

 

 

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