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Meeta Ahluwalia

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“That peculiar light just before sunset, before gloaming: it is then that Essa sees for the first time the famous dunes at Avanue, which roll like fat people in their sleep, and shift restlessly forever. “They cast long shadows, these sleeping giants, and Essa shivers. She has walked too far—after the trip north she was so grateful to be out of hospital—her hands and feet are cold, and she is dizzy with exhaustion. She sits down on the ragged grass at the edge of the bluff which overlooks the dunes, and tries not to hate them. “Her mother’s words, remembered in a dream, sound like water flowing in her thoughts. There is no water here. The grasses under her are dry and stiff, and they grow in sand so fine it grits through her clothing against the skin of her ass. The sea is too far away to see or smell. But at least she is alone. “Though she is shivering, it is still a hot day, and the sun has warmed the sand. The ground radiates heat into her body. She lies down flat on her belly, her head to one side so that she can still see the dunes, and puts her hands beneath her; gradually they warm. “Gradually her body comes back into balance and she starts to see an eerie beauty before her. The sun is fully down when she sits up, brushes the sand away as well as she can, and hugs her knees to her chest. She puts her chin on her knees and watches darkness descend over the low rolling landscape. “This is unlike any cliff on which she has rested yet. It is low and gives no perspective. The dunes come up almost to her feet. Yet the demarcation is quite abrupt: there is no grass growing anywhere after this brief crumbling drop-off, and she can see as the land-breeze begins to quicken that ahead of her the sand is moving. In fact, she realizes, she can hear it, a low sweeping sound which has mounted from inaudibility until it inexorably backs every other sound: sounds of grasses moving, insects scraping, birds calling from the invisible sea far beyond her viewpoint are all subsumed in one great sand-song. “It is a sound so relentlessly sad that Essa can hardly bear to listen, but so persistent that she cannot ignore it now that she has become aware of its susurration. She pulls her sweater—the one her mother made by her knitting—around her and waits. “When it is fully dark and the wind has died again, she rises and begins the long walk back to town in the dim light of stars and crescent moon.”

SongSilenceSorrowLonelyAloneSandDunes
Book:Black Wine
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“Joy is possible when you dissolve into silence. It is like a drop which dissolves into the ocean. When you are ready to dissolve into the whole, joy happens.If you resist to dissolve, if you try to remain a separate entity, we protect ourselves.That is what everybody is doing. They try to be an ego, they try to protect themselves. They defend themselves against the whole. Everybody is afraid against the whole, because the whole is vast. Many years ago, a spiritual teacher, who has counseled thousands of people, told me: “You will dissolve into the silence. All the earlier enlightened Masters and all the small Deva’s  are just here to help you to get enlightened.” The whole surrounds you from all sides. The whole surrounds you from the inside  and from the outside. The whole is like the wind, which invisible and exists  everywhere. We are not separate. We are part of the whole. Dissolve into the  whole, drop the  ego. Fel yourself as part of the whole. Slowly the experience of  being part of the whole deepens. One day it becomes your truth, your being, your reality. Then you have arrived home. When you live the whole and forget yourself as a separate entity, each moment becomes a joy.”

TruthJoySilenceEnlightenmentSamadhi
Book:Meditation: A Love Affair with the Whole - Thousand and One Flowers of Silence, Love, Joy, Truth, Freedom, Beauty and the Divine
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“Dodging across the alley, covered by the blackness, the three men maneuvered to the front of the next hut. The air was still, soundless. It was so quiet that Tommy thought that every infinitesimal noise they made was magnified, trumpet like, a klaxon noise of alarm. To move silently in a world absent all external noises is very difficult. There were no nearby city sounds of cars and buses or even the deep whomp-whomp-whomp of a distant bombing raid. Not even the joking voices of the goons in the towers or a bark from a Hundführer's dog creased the night to distract or help conceal every footstep they made. For a moment, he wished the British would break into some rowdy song over in the northern compound. Anything to cover over the top of the modest noises they made.”

SilenceStealthSneaking
Book:Hart's War
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