The Untethered Soul : Book Review

This beautiful book was recommended to me by a dear friend @Sabah who has introduced me to so many new aspects of life, the journey within is one of them. The Untethered Soul is written by Michael A.Singer. The book comes from Michael’s years of spiritual experience. The book is divided into five sections: Awakening Consciousness, Experiencing Energy, Freeing Yourself, Going Beyond, and Living Life. Each section has three to five chapters under it from The voice in your head to Infinite Energy to Stealing freedom from your Soul to Contemplating Death. 

“This above all: to thine own self be true,/ And it must follow, as the night the day,/ Thou canst not then be false to any man.”  

The above lines from Shakespeare’s play Hamlet are the lines that the author uses to give you a glimpse of what the book has in store for you. The deciphering of the above lines by the greatest playwright goes like this: To maintain an honest relationship with others we must be true to ourselves. And from here the author leads you into the first question room of the book. Which “self” is the great author talking about? The one which comes surging high when someone throws dirt on us and we contemplate on taking revenge or the one who gets humbled by the outpouring love of strangers when we speak up the truth. So with this, you begin your journey in the book. 

The author doesn’t pour you with statistical data nor does he call upon psychology experts. There aren’t any religious views or philosopher quotes. He in fact turns to a single source that has phenomenal direct knowledge on the subject that is you. 

In the first few chapters I had a lot of questions but as I moved in the question receded and the understanding of the author’s words started playing its magic on me. I was reading this book along with my cousin @prashant with whom I had a long discussion on the initial section. But then I remembered my friend’s advice to always go with open arms into a subject, the more you open yourself the more wisdom you will find. So after the initial hiccup in the first section, I found myself finding peace and some workable advice on improving myself. There are things that you might already know and there are things that you might have no idea about, this book is an amalgamation of the known and the unknown and bringing it to the forefront. Once it hangs in front of you, you can’t escape to Netflix and chill. You will want to implore and work on yourself. 

The last chapter of the book is “The loving eyes of God” where he talks about our deep direct connection with the Divine which is beyond the personal self. And Michael gives a beautiful analogy here saying that the connection with God is just like your connection with the sun, you might hide from it and live in dark corridors for years but it doesn’t stop from shining and the moment you decide to look for it, you will see it’s there, shining for you.

The writing is very simple and very connectable and the chapters are small, each giving insights on different aspects of self. The book doesn’t boggle you down with information about what generally happens when you are reading spiritual books. I have been recommending this book to everyone who has asked me about a reading suggestion in the past week. More than ever the time requires you to go deeper within, and once you do so you will see the ecstasy you have been searching outside has been there all along.

PS: Please buy the hardcover especially if you are buying from Amazon India a lot of spell check-off in the paperback version. Also as per me, this book is a keeper, so it’s good to buy a Hardcover.  

The Time Turner

Some time in the heaps of clutter on your desk are things hidden to your naked eye. Somehow they get lost to your current memory until one day while organising the stack you find them. Reminiscing the past, you walk down the memory lane.

Today, while dusting my desk, I picked up this watch box. Usually, I sweep the area overlooking the lying objects. But today, I felt the urge to open and see its contents. With dusting glove in one hand and some dirt on another, I opened the black box. And there it was, the old worn out, not in a working condition, the black beauty of mine.

This simple old watch was gifted to me by my father eight years ago on my birthday, as a birthday present as well as a gift for getting my first job.
It was unlike the shows we watch, where parents take their kids to a fancy restaurant and give them gifts. For me, it was like, I walked into a store with my brother and bought it with my own money and later took the paid amount from my dad.

I wore it for a very long time, or I must say till the time it worked. I don’t know why I chose a black watch. Black is not even my favourite colour, but I wanted a strap watch instead of a chain one. I used to have a beautiful silver chain watch as a teenager; my brother gifted it to me with his pocket money. That was one of the first expensive gifts he ever bought me. But I lost it, and that story is for some another time.

Now that I think of it, the big dial strap watches were in fashion then, and I have started working, so I wanted a watch that will go with all my outfits. So there it was a big black dial watch.

I don’t know what it is about watches, I have always loved them, and as a kid, I always thought of having a great watch as that next step of making your mark in the small world of yours. I still don’t own that watch, and it’s a constant reminder that I haven’t accomplished my dreams yet.

In a day and age where people wear watches as accessories, for me, the watch has always been a reminder of time.

It reminded me of the time when I was ecstatic, and the only worries on my mind were about my career. It’s a reminder that time changes, with it, you too. It tries to tell me that I will never be able to turn back the time, but at least for a few seconds, through this gift, I can surely rejoice the memory of happy times. So I pause, the present and go back to the past, to bring back the bliss; into my future.

And as they say, “The time never turns back, but memory does”. So cherish your time with people and create great memories.

Window Views

I sit by my window at night and look at the world below. I see a few puddles of water left by rain an hour ago. The garden seems so barren, not a single soul around. At least people in my area are following the Lockdown. 

The soothing breeze makes you shiver, and the chirping of the birds in this silence is like a call to your soul. You know birds are enjoying their freedom. They are enjoying the free blue skies, away from human intervention. But then I think of the pets who are confined to their houses because their owners can’t go out. Are they envious of the free animals, do they miss being free? Or Do they think that even though they are stuck with humans, they are better off? But of course, we will never know until someone makes an animal mind reading app.

Just opposite my window, I see three apartments, having the same size of TV in precisely the same position in their living room. Most of the time, I can figure out what they are watching. The funny thing is they are often watching the same thing. 

Then there is this fourth apartment, which has a balcony fully covered with lights. I am not sure from how long it’s like this; maybe they have turned their gallery into some kind of light up zone, or they just into fancy lights. But whatever it is, these lights prevents you from seeing inside their living room; maybe these lights are a fence up. 

Another apartment has a hanging chair in their living room, and I see some one’s silhouette on it, the light is dim, and I can’t figure them out. It is just a shadow to me. Sometimes a shadow is a relief enough that someone else is hanging up there, somewhere just like you in times of home quarantine.

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It’s been more than a month that I haven’t written anything at all on this blog. And it has been quite a journey in the past month. It’s a Lock down in India until April 14, and we are working from home from the last two weeks. Mostly I am very busy with household chores and office work, and the time I am free, I usually read or watch a show or movie. It’s not that I am in a writer’s block; I am not even sure what happens to me is a writer’s block or not? It could be a clear case of procrastination, or I am naturally lazy. 

So today, I decided to leave all the laziness aside and start writing whatever comes to my mind. Of course, I looked for some inspiration; I got my hands on a book. Yes, You Can Write by Brian Collins. The book has 101 writing prompts to bring you back in the zone. 

The first prompt was, “Look out the window. What’s happening outside, and how have things changed since you last sat here?” so if you too are dealing with writer’s block or not finding enough inspiration in times of quarantine, you can use these prompts to give yourself the required push.

After all, it is always to good to have more people giving their Window Views.

Gulmohar Galore

Walking past the vacant road,
in the blaring light,
of the mighty sun,
I see you.
The flames of fire,
painting the world,
scarlet with its galore,
I see you.
Captured,
in words,
in the strokes,
in the frames,
of mortal beings,
I see you.
Bringing solace,
in the hearts,
of lovers,
I see you.
Giving hope,
to the lost,
giving desire,
to the found,
I see you.
In the arid plains,
you swoon,
like a danseur,
whirling your
green leaves.
I see you.
Sometimes,
the zephyr,
whispers in your ear,
to let it go.
I see you.
Letting the,
the deep red petals,
fall,
from your heart,
in the laps,
of the barren land.
I see you.
Witnessing the untold stories,
under your shade.
I see you.
When your edges,
turn hues of red,
allowing love,
to seep in,
feeding,
the vacant souls,
I see you.

Under the Gulmohar shade

She never forgot

The winds once again have changed their direction, there was certain coldness in it now, signalling the oncoming winter season. She wobbled around in her swollen belly, collecting clothes from the clothesline. She was due in the next fifteen days, but the old ladies of the village said that children are always born before their due date. She doesn’t know much about it, and it’s her first pregnancy. She doesn’t even have any access to books and magazines to help her in this hilly village which is cut out of the city by miles. So everything she knew came from the mouths of other experienced women.

In his last letter, her husband informed her that he would not be able to come during the birth of the child. But he promised that he would visit around March. He asked her to take good care of herself and the child.

Her life took a huge turn, a year and a half ago. She was an educated city girl, now living in a remote village, where you walked miles to get the water. The poetry and the hidden words of wisdom that her books gave her were diminishing. But the entry of the tiny seed inside her womb revived her back to life. It gave meaning to her existence. Now at night, she was no longer alone, there was a companion who was listening to her. She recited all the poetry and the stories she has read all along. She knew the baby was in love with words just like her. They had an invincible bond, making them two burning flames of the same light.

Slowly she stepped on the staircase with the bundle of dry clothes. She lowered her body to sit on the floor and started folding the clothes in a neat pile next to her. It was then that she felt some prickling pain in her abdomen. She tried standing up from the floor, but she couldn’t. The pain was increasing with such intensity that she knew that the time has come.
She cried in pain, calling her aunt in law for help, who was busy setting up the dinner for the family. Before someone could come over for help, she collapsed on the floor. They revived her somehow, and her body was aching all over the place. She was in a different room now, and someone was holding her hands. The saree was taken off from her body, and she could feel a hand touching her genitals. An unknown soft wrinkled faced woman loomed over her. With an old white cotton saree draped on her sagging skin, covering her head which hid the streaks of white hair among the lustrous black, parted from the middle, gave her a wry smile. She knew from that smile that woman was the midwife, who will help her bring the life inside her in the outside world. She was profusely sweating, and she could feel someone’s hand wiping her face again and again. Her cries were getting louder with the passing time, and the voices around her kept asking her to push harder. She pushed hard enough one last time and everything after that was hazy in her mind, now.

It’s been years now, but the memory of that day still haunts her at times. The blue body of her first born child never entered this world, but somehow, it never left her soul. The small warm droplets have started falling from her eyes now. A warm hand wipes up her tears, and she looks up at her daughter’s face, her third born but to the world her second born child. It took her twenty-five years to open her wounded soul to someone. She held her daughter’s hand and said “that’s why I never buy any new thing on Dhanteras” because that day I lost something so precious to my existence that no worldly thing would ever compensate it.

After that day her daughter never asked her mother to celebrate the festival. Years later when her daughter started her own family, she would follow in her mother’s footsteps. Never buying any new thing but never forgetting lighting up a diya in her brother’s name. For the world, she had only one brother, but in her heart, she never forgot that she had another one in another realm.

PS: Today I have completed four years of my Blogging journey on WordPress. So I thought of sharing this true story. Some pieces are hard to write and this one is one such write up. So with lot of shilly-shallying, I bring this story out here for you to read. I hope you guys like it

Happy Blogiversary to me ❤