If, I were, not me.

My mother used to tell me a story called, “Ugly Duckling.” In that story, the ugly duckling was a dark little duckling who grew up to be a white beautiful swan.

When my siblings teased me because of my big cheeks and dark skin, my mother would tell me that when I grow up I will be beautiful.

I was just a child and it went in deep that I must become beautiful one day. Fortunately, I was such a curious child that it didn’t bother me too much that I wasn’t white enough or my cheeks werent flat enough. Or my eyes werent blue or green. Yet, I was impressed with all things perfectly symmetrical and smoothly white.

If it were upto me, I would have made a perfectly beautiful body for myself, like in the movies. Then lived the somewhat two dimensional world of a woman who lives to nurture and take care of her family. But since I didn’t fit the mold, I could not live the model life. I tried marrying someone who thought I was beautiful. But, he never saw me. He just needed me. After a while, I stopped being his addiction and he stopped being mine.

Whose love did I crave the most? forget love, I just craved being seen and heard.

To get that basic right, I have travelled the oddest roads and stood in the most dangerous crossroads to be seen. They say that when you leave home, you keep looking to go back home, hoping that the home has space for the real you. Not who your mother thinks you should be. That perfect daughter who meets her mother’s every need for appreciation and empathy. And the perfect daughter of patriarchy, is my shadow. I may ridicule her, shame her, banish her from my heart, but she surfaces again and again. So I decided, let’s talk to my shadow, this attention craving, desperately lonely girl who dreams of love and find out what created her in me? what made me hate her? what made me run away from her?

Whose love did I crave the most? Forget love, I just craved to be seen, instead of told how I need to do something a little bit differently so that then it would be perfect enough. You know how they say, this is good, but can you change it so it is a bit more ….(the way I want).

Every now and then I clean up my phone, my books, my clothes, my drawers. And in those cleaning sprees, I find the pieces of writing that I never complete, because they aren’t perfect enough and somebody won’t understand them, or won’t like them or want to change them so that they are more popular, like other people,

‘Other people won’t like the way you do this, or that or the way you dress, or the way you speak’. My shadow lives in the place in my belly that hurts every time I speak to my mother. She loves me so much. But I am not lovable. Somehow this paradox is my life. A place neither here nor there. I have yearned to just be.

I married for love, but love was missing, so I left for love. I lived to love my son, but love was hard to feel, when it was just me and him, I lived to love my work, but work was hard to love, because it didn’t pay enough, I lived to love, but love, didn’t love me back.

I lived a life of unrequited love. I loved the wrong men, and ran from the right men. I made all the mistakes I could. I made so many mistakes, that I had no choice left but to be me. And so my path to enlightenment, wasn’t perfection or success, but failure, over and over and over again. Until I could see my face and say, it isn’t ugly, because underneath its imperfection, I could see me.

One fine day, I went back home and walked the streets of the place I would have, could have lived, but I wasn’t perfect enough. I looked for her, the shadow of the self that I had left behind. A self that lived for the love and approval of her family. A self who dreamed of having a home, a family and a husband. My journey to meet my shadow was arduous and difficult. I sat in buses, walked in dust, rode in rickshaws and talked to strangers, looking for the one I had left behind in all things Pakistani.

This blog will carry Vlogs and blogs of a journey through Pakistan.

Im guessing that, you’d probably want to know, did I find her? did I find that girl who wanted to be pretty enough to be loved? did I find that soul who dreamed of true love? For that, next time. For now, this is what I have.

The moving finger of fate said You are not what you think you are. Life is not about what you think it is about. You will not achieve your new year’s resolutions and business plans. Things will never be the same again. Everything you knew as normal is no longer true. It could be a Koontz novel plot….hinged around the premise that:  Wild animals aren’t meant to be killed for the pleasure of humans…..and every person on this planet is suffering because of the cruelty of a few people who hunt, torture and kill animals and other humans just because they can.

And some humans are so desperate for the comfort of God that they don’t listen to any warnings from the government of the dangers of a virus. They congregate in mosques and gather in hatred against all those who don’t believe like they do. At the first level the tragedy that other humans are so mean to them, that they must believe in a god and after life to cope with the cruelty and injustice of their daily existence. At the second level the terrible stupidity that an army has to quarantine them to get them to stop being a threat to society. At the third, the grief that spiritual wisdom is so misunderstood, that instead of being the strength of a nation, it becomes their greatest curse.

The world is suffering from a global pandemic that threatens to wipe out a million people over 6 months. There is no antibiotic, no vaccine, and hardly any control on this virus. Somehow all the defense budgets, disaster planning and all the rest of the huge expenditures on safety are nothing in front of this absolutely weird situation.

We are all in prison, unable to connect to each other physically. People must stay 6 feet away from each other. The most popular must have items of 2020 are masks, hand sanitizing gels, bleach, disinfectant wipes and disinfectants of all sorts.  The world and its armies have been mobilized against a microscopic thing that is not even a complete cell. Normal life is at a standstill on the entire planet. Nobody is celebrating anything. Nobody gathers for any reason. Intimacy, weddings, dating, conferences, yoga gatherings, reiki events, hugs, sports, chess, board games, parties…..the list goes on and on. Human activity on the planet is at a standstill. Oil prices have dropped.

The street where I live is deathly silent. I hardly see anyone. For the last 2 weeks I have stayed at home and I only go out for groceries, or a short walk to cope. I am effectively in self isolation. We are all in some kind of prison. Is it the revenge of animals for being treated so cruelly that a mutation occurred?. So many of us suspect it, we hate the cruelty practiced in some parts of the world, but apart from grieving over it, we can’t change it.

The above sounds like the plot for a TV pilot of a sci fi drama. But it is just the first 3 months of 2020.

 

Identity is a work in progress. It isn’t engraved in stone, even though some would like to be a simple matter of knowing who you are. But your thoughts arent you. Your body isn’t you. Your life isn’t yours. Your emotions also aren’t you. The path of spiritual development is the opposite of identity creation, in fact it is the willingness to dent the I. Since the concept of I is flawed, life will often dent it. The reaction to life, will give you a false self concept or Identity.

What happens to you makes you think you are what happened to you. Nothing could be further from the truth. Those are your memories, not also you.

In fact the more you observe the reactions that you have to life, the more you become aware of the pain that is held within you, the less likely you are to stay attached to the idea of yourself.

Then where do morals, values and ethics come from? if it isn’t about what you think about yourself, how can you judge right from wrong. If there isn’t a label on the can, how do you know what is in the can?

People who like to have things nicely sorted, the left sock with the right sock, the matching earrings with the matching outfit, now those people love to have a solid rock like certainty. They will go to great lengths to believe in something, to not have to think. To just simply know what to do. Identity is like a user manual for them. If you give them all the cues, they will do what they are supposed to.

And it works for a while. Then it doesn’t. Because life is for exploring, as much as it is for performing. It is as much for learning and growth as it is for knowing and believing. A time comes, when one can’t be afraid anymore. One grows up and wants to break out of the mental prison of should be’s, and have-tos, and how people must love me, and I am a good person, aren’t I?

That time is when the devil, the infamous snake in the orderly paradise, rears its head and says, ‘but really, who am I?’ and other such insane philosophical questions, such as if nobody heard the branch fall in the forest, then did it really happen?’

Thus, the heart says, ‘hear me’, ‘see me’, ‘know me’, ‘reflect me’, ‘connect with me’, and ‘listen to my song’. It is a nagging knock from Spirit, that wants you to see You, the whole of you, the eternal you so that you know who you are is spiritual being, eternal, complete and whole, without any Dents or broken parts. And you emerge as a complete entity. This doesn’t mean you are invincible and don’t need anyone. It means that you can flow with life. That you are no longer fighting life or what God gave you. And instead of trying to change it, you gently surrender to the heart’s way.

What used to be emptiness, no longer needs to be filled with anything. Instead emptiness becomes inner space, a place of profound belonging. Identity is no longer required. What you do is something you do, you choose to. Not something that you are. What you look like is a fact of life, not a reason to like or dislike yourself. Who you spend time with is a choice, not a condition of belonging. What you eat is to nourish your body, rather than to fill an emptiness within. What you think is what fills you with hope and joy, rather than what others expect you to think. What you choose as a form of livelihood is the path of least resistance, your most natural unfolding, rather than an attempt to earn recognition or kudos. What you do for others is a spontaneous responding, rather than a well thought tactic to keep connections active.

You live from the heart. You shine from the heart. You are authentically you and in that way, there is no separation, there is no I, no you, just a shared space of being. I do I, and you do you. It doesn’t matter what people think, it is interesting to know what they think. It doesn’t matter if they like you, what matters is that you like you. It doesn’t matter what you have, as long as you can share it happily with another. It doesn’t matter what you wear, as long as it is clean and respectable. It doesn’t matter what you laugh about, as long as you find something to amuse you. It doesn’t matter if you cry, as long as you can really feel. It doesn’t matter if someone doesn’t treat you right, what matters is that you stopped them from mistreating you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The freedom that we workers of the world have was won because of thinkers, writers, activists and artists who were free to think. Capital must not have liked that because it continuously searches for new labor to exploit, to make addicted to consumerism, and then to discard. Capital is like a gigantic dinosaur that will eat up all the resources of the world, and we all know that but we are so addicted, so hypnotized by the glitz and the illusions that we just can’t give it up. In the coming months, that hard won alliance between labour and capital…meaning that capital had to have some accountability towards labor, the hard won struggle, for labour to be recognized as part of capital is under threat because of a virus. In a world completely watched and integrated via the internet, the new war was waged through our mind, not our bodies, it is waged through the fear of a virus, which makes us all comply much faster than the fear of odd people doing bad things to us.

In war time we are afraid, suspicious and distant.  The act of purchasing groceries feels risky. 1. Who and what does our fear benefit? and 2. Do they expect us to pay rent and mortgages without getting paid work? Wait, hasn’t this been going on for a while now? there was a time we paid artists for music, actors for acting, writers for writing. Now we pay some corporation to get creative work for free. There has been a strong and precise erosion of rights over human intelligence. We live ever increasingly purposeless lives….we have less and less meaningful work, the more knowledge we have, the less work we get. The truth is that this is a war on a certain kind of intelligence–human intelligence. Now we are living with an irrational fear of germs, our society is buying any harsh cleaning agent and tons of food as if there is a war. Masks, gloves, and fear abound. Our compliance has come because of the fear for our safety. In a few short weeks we have accepted that we must not meet in person, only online. Over time, we have become so well trained, that we are terrified of possibly getting a flu that might develop into a pneumonia, that might mean we die or someone else will die because of us. This is a new spin on risk. In the meanwhile the globe is in a state of emergency.  Because its just a virus…..we willingly gave up our freedom, because the government says we will pay you to stay home in countries where labour has some legal rights. In others, their armies keep people at home and online.

I don’t think people realize that their work has less and less real value. Even though our economies recognize labour as capital, the facts of the economic realities of our time is that labour is being replaced by technology so fast, that it is tempting to shift labour into the liability category….what I have said has HUGE implications for finance and economics. But they don’t teach that kind of stuff at Universities anymore….it doesn’t pay to think, only to make more money from selling more stuff to more people. 

The psychology of our times is such that we accept a world which is the dream come true of the landlord, the capitalist, the owner of resources.  It asks all of us to own capital and pushes us all to become capitalists, valuing ourselves by our assets. It is a weird kind of mental oppression, leading to a state of chronic malaise, a deep existential purposelessness.  If we are depressed, we are told it is a chemical imbalance, and if we take some chemicals we will feel okay.

The glass is half empty or half full. Perhaps it is a victory for racism, or the creation of a new race. Make way, quickly for robots. Even Chinese workers cannot keep up with robots.

 

The virus is real.
Our denial is real.
Our panic is real.
Our grief is real.
Our pain is real.

 

The price of meeting other people’s expectation is a loss of self. If I am you, I cannot be me.

Being true i.e., being oneself aka authenticity requires emotional truth speaking. It takes courage. In the absence of courage, people cope with defense mechanisms using hyper vigilant behaviors such as hyper activity, control, obsession and analysis.

Obsessions and compulsions stem from the lack of a consistent harmonious sense of self. The true self hides beneath the veneer of ‘should be.’ It is disconnected from its truth because it has not been allowed to be itself.

Children are seen as extensions of their parents. Parents load expectations on their child and the child can only be loved or accepted if the expectations are met. The rebellious child will test their parents’ love by doing everything the opposite of what the parents wish for. The compliant child will meet all the expectations but feel empty inside, needing the parents in a way that can be barely be comprehended.

So, what is the road to independence? neither rebellion nor compliance works to get the love that was denied in childhood. It is too late to heal the wound of not good enough.

The true self can only be experienced. It cannot be labeled or judged. In fact it must not be labeled or judged. The true self is already moral. It recognizes itself as part of the cosmos. It feels the universe deeply.

“I am an observer of my condition. I am a true witness to how I feel. My feelings are linked to the energy that moves my body in space. My feelings are not the whole of me. My feelings are experienced by me. My thoughts are linked to the energy that moves my body in space. What people say about me is not me. What people think about me is not me. My achievements are not me. My analysis of me is not me. What I think is not me. I am an observer. In this observation I am liberated from the chains that bind me to other people’s expectations.”

 

The tension in my lower chakras has meant that I keep my heart energy closed and turn off my third eye. Ive been told my psychic abilities are scary. My family gets upset everytime there is evidence of it. My body feels half. As if half of me shouldnt exist. I crave aloneness. As much as I try to not see the spirits in the home, I can’t help but see them. It is going to be okay. My father is being accompanied by angels and ancestors come every day to bless his passing. My family has great difficulty with this. I almost feel that if I talk about where he is headed, they will think I am killing him. I feel lonely, and helpless. The pain of his soul is like a wedge in my heart. In my pain, I close my eyes, and I see my teacher who has passed on a year or so previously. She says, “I will help you. He is afraid if he will go to heaven or not, but he is headed for the highest heaven. I will take him for you my dear. I see hordes of angels behind her. Tears roll down my eyes. Is there no other way?”. “No, He is looking forward to the next life. His work is done here.”

I sit in the acute care unit. Other people whose loved ones are dying are hypnotically attracted to me. People who channel from the other side are instantly recognized –we all know deep down inside that the world of touch and feel is only one part of reality. My family looks on in some surprise, as women come from nowhere to ask for prayers. Its hard for my family to accept me as I am. For them I am that little curly haired girl with the constant smile. And here I am, facing the biggest fear of our lives, as if it is nothing. It is death. Life is far more painful. I say that sometimes. My mother feels my pain and I feel hers. Empathy can be exhausting because as I mirror her I feel the disappointment that I didnt turn out normal after all with the same lust for life as the others. I never seemed to have that drive that makes people into winners. I want to tell her, you havent failed in any way. I could have the life of materialism, but for me God opened another door. Can’t you see it is the most beautiful place that was given to me? To be of service, to be able to give hope to the suffering, isn’t that the greatest gift? Her answer, yes, but I didnt want that for you. You were the light hearted one, pure and innocent, we even named you what we felt you were. You werent supposed to suffer. I have no answer for her, other than to say that the devil isn’t all that scary. We all return to God and all this suffering, this terrible pain of soul rape that has been my experience of love and belonging is just suffering. It isn’t me.

We use labels to cope. Are you ‘schizophrenic?’ You must be ‘crazy’. “I get goosebumps when I talk to you.”   I smile in empathy. We, as a collective society are insane and we make people insane. If they tell us how they feel, we call them crazy, and we have a series of labels for it. First the system breaks our legs, then we are told to run. If we don’t run, they tell us we have to.

Recently, I met a beautiful young man on heavy anti depressants. I was guided by my guides to offer free help to the mother. He is suffering because his brain wont learn medicine. He wants to be a doctor so badly because his father withdrew his love unless he became a doctor. I say to him, ‘maybe you don’t want to be a doctor?’ and he says, ‘no, everyone cool in my family is a doctor.’ First he doesn’t know who he is, second he wont belong to his family unless he becomes a doctor. Sadly I saw that he is emotionally stuck in childhood–I am not sure the level of trauma he experienced that keeps him stuck, but it was probably sexual domination based on the images I saw when I connected to his soul.

His parents ask me endless questions about what I am doing, what I think about his case etc. One of the problems I face in Pakistan is that people read a few things online and think they know. They don’t want to spend on  therapy. Their child’s mental health is not as valuable. He isn’t valuable to them unless he meets the father’s expectations. Since the mother has no income or identity without the father, she cannot pay for therapy.  In the second session, the father arrived to check on me. That was unfortunately the end of the sessions.

In my passion to serve, I spend time with this person and his family, hoping to communicate two things: 1. The difference between emotion and thought. 2. The importance of practicing self awareness.

It isn’t going very far. I give examples. I share my own feelings. The result is advice about how I ‘should’ think. Or people tell me how they know everything that I am talking about. Reflection seems to be nearly unknown. Except in the meditation circle, reflective listening is not practiced. I come home, my shoulders bent. I have spent a grueling day in a world that’s completely unaware of themselves and projecting all their demons on the world around them. People who have never practiced in the mental health area, still feel that it is their right to give me advice. They have no idea how to support someone emotionally and their degrees have never taught them how to talk to someone in emotional stucknes. Yet, because they carry the lable ‘doctor’, ‘Phd’ Boss man’, or a couple of courses, they believe that they are competent.

But without self work, which is the most essential part of being a therapist in my opinion, such people cannot do anything for others. I feel like an oxymoron here. In my world in Canada, the real learning happens after the course and we see education as a door way, not a destination.

My happiest moments are riding around in a rickshaw. I enjoy rickshaw walas. They are the kindest people…..they often just ask for prayers, and tell me to pay them whatever I want. Rickshaw walas are my secret friends in the materialism of Pakistan. I think my guides work overtime, because they find people who are willing to smile.