Friend from Varanasi.

One more summer night past sleepless, outside the residential campus
of the institute I work in and teach is still and silent
awash with the strange shadow pre dawn light which exists momentarily. Half
shadow and not yet half light. In the texts of Tibetan Buddhism this
shadow light just before dawn is compared to the clear light which arises just after
the final blackness of death from the consciousness stream of which every being is said to be a manifestation. It is said that this clear light is the key to
all of true reality. Dark shadows cross the pre dawn sky as sleepless
and feverish after the long night of work, I wonder about
the deepest mystery of the clear light which is stated to be synonymous with
enlightenment. It is said that the clear light is the matrix from
which all creation unfolds in our mind. What is it, no way of knowing yet.

As I watch the light clears and the first tinge of a summer dawn
lights up the sky. Last night was nice as an old time friend dropped by from
Varanasi. Long chat of old times deep into
the night, long past emotions and feelings remembered once more.
Then it was back to work throughout the night. Our first article in a new exciting
area of research now almost into its final shape. One month and 16 nights of exciting
pleasure and last 6 months of study into a new exciting understanding. My
excitement heightened and focussed with the mental journey into the
realm of an yet unknown physical reality. The glimmer of a structure
emergent from the matrix of unknowing darkness. What pure beauty. We
are deep into this now, one part of my mind quite cut off and
continualy residing in some undefinable dimensions of this novel perspective.

A tea break. Its wonderful to brew the red orange pekoe of the lopchu
estate. Probably the best tea in the world.
I brew it strong the leaves swirling with the vortex
and the wild aroma wafts and envelops my
senses. Wonderful tea and a great morning and I
feel happy and contented without sleep. Full of the flush of the past
night and the rush of lasting excitement of a new creation.

Outside the morning is bathed with an yellow light which comes just before
rains and the sky is overcast with the pre monsoon
greyscale. Its cool in my garden as the wisps of a early morning smoke
lazily disappear into the moist air. The slight coolness of pre
monsson moisture envelops my brows, still feverish from the excitement
of the night just past. The garden is full of fast ripening mangoes
with a total of four trees bowing under their weight like long green tresses.
The early morining birds have gone wild with the feast of mangoes as they gorge
and their shrill calls cuts open the morning. The world is slowly waking
up as a cloudy morning breaks. The melody of Simon and Garfunkel and
"Cloudy" invades my memory

Cloudy
The sky is gray and white and cloudy,
Sometimes I think it's hanging down on me.
And it's a hitchhike a hundred miles.
I'm a rag-a-muffin child.
Pointed finger-painted smile.
I left my shadow waiting down the road for me a while.

Cloudy
My thoughts are scattered and they're cloudy,
They have no borders, no boundaries.
They echo and they swell
From Tolstoy to Tinker Bell.
Down from Berkeley to Carmel.
Got some pictures in my pocket and a lot of time to kill.

Hey sunshine
I haven't seen you in a long time.
Why don't you show your face and bend my mind?
These clouds stick to the sky
Like floating questions, why?
And they linger there to die.
They don't know where they are going, and, my friend, neither do I.

Cloudy,
Cloudy.