These doors. Who clamped them? Who will help me get to the other side? It’s brighter they say.

Anything is brighter compared to pitch black, Einstein. It’s a miracle that I’ve reached the door. Getting here was a step. At a time. Everyday. One slow, long yogic movement. Each movement against what has become my nature – misaligned but my natural posture. Each movement is towards what nature meant it to be like, what I want it to be like. Supposedly. I’ll know only when I get there, right? Or never.

I’m proud of myself. I reached the door. I’m worn out, sapped out of energy. I want the door to open. Magically. As an appreciation of the effort it took, to get to it. In pitch darkness, finding my way around in slow motion. You know? At every move, I held on to the pose, the thought, the change that needed to be. So that I got used to it – mind more than body.

This struggle between mind and body left the soul unattended. When will it grow? How will it glow deep yet bright? Aaah…who cares?! Soul-shoul can go sell oil.

I want to go back to caring. For my soul, for others’ too. The door gives me hope. But it’s damn shut. Does it need a passkey? A mantra? Or maybe it just needs my undivided attention.


To clear the fog, to bathe the thoughts. Like a dog with ticks, regular baths. This door, my thoughts, dog with ticks. Will it be shut for ever, are they beyond redemption, will it die of tick-alaria? ? ?

No. I can’t let that happen. You – the one with the passkey, the mantra, the magic – you cannot let that happen. I hate dogs, but can’t let the dog-with-ticks die. That’s the kind of compassion I’m talking about. I want that back. It’s not a bad aim to have. It’s not like I want to start praying for the roaches’ long life.

I’m not Buddha. I don’t want to be Buddha. I don’t think Buddha wants me to be Buddha. Yet.

I want to be human. Feel like one. Cry not feel dry. Not over spilt milk. I can try not to be clumsy but I don’t promise.

I recognize my mistakes. Oh hell, I remember them too. At each step to this door, I looked back to check if the last posture was "perfect". By my defition. By your definition.

Too many definitions they became and I too confused. I’m out of breath. What if I die here? I don’t want to die alone. I want to sleep. Not in darkness. With you by my side. On the other side.

That’s not enough. I want you to glow and grow too. I want to be a part of your path to get there. But after the ticks die. From the other side. Because you are on the other side. (Thank goodness, you’ll never know the darkness here and thank goodness, I feel at least that much for you).

Please open the door. Damn, you don’t know how, do you?