no power is achieved without sacrifice but could i give it all up? is it just power i want or to be seen as powerful? do i see my own power? why am i trying so hard to hide it? why does it have to look a certain way? why can’t i be unleashed in my current form? a fire scarlet and blue, not yet a conflagration, but one that is still spreading. an arriving fire. but am i a controlled fire, a destructive one, or am i the sun?

this fire has purpose, it is illuminating and all-consuming. i have to create something new, something that does not exist yet. i have reached a point of no return. i have no choice but to be brave and continue. i can not worry about my nature. i am elemental. fire can be bright and it can be ruinous. some structures need to be obliterated for something else to replace them, something better. something visionary.

i am fire then, and this friction is necessary. i am growing. i am heating. i am expansive and i am spreading. soon, i will be unstoppable.

image: the burning ghats of varanasi, taken by bridget langer

i am learning with each step forward that the greater my sacrifice, the greater the power achieved from it. each moment here on, is rich with meaning and there is nothing more to lose, because every misstep is leading to more momentum in the growth that is to arise from it. i am becoming elastic. flexible. fluid. less chaos and more convergence. i am alchemizing in real time, gathering, directing, executing, even to my own surprise. i wake up every day with a whisper, “i can do this,” the day ends, and i did do it. my proof is my own satisfaction with myself. i did it, i did it, and i did it again. i have been hungry for this, for so very long -living up to my full potential every day. i am learning that my potential in itself is expansive. did you think there was a limit to how strong you can be? think again. time is a dimension, and i am learning how to access it abundantly now.

i used to be so afraid of my own power, quake in my own reflection, look away from every mirror. i can now stand to look at my own bare face and smile - every ancestor of mine is present in my face, each line stretching and defining. i am loving every moment of aging. this is what i have longed for! my knowledge is my greatest power! i would lose everything again to get to this divine wisdom that i am achieving steadily each day— i am authoring this life and i finally know how to use the materials that were bestowed upon me.

you stop being a victim when you finally understand that every single moment has a purpose. you have the power to define every moment. there is no rejection where there is learning, no loss where there is growth, no pain where there is power achieved, and no heartbreak when the destination is the self. i have nothing else to compete for, my path forward is crystal clear, to become more myself than i have ever been before. on my dying day, i want to die knowing that i lived as my full self.

I was greeted with an affirming chorus yesterday, and for one afternoon, all of the worries and fear dissipated. For one afternoon, it was just me and most of the humans that I love in this world, collected in front of a magical woodland meadow facing a pond and a castle. We laughed, we sang, we played, we ate and we drank. I was so very present in each moment that before I knew it, six hours had passed. Until the last 3 remained, and we were still playing— running across the field, sweating and laughing with each other, our voices echoing, “one last game!”

This is all I’ve ever wanted — to play and laugh with the people I love. I’m so proud of myself for being brave enough to ask my people to spend an afternoon with me. The little girl who’d struggle to ask for what she needs has come a long, long way. I’m so grateful that they all showed up. I’m also thankful for those who didn’t, their absence made me reckon with the fact that after 29 years of being alive_, every person in my life is somebody who I genuinely want to be surrounded by.

It took me so very long to get to this meadow, and I plan to stay here a while longer. If you’re looking for me, you’ll find me with my community or building one somewhere.

There is much that I want to share in this new life with you, I will return soon, and this space will be transforming too. Stay tuned.

With love,

AB

I may not always be sure of anything else, but the one thing that has solidified over time, is my belief in my own capabilities. I know, that no matter what may come, I will be okay. Through the storms, the scorching heat, the losses, the gains, the shockwaves, the aftermath, through it all.

Yesterday, somebody asked me how I have been sitting with the grief in my own life. I told her that it has been showing up for me as illness. However, addressing my grief somatically through acupuncture, movement, and walking, has made a world of a difference. It’s not that I don’t feel it as deeply anymore, I just don’t feel uprooted by it. I haven’t really been able to ugly-cry yet. This grief has been more so of a slow, subconscious surrender to reality and allowing the discomfort of a shifting life hit me —over and over and over again. The bad days have had more overthinking and ruminating, the good ones have had me sharing, smiling, reading, listening to music, and most importantly, remembering.

When a loss occurs, it is easier for the mind to try to problem-solve, and the grief hits after the tiredness takes over. Because we cannot problem-solve our way through loss, so we just end up tiring ourselves and falling sick from denial. The most beautiful and heart-wrenching thing about this life is that everything is not in fact, within our control. We can not control when death comes. We can not control what somebody else wants. We can not save anybody from their own selves. We can only walk beside each other, and hope, that our love is felt.

I have been walking for a long time now. So many doors have been shut in my face, and so many others have opened. Every time I almost gave up on my own faith, almost miraculously, I was shown why I should not. Every time I felt misunderstood and hurt, I was gifted with people who listened, and put in real effort into understanding me. Every time I felt a lack of love, I was shown grace through small but meaningful gestures, from friends, colleagues, and even strangers. The people who I least expected to show up for me this year, (or ever) were the ones who showed up for me the most. The people who I had historically put all of my faith in and clung to, tore themselves away from me.

Somewhere in this journey, I began to stop assuming and stop expecting. Instead, I allowed myself to simply observe. The silence that followed was disorienting, and then there were loud proclamations. A text that would astound and touch me, “Hey.. I haven’t heard from you in a while.. I miss you” or a “Hey, I was thinking of you the other day..” or a “I know how hard work has been for you lately, how can I help?”

I was surprised that my silence and distance was not taken as an affront, and instead met with compassionate curiosity - I realized, that my true loved ones were the ones who asked the most important question that I had been yearning to be asked my whole life, “Why?”

Why.

Instead of assuming, instead of critiquing, instead of judging. They asked me why. They asked me how I was. They asked me how they could help. They tried their very best to meet me half-way. I wasn’t expected to abandon myself to show up for them. I was held. Eventually, I experienced the clarity that I had been seeking all along - I do not have to change myself, make myself smaller, abandon my own joy and my own needs to make anybody else happy.

I will be cared for even when I am down. I will be loved even when I don’t have the capacity to return it to its fullness. I will be considered even when I am sick and can not consider others. Most importantly, I do not have to show up as anything or anybody other than who I authentically am— and she is ever-changing, ever-growing, ever-transcending.

So here I am, skipping across this threshold, because I am not afraid of falling anymore. In fact, I welcome the fall- it shows me that I will always land somewhere that I am meant to be. Even if it isn’t where I want to be, at first. It will turn out exactly all right.

I can’t wait to be 29.

xo

I was splashed with salty waves for 20 minutes until we finally closed up on the reef, and the views were rewarding in their entirety. “That’s the thing about it here,” Isaac continued, ignoring the tug of war I had just had with my death by hanging on to the steel railing for my dear life, “To be blessed by nature, you have to suffer through a choppy sail. When you finally see the island, you understand why.” He was right.

Cayo Icacos (Icacos Island) was stunning. An uninhabited stretch of natural isle, 2 miles long and 0.5 miles wide, covered in white sand with pure heavenly blue water gently caressing her feet. We saw so many pelicans and storks that I lost count. My boyfriend swore that he saw sea-turtles bobbing up and down every few minutes. I was overstimulated and did not know what to do with myself. I couldn’t simply lie down and tan, like our fellow passengers from their bridal party were doing. So I stood quietly, half in the water and half on the white sand, just taking it all in. I’m so lucky that I get to see this before I die, I thought.

Then, I sat on the beach, still thinking about the same thing, and reflected on my fear, it’s genesis and why nature evoked such terror and wonder in me. And as the boat took us back to the main island, I kept thinking, what am I so afraid of? Why couldn’t I be carefree like the bachelorette who was throwing it down in the back of the boat as we were parked by the coral reef? Why did I care so much about accidentally walking on a sea-urchin or falling from the wrong end of the boat or worse, losing control. And how did people keep their eyes open in the salty water- the twenty minutes of eye-splashing was enough to almost blind me. And as we moved further away from the island, making it look even smaller, I realized how much bigger the ocean was, and how we had barely even scratched her surface. How my fear and I were completely insignificant to the spirit of the stretching seas, and how I was being rewarded with a chance to look at her just once. Some of the most beautiful things in the world are the ones that evoke the most fear in us. Is that why we treat nature the way we do? And is my crime just this that I am so unbelievably human? And is happiness truly just the acceptance of the fact that we will never be in control so we may as well enjoy ourselves?

That night, we went to a beachside restaurant with a bossa-nova & mariachi band, doing incredible renditions of Juan Luis Guerra and Aventura’s music. I felt safer and deeply moved as the music engulfed me. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was in that moment either, and continued to feel a mixture of awe and human unworthiness. This is my life? What did I do to deserve this? I have only ever treated nature terribly. I consume so much. I eat so much packaged food. I have been struggling to grow the same 4 houseplants for 2 years. What have I done to deserve the striking image of the night ocean and the lunar reflections along her back? And then I let the music pierce through my guilt and worry, healing me as it loudly spread. And then I let myself sing too. And then I let my lover hold my hand. And later, when we walked on the beach, bathed by the moonlight, I may even have shed a tear that night.

0.1

All of that work and that’s it?

I’m tired honestly. This past year has shaken up my beliefs about pretty much everything that I thought I believed in. Those things that a younger version of me used to prioritize seemed to have disappeared as I have grown, being replaced by a heightened interest in my own health, wellness, career and financial goals. I used to think that I could ambiguously flow-state my way into my dream life, while prioritizing everything but my own goals. Truth, much like the brittle aftertaste of the weekly iron pills I need to take in order to function, is certainly unpleasant. I discovered that thing that most humans feign years of adulthood to finally understand, your dream life requires you to put the work in, and the work is not always (read: often NOT) fun!

In 2023-2024, my weekday evenings looked like clubbing (excessively and not in the fun & freeing way), watching movies/shows that numbed my mind, ordering junk food, yearning after my emotionally draining-relationship, complaining about it, pitying myself and doing absolutely nothing to change my reality. I still remember how exhausted I would be after work, not wanting to do any self-care, and immediately readying myself for social gatherings with people who ironically, I no longer speak to.

In 2025-2026, my weekday evenings have looked like exercising, meal-prepping, working on academic projects/research/panel presentations, making time for mentorship/therapy/spiritualist meetings, and spending meaningful time engaging with media that feels good to me, and not like an escape.

I don’t mean to bash my younger self, if anything, I feel so much empathy for her. She had to go through that hellscape to learn about her own needs and boundaries. She had to completely lose her sense of self in order to regain it again. Had I not spent hours and hours escaping from my own self, I would never have come to a point of having uncompromising & devotional reverence for my own space, boundaries and dreams. And yet, it still isn’t enough. The only thing between me and my dream life is unyielding discipline.

I’ve read multiple comparisons about the reframing of discipline to devotion, and what I can confidently conclude is that both are just words. What really matters is how much you care about making a change. Call it what you want to call it. Nothing changes unless you have a gritting determination that the change must. be. made.

I’m there. I think? Maybe one more less cup of chai? I’ve seen my patients who are diabetic and I know how hard that life is. I also know that it could very well be my future if I do not get more determined. I’ve been trying to alternate the milk chocolate for dark chocolate, the junk food for fruits. I’m usually pleasantly surprised - it’s not even that I don’t like the taste of the healthier alternatives, the challenge for me is in the space between making the decision to take the action and actually taking it. God, that is so fucking hard. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do - making better choices. I have to challenge my entire being in that moment, and make a herculean effort towards completing that predetermined action.

I know I will get there. I know it’s not going to be easy. And I know, that now that every fibre of my being is hellbent on changing my reality, absolutely nothing will come in my way, outside of my own will.

When I close my eyes, I no longer dream of being chosen - I dream of choosing myself, and the choice feeling effortless. I dream of health and happiness. I dream of waking up feeling energetically lighter. I dream of being able to run for miles without tiring, just how I used to when I was a national-level athlete at 17. I dream about playing the sports that I used to love and making music again. I dream of doing the work that I love and not having to worry about my next paycheck. I dream of having a cat (I will get one when I can afford her). I dream of a joyful life.

I open my eyes and I know that each of those dreams are very realistic and completely within my grasp. The journey forward requires of me to not lose the self-trust that I have worked so hard to birth. Doing this work may not always be fun, but it is so very meaningful, because I am doing it for me.

Pictured above: Yours Truly, after a much needed workout. One day at a time!

“The most permanent thing about this life is it’s impermanence. There is beauty in each moment because we know that it will end soon, including both joy and grief.” She seemed to understand me. She wanted to fly back to her home country and die in her son’s arms. I understood her too.

Moments later, I was being rushed to order a home Oxygen set-up for another patient. I hurried, somber but alert. Insurance issues. Medical documentation issues. Time passed. 4pm. 6pm. 7pm. I realized that I should have been back home an hour ago. I packed up and began my one hour walk home, thinking, the entire time.

I never talk about my work because I do not know how to. To talk about the extent of grief that I witness every day feels like inflicting violence upon my listener’s ears. Do they really need to know about catheters and colostomy bags and scrambling to find food, shelter, money and help for people who are already dying? It’s not cheerful. It’s not inspiring. Sometimes, it’s just life. Messy, chaotic, unfair and brutal life. I see it each day, I live it in each moment. I try my best to contribute to lengthening the span of my patient’s lives, but nothing I do is ever enough. Every day in my job is a reminder that nothing will ever be enough to prevent grief, to prevent death, to prevent loss. But I can try and make it comfortable for those who are experiencing these things. I do try, so very hard. Often, at the cost of my own health and wellbeing. Perhaps, my own suffering through self-sacrifice is my way of being in camaraderie with all of them.

I know why I do this work, and yet, I often feel so lacking. I wish I could do more. I wish I could love harder. Be more tender. Talk wiser. Bring more safety and comfort to those who I care for. I’m still learning and improving each day.

I know that I haven’t been posting for a while. I’ve had my reasons. Mainly, I have been tired. I haven’t just been working— I’ve also been teaching, creating panel presentations for graduate students outside of my full-time job, researching, studying for further education, and attempting to care for myself through all this, while trying to maintain my friendships and not rudely exit the lives of all who I care about.

When I used to fall sick as a younger person, my first thought would be “why me.” Secretly, I would revel in my family busying themselves in nursing me back to health, showering me with love, babying me, and feeling cared for. So much has changed. A few days ago, I fell sick and my first thought was “I won’t be useful for two whole days now.” I’m not sure if either of those first inclinations are the healthiest. What I am sure of though, is that I still do not know how to exist without wanting to love or be loved.

I do apologize for the month or more of silence from my end. I am so very appreciative of everyone who has stayed. I only lost a few subscribers despite not posting for a long time. Thank you for staying. Thank you for finding my thoughts important enough to wait for me. You have no idea what an honor it is for me to write to you, and to know that you will want to hear what I have to say. Thinking of you fills my heart with love. I hope that reading my words makes you feel some kind of warmth too.

I do not have my usual reflections today. I presumed that I would break my silence with heart-shattering, powerful prose. Unfortunately, all I have for you today is a reminder of the chaos and impermanence of life. I don’t have a pretty way of telling it, just an honest one. If you take anything away from my internal world, let it be this, we only have today, and this moment. Tomorrow is not promised. This is the most difficult and most beautiful thing about life.

Open your eyes. You are alive. You are breathing. Your heart is still beating.

Isn’t it such a gift?

Yours,

AB

I’ve had a hard time writing for myself recently. Most of my writing has been for my work, my purpose, my dreams. Yes, arguably, this is a part of “writing for myself,” and yet, I have felt stuck when I sit facing you, wondering, what do I say, how do I say it, how do I let you know all that I have been carrying.. No, why should I? I have so many responsibilities, I should do those first, and face you later. Deep within me, the purest act of writing/channeling resembles addressing you directly, and when I am without my dearest audience, then who is recording my unraveling?

I write this now on the west coast, I’m here for a short break with a girlfriend. I’m waiting for her to arrive— we took two separate flights, and this intermittent time has provided me with a much needed silent retreat into my own heart. There is so much hidden (or forgotten) within me. I recently came across Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s interpretation of memory as a process of recovery, rather than recall, “When I hear the word ‘memory’, I ask myself what was forgotten.” I saw this on a punchy instagram post, and it led me to discovering Dichtung und Wahrheit.

With each day, it becomes clearer to me that this cycle of forgetting and remembering is an inescapable and essential fixture of becoming. One that defines the speed at which one may get propelled forward, the harder that they go back. I have repeated this cycle so many times now, that I am beginning to tire of its motion. Thus, I am trying to choose differently. Less wastefulness, less lack, more intentionality. But healing work while restorative, is also gravely tiring. Only yesterday, I wailed into my partner’s chest, unable to explain what I was feeling, but the tears wouldn’t stop. He whispered decisively, “you have to take a break, you cannot go on like this.”

Here I am, on my break, feeling detached and pensive. Curious and explorative. Yet, still without answers.

I have some important questions,

Will all of this work pay off?

Will I get what I want?

What if it’s all for nothing?

What if I fail?

These questions haunt me each day, and yet, I persist. I keep going. Ignoring the fear. Forgetting. Forgetting. Moving on. Until, I am forced to stop and it all comes back.

I hear knocks on the hotel door, my girlfriend has arrived. I breathe and prepare myself for another journey.

JOSHUA TREE (THE AFTER)

Under a million stars, surrounded by acres of natural desert, cacti, shrubs and thorns, I was re-introduced to myself. Awake again, my eyes widened and my skin tingled from all the nature surrounding me. I began to remember slowly, what it meant to be free, and what I could do with that freedom. My appetite for risk stirred, but I stayed shrewd, almost anxious. Somehow my body knew how to adjust to it, this new roughness and its unpredictability. The wild unknown beckoned to me and I itched to move towards her, yet still holding back. My girlfriend was more ecstatic than I was, running towards the outlands. I turned inside myself with a question, what am I so afraid of?

When you’ve been hurt plenty, you become wary of your free spirit. You become heedful of your own impulses. You begin to control them. Sometimes, you do it to a fault. My trip to Joshua Tree was about recall and renewal. Remembering how to trust the unknown, allowing myself to believe that I wouldn’t get hurt or abandoned in the wild, letting myself BREATHE, feeling the moon and the stars bathe me with their light, and taking it all in without the fear that it would be snatched away from me.

We were caught in the middle of nowhere in the national park-desert, no phone signals, no maps, just our intuition and a choice: to listen within or lose all sense of direction. We followed our guts, somehow finding the correct trails, even when the sun dispersed and there was nothing left but the faint trace of our cellular flashlights to guide the way. Soon, we arrived exactly where we needed to, a rocky desert clearing with a gorgeous view of the moon. We both drew quick breaths, awestruck and speechless. She pointed it out first, “The stars around it, the stars! Look at the stars!”

I’m so glad that I hadn’t turned back when it got dark, I thought to myself, I’m so glad that I didn’t miss this view. Nothing else was important in that moment, but the loud answer beating within my chest, ritualistically and in divine remembrance, there is nothing else to become, I already am.

I’m so grateful to be alive.

Images by yours truly.

AB

I remember when we spoke about God for the first and the last time. Dadu (my grandfather) had told me earlier that day, that he believed in reincarnation. Or at least I think that’s what he said. Mostly, I remember his greys atop a balding head, and his kind eyes. I had been studying for my 8th grade Hindi literature exam at his home that day. He smacked his lips with his chai cup and declared that it was finally time for him to bathe. He left and I continued to read through the Hindi poem that I was attempting to learn. The poem ironically described reincarnation as the process of the soul changing skins, just as one would change clothes after bathing each day. Over an hour passed, Dadi (my grandmother) was now in the kitchen making dinner for later. I went to look for Dadu and knocked on the bathroom door. There was no sound of running water coming from inside. There was no sound at all.

Dadu? Aap theek ho? (Are you okay?)

I knocked louder.

Dadu? Dadu!

Somehow, even then, I knew to listen to my instincts. I pushed the door open to him sprawled on the floor, half dressed, blue in the face. I screamed for my Dadi and Chachi (my aunt). I was thirteen and they were the adults. But somehow, being in shock, neither of them knew what to do. Dadi was bent over his side, sobbing and trying her best to wake him up. Chachi frantically dialed every number on her phone. I tried to show Dadi how to resuscitate him, something I had seen on an American television show, but I didn’t know what I was doing and neither did she. I called for an ambulance, and was told I’d have to wait an hour for it to reach. My heart dropped, and I ran into the street to yell for help. Finally, my Chacha (my uncle) returned home from work and drove him to the hospital. My mother joined him at that point, she had been one of the only people to answer our calls.

Declared dead on arrival.

I tried to bargain with the God’s, but they were stern. I remember the days after, which were all spent in a daze. I was filled with a kind of grief, that I was too small to carry, but I carried it well. I remember crying during my Hindi literature exam the next day, trying my best not to smudge the pencil marks on the exam’s answer-sheets. I remember crying into my mother’s arms that night while sleeping. I remember crying on the phone to my childhood best-friend. I couldn’t seem to stop crying and I didn’t feel the need to hide it.

I remember how freeing it felt to cry like a child. Not in a calculated, highly intellectualized, drained-crying sort of way, but in a free-flowing, wailing sort of way. The kind of crying that could only be understood when one dissolves into the depth of their loss.

I loved Dadu with all my heart. He had taught me how to ride a bicycle, when both of my parents had failed, there was a gentleness to the way that he would guide me. He called me “meri gudiya” (my doll). He would take me to the Friday market in our little town near Delhi each week when I was three. He would buy me the glass bangles from the same street vendor every week, which I would proceed to break a few days later, from playing with them too much. He would take me to the yearly Diwali production of Ramayana in the park, and let me sit on his shoulders to look at the performers, because I was too small to be at level with the stage. He would let me sit on the Maruti 800 (that all 8 of us collectively owned back then) while he washed the car, and let me play with the bubbles in the soapy water. Car-wash time was something I enthusiastically looked forward to every week when I was two.

He was the first good English teacher I had. I learned my first pangram from him - “A quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” I learned how to calculate simple and compound interest from him (a skill that I used to think was useless back then, but it turned out to be the most useful math equation that I had ever learned). I learned how to tend a garden from him. I learned how to solve Sudoku puzzles from him. I got my sweet tooth from him.

I remember him as being larger than life, but Dadu was not immortal, something my sweet and innocent child mind could not fully comprehend back then. Little did I know, that he would only be the first of numerous encounters that I would proceed to have with Death, by becoming a palliative care social worker. And three years later into the profession, I would still be terrified of losing somebody I love.

Losing Dadu was the first time I realized that I was not invincible. That my joy could be snatched as quickly as it had been granted. That there were some things, that even my loud kiddy-tantrums could not influence. That life was more unpredictable and finite than I could have ever imagined, and I had to learn how to ground myself despite it all.

Breitbart once wrote about the fear of death and existential guilt. I’ve used his work in a lot of my palliative care research, but this one thought, I keep coming back to—

“The exact circumstances, events, family legacies and other influences may be relatively diverse and unique, but ultimately it is a desire, a drive, a need to understand “how does a human being live a finite mortal life?” How is it possible to live, and retain that will to live, knowing that this is all finite, temporary? How does a human being live with the knowledge of death-in the face of death?” And ultimately “how can one live such a life without being overcome, panicked, paralyzed, or overwhelmed with the meaningless of life, by the fear of death?”

.. “Death, or the Inevitability of Death is a constant dread that lies just beneath the surface in all human beings. Death anxiety breaks through when our efforts to adapt to, minimize or deny death fail us, particularly at moments of loss, the death of those close to us, or when we are confronted with the limitations of life such as when we are diagnosed with a life threatening illness like cancer. Death is the ultimate limitation.”

Breitbart’s description of death anxiety, is something that I have been sitting with a lot these days. I have been reflecting uniquely on my own reactivity to the threat of personal loss, and the shadows that lurk beneath it. When did it start? Was it with Dadu? Was it even before him, perhaps in something that I have repressed? Was it after him? I have lost so many, and I continue to every year. It never gets easier. I wish that I could reach into all of those past versions of me who lost somebody and tell them that I will persist. I wish I could tell my past selves to treasure every moment with my loved ones, because one day, my love is the only reminder that I will have left of them.

In this essay, in my memory, and in my heart, Dadu, and everyone else that I have ever lost, are alive and well. They are playing the role that they had to play in my life and I am soaking up each lesson that I have to learn from them. If I love them, then they will never die. Because every time I ride a bike now, I think of Dadu. Every time I eat jalebis or malpuas now, I remember his fondness for them. Every time I have to calculate my credit card interest (lol), I remember the disapproving look his face would make when I would get the math sum wrong. I love that calculators exist, but I did that equation so many times with him, that I do not need a calculator for that one question.

I don’t have all of the answers for you yet, but Breitbart does warn us about Existential Guilt. He writes about how it may manifest in us after experiencing a profound loss, in the shades of depression, shame, anger, anxiety or intense death anxiety.

“Ultimately it comes down to the singular choice of forgiving yourself for being an imperfect, vulnerable human being. Forgiving yourself for merely being human. All too human.” - William Breitbart

If you love somebody, then you will never lose them. What more is love than learning and inhabiting the inner-worlds of those that you love? What more is love than immortalizing the lines of their faces in your head? What more is love than the act of being devoted to another? And when you look into the face of devotion, how can you think of anything finite at all?

I’m still discovering my shadow and exploring her hidden depths. As long as I am on this journey, you will continue to hear from me.

AB.

I haven’t known if I wanted my words to find a form for a while. It has been easier to let them meander aimlessly. They’ve been taking up space nomadically, wherever they find a home. I fashion myself as an oracle, delivering pertinent quips when my energy is sought out. There is a lot happening in the depths beneath my surface and these days, I do not have the desire to share it with everyone. There was a time when I was desperate to be seen. I would write with a marked dehydration, my pages bleeding scarlet, seeking your attention urgently. I have settled into a new rhythm recently, one where I am finally learning to value my own energy. Now, I share when my inner compass drives me to.

I am here today with the knowing that this will find whomever that it is supposed to find. At the right place, and at the right time. This post is a culmination of several conversations with myself and my loved ones. In the last few weeks, life has been sending me the same message everywhere I look — slow down. Go with the flow. Rest. Play.

Growing up as the eldest daughter, I had learned to take on the burden of every generation that came before me. There was always an invisible load on my shoulders, causing me to hunch and drag myself from one life appointment to another. It became so bad within the last couple of years, that I would treat even my relationships as a chore. Friend meet-ups became assignments to cross off an imaginary list. At one point I was just living, and I was no longer an active participant in my own life. Of course, I have been making it my life’s mission to change that, and more importantly, have fun doing it.

I want to share some of the most important things that I have recently been learning with you. These are simple learnings, which is why they are so easily forgotten, and why they shouldn’t be.

1. There IS more than enough for everyone.

   Living in a capitalist world will teach you to operate from a place of lack. If you aren’t careful, you will find yourself chasing outcomes and forgetting to live your actual life in the process. We live in a plentiful state of existence. When you believe that there is enough for everyone and operate from that belief as a baseline, you will find that you always have just enough to get by. In every sense of that word.

2. Abundance is your birthright.

   Why shouldn’t you be abundant? What has caused you to believe that you do not deserve every bit of fulfilment, just as anybody else? I operate from the knowing that the karma we come with can be changed at any given point in time. When we take the reins of our own life and are making choices for ourselves from a place of confidence and not fear, abundance will find us. Of course, the road to achievement won’t always be easy. This doesn’t mean that we lose conviction. Abundance is your birthright. Believe it first, and then you will see it erupt around you.

3. Leading with love will always leave you happier.

   I still struggle with this. Growing up, I was not taught to experience disappointment healthily. I never knew how to hold space for my own feelings, and thus I did not know how to do that appropriately for others. I am slowly learning how. It starts with having self-love and self-consideration. If you can not lead your own life with love and care for yourself, then you can not do it for anybody else. Start with treating yourself the way that you want to be treated. It will take time to see the results, but it will happen. I promise.

4. The only responsibility you have is to be true to yourself.

   Read that again. Everything else comes after. If you find yourself in a place where you are not living your truth, you have a lot to change. You have come here with a mission within your heart. Sit in silence and stillness, and it will sing to you. Surround yourself with noise, and you will never find out what it is that you are meant to do, and who you are meant to be. The most successful people spent meaningful time alone to get the most important guidance in their lives, that of their higher selves.

5. Being honest is hard, but it is the only way to evolve.

   Yes, there will be repercussions. Sometimes, terrible consequences. This is important, and more than that, this is okay. How else will you learn? We suffer more in our imagination than we do in reality. The fun is in the journey. If we didn’t experience our downfall, we would never learn to truly value our rise. So make mistakes, many, many of them. Then, enjoy the process of righting your wrongs. Be honest doing it. Feel the gratitude that fills your heart as you find yourself still loved after the storm has passed. You will discover your real friends on this journey.

6. Every emotion serves a purpose, even anger and sadness. Honor them all.

   I had the hardest time with this one. I still do. I am learning to embrace my grief and anger. Both of these emotions teach me something. My grief teaches me the value of treasuring all that I love. My anger teaches me to value myself and be my own biggest advocate. If we do not treat ourselves as the most important person in our lives, then nobody else will. This means honoring every part of ourselves, the most beautiful and the most imperfect parts alike.

7. You are the only one within your control. Surrender.

   This one speaks for itself. Do what you can, leave the rest. Let life do its thing. Life moves through you. Allow it to flow.

<3

Love you always,

AB.

When I talk to you, I am praying with you. Sometimes with want, and sometimes with desperation. My favorite dialogues with you occur when we are praying silently. They happen in the ether, when I think of you and I do not feel the need to speak. We feel each other’s presence and we let ourselves expand in the space that brings us together, until we are almost touching. This space is not a separation. It is where our intimacy grows.

Have you ever loved somebody from a distance? A love which was not all-consuming. One which did not seek to control, but to witness? Have you ever prayed with somebody?

Have you ever let somebody see you pray?

The last time I went to a temple, I doubled down until my forehead touched the cold marble floor. I worship Shakti, the goddess of creation. My visits to her temple are deeply intimate. My prayers to her are silent. At her feet, I sit in my worship, letting her energy build within me, until I am one with her. When I leave her temple, I am always filled with a sense of wonder. I am reminded of my expansiveness. The vastness that my soul occupies. The limitlessness of my potential. How every word that I speak is akin to a prayer, and this is why, I do not need to talk all the time. My silence is resounding.

I have not let many see me pray. It is when I am my most human. It is when I am allowing myself to be witnessed. My words come out in beautiful chaos. Sometimes messily, sometimes with meaning, sometimes with intent, and other times, to remind myself that I am still breathing.

Nothing is more real than the moment you are currently in.

Look around you, don’t you see God? What is more divine than the life that surrounds you? What is more divine than the will to keep persisting? What is more divine than love and forgiveness? Than the hope we continue to harbor, despite how much we are torn down? What is more Godly, than the absolute humanity that we each contain? There is divine magnetism present in our ability to connect and reach each other, simply through our thoughts and prayers. We are more intimately attuned to each other than we could possibly be aware of. I know that when I think of you with love, you can feel it too.

I used to search for romantic intimacy in everything, I no longer need to. Having discovered the gift of spiritual intimacy, I am already romantic in every sense. There is poetry in the way I move through my day. There is passion present in how I speak to the Sun as we rise and the Moon as we waltz at night. When I walk on the Earth, I thank it for lovingly housing my feet. When I let raindrops kiss my palm, I feel wonderfully caressed by their gentle motion. What is more pleasurable than enjoying the pounding presence of your beating heart? The most sensual feeling is that of being alive.

I can no longer eat meat. I can no longer stay angry or sad more than I need to. Every emotion is data to me. I am receiving the messages that my body is sharing with me; this feels good, this needs to go. I can no longer see our world devoid of the abundance of love that she deserves to be viewed with. These changes have been building within me for a few months now. Over time, I have become even more aware of the life within me and surrounding me, the life that must be preserved at all costs.

You are alive and it is important to remind yourself of this each day. Your beautiful limbs can move and create. Your voice can sing and speak and whisper. Your eyes can witness and perceive and predict. Your throat can swallow and your intestines can digest. You are so full of life and this is why you are so divine.

Life is God and she exists within you.

Stillness’s last embrace escapes my memory. It is intercepted by the sounds of Nature’s song. My mind welcomes her voice and listens again. She is in need of much rest. I close my heavy eyes and let myself float in the blessings that I have been offered today. There is so much to be grateful for and I often struggle to remember it all. Lovingly, I hold myself and smile. 

Au Revoir, July. You have been a lover and a lesson to me. I will not forget you. You brought me to the pinnacle of ecstasy and taught me how to safely jump off a cliff. I learned how to stop hoping and start doing from you. You taught me how to choose again. There is always a choice, and it serves me well to remember it. Merci, July. Where would I be, had I not tasted your symphony? I would never know what it feels like to be swept into a Cancerian frenzy of doom and delight. Only you can conduct such a sweet orchestra, and I will happily return to your temple of music next year. I am not done learning yet, I am not done living yet.

I am visited by the night. Luna sparkles outside my window as she winks at me. I laugh and she dances happily, balancing her half-hidden form elegantly on a soft cloud. Somehow, there is a star that found it’s way through the fog. There is always a star and I know I will find it when I really look.

I am looking August in the eye and I have already captured her with my Scorpion gaze. How will you treat me? Will I be loved gently or roughly? Will I be serenaded or scolded? I will love you still. There is only forgiveness and acceptance in my love. My anger flashes as quickly as the skies blacken and bloom. My passion never falters. Bienvenue, August. Let me show you my magic. Are you ready for me?

This was created in response to a prompt from the brilliant Amara Amaryah in today’s writing workshop on Writing From Your Abundance: “Who are you in this moment? What is one verb that describes how you live your life?”

I hope you receive me.

***

The splitting has begun and I emerge from my chrysalis, drenched in the spirit of rebirth, my wings quiver as they find their shape. I am about to fly.

The process is messy. I shed skins. I break down completely and begin to rebuild from blankness. I study the fragments that create me in amalgamation; smooth and bumpy surfaces, ragged edges, reflective shards. I keep what I need and let go of everything that does not serve my new flight.

It feels like burning a layer that has kept me warm and comfortable for long, into pure cinder. In this ember state, I find new flesh - ripe, delicate, vulnerable, bright and full of promise. It is ready to be moulded into whatever I wish to make of it.

In this moment, I am unlearning. I am grieving. I am accepting. I am reminiscing. I am meditating. I am listening. I am becoming. I am evolving. I am transmuting. I am changing. I am breaking free.

The verb of my this moment is ephemeral. I am detaching from limiting ideas of what my outcome should look like, to create space for my abundance, what it needs to be. I am ephemeral in the sense that I do not overstay my welcome in any moment. I move to the next moment when the wind moves me. I follow my excitement and let my intrinsic compass guide me to the next port where I may unbecome and become some more. I am by nature, a traveller. The wind sings to me each day.

You will hear from me soon. Through postcards, letters, notes, signs, energies. I will continue to offer you the love that I create in my abundant state. I will continue to free myself and hopefully, unlock parts of you in the process. See you soon.

With love,

Notes From Your Shadow.