By Uma Inder POETIC JUSTICE

The Inquiry: Am I Not The Chosen, Chooser & Choosing?

water

By Uma Inder

In ages past,
There were no convenience stores.
Food was gathered and gamed.
There were no drive through’s.
Eating was a paramount act of attentive reverence.
There was no day care and tiny tot drop off.
Children were schooled at the hearthside, the hunt and on the breast.
There was no two dimensional, simulated or virtual reality.
There was 360 degree awareness of mortal moment as immortal presence.
There was no indoctrinated preference for right over wrong.
There was the middle way; participation in the interplay of opposites that substantiates balance.

There were no banks.
The wealth of one person was banked as memory.
The wealth of one family was banked as progeny.
The wealth of one tribe was banked in stories.
The wealth of one story was banked in continuity.

Precious were the seeds, untold and unbidden.
Seeds subject to the natural laws that rendered them sovereign.
Seeds sacrificing their shell to resurrect within themselves as the nucleus of fruition.

In ages past,
There was plenty enough.
Plenty enough liquidity.
Plenty enough trees.
Plenty enough bees.
Plenty enough fresh air and time to breathe.
Plenty enough quietude to lull the ‘soul’ in sleep and reverie.
Plenty enough powers and subtle intelligences to drive creativity.

And create man did.
Created ways to reflect the limitless by limiting endlessly.
Ways to name the nameless by sounding out multiplicity of the one-reality.
Ways to count the countless by simplifying.
Ways to contain the uncontainable by emptying.
Ways to dispense the infinitude by self-irrigating.
Ways to plumb the bottomless by plunging.
Ways to communicate the unspeakable by singing.

Singing of what the natural man could sense and grapple with.
Singing of earth, water, fire, wind and atmosphere.
Singing of the sun, moon, planets and stars.
Singing of the lightning, rain and thunder.
Singing of the father and mother.
Singing of the phallus and vulva.
Singing of birth, death and after.
Singing of the past, present and future.

Singing of the one-mind as a milky ocean.
Singing of each flavour and shade of emotion.
Singing of the hero and villain.
Singing to sing for no reason.

Singing to hear themselves singing.
Singing to drown the others singing.
Singing to not remember why they were singing.
Singing to not remember why they wouldn’t be singing.
Singing to forget their own responsibility for the singing.
Singing mindlessly until their words were emptied of meaning.

And the beds of their song ran dry.
And the rivers they sang for ran dry.
And the atmosphere above them ran dry.
And their minds and nerves ran dry.
And the bottom of their hearts and lungs ran dry.
And in that cooling, wind blown vacuum, new fears crept in and multiplied.

Fears of not having plenty enough.
Fears of not being plenty enough.
Fears of not doing plenty enough.
Fears of not being seen as enough.
Fears of not wanting it enough.

Fears of others having more than enough.

Fears of being overwhelmed by the fear of all that.
And in fear, they compensated for the sense of lack.
They separated from reality, in fear.
They threw up defences against fear, in fear.
They seized control of life as they knew it, in fear.
They controlled the natural process and its outcome, in fear.
They compromised their natural urges, in fear.
They buried their primal nature, in fear.
They prostituted their superficial self image, in fear.
They blamed each other from afar, in fear.
They partnered, in fear.

They divorced from the other, in fear
They conjectured and reasoned, in fear.
They refined a manner of artifice, in fear
They equalised themselves and one another, in fear.
They minimised themselves and one another, in fear.
They raised themselves above the other, in fear.
They profited greedily and disproportionately, in fear.

They created fields to hold their share of the store.
Created stores of children to work for more.
Created boundaries to keep their fields secure.
Created walls within walls to contain their families secure.
Created cells within cells to install their members secured.
Created rules to rule over and secure the secured.

Disease contagions spread virally from cell to cell.
Jumped wall to wall.
Field to field.
Tree to tree.
Leaf to leaf.
Man to beast.
Beast to man to beast.

In sickness, the man.
In fear, the man.
In falsehood, the man.
In a bind, the man
In a hurry, the man.

No time to be sick, the man.
No time to feel fear, the man.
No time to grieve the lies, the man.
No time to be free, the man.
No time for time, the man.

Man with out plenty of anything real but fear of the shadows of everything imagined.
Man hides behind delusions of grandeur in masturbatory fantasies.
Man avoids consequence in bubbles of pretentious pageantry.
Man flees his track record in loops of substance induced depravity.
Man escapes by subscribing to a transcendent sense of superiority.
Man points the finger of blaming and shaming to evade self responsibility.
Man manipulates sadistically and masochistically under cover of false identities.
Man overrides the laws of nature by perpetuating the half truths of propriety.
Man abuses his nature-given intelligence by taxing her resources incommensurately.
Man demonises the dark by eulogising the light inordinately.
Man cuts the bottom from the top and it backfires, sickeningly.

Man cuts the spiritual out of material.
Man cuts little niceties out of the whole.
Man cuts the seeds of self propagation out of fruit and vegetable.
Man cuts the ‘active’ part out of the integrative wholeness of its herb.
Man cuts the meaning out of its word.
Man cuts the magic from his world.

And when man irrevocably maxes his lease of intellect and body.
And when man begs for reprieve from his wilful folly.
Man will have no recourse but to reorient his blaming.
Man will have no option but to reclaim responsibility.
Man will call “please help me” in his moment of reckoning.
Man will ‘make time’ on the grounds of real humility.
Man will be pointed back to his interiorised inquiry.

The Inquiry:

“Why did I choose the curse not the blessing?”
“Why am I choosing the curse not the blessing?”
“Why will I choose the curse not the blessing?”
“Am I choosing the curse not the blessing?”
“Who is the “I” that chooses the curse not the blessing?”
“Who is the “I” that chooses the curse and the blessing?”
“Who is the “I” that chooses neither curse nor blessing?”
“Who is the “I” that chooses to choose blessing after blessing?”
“When is it curse and when is it blessing?”
“Who is to say what is curse, what is blessing?”
“What is the curse if not a blessing?”
“Am I not the chosen, chooser and choosing?”

For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends Women Who Run with the Wolves.

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Uma Inder

About

This 'biography' devours its own tail, the second it hungers for a definitive definition of Uma Inder. Such a being, who is being pulverised and reconstituted, will forever elude narrow definition, a final element of wilderness which can never be long-bounded by the constraints of the purely 'rational.' And yet, such a mirror, irrational though it may seem to the conditioned mind, is as open a window into pure being as it is to the ancient traditions which forged this Work. Uma, African-born, of Indian descent, was initiated by a renegade tantric master with whom she lived for a period of seven years in the Balinese jungle and seven more in the world at large in conditions and states which transcended the bonds of consensus reality. Uma is often initially unpalatable to the Western practitioner accustomed to spiritual padding. Time around Uma tends to upset, destabilise, and otherwise rearrange one's manufactured order.

  1. W-O-W. Powerful. I feel like I was reborn in these words. Thank you. XOXO

  2. Umaa’s teachings are fluid and raw – she’s left me with a sense of inspiration to seek more inside myself. I was with her a short time at which she suggested I do panchakarma with Dr. Sujatha. I am forever grateful for my experiences with umaa. Definitely that last statement is a testament to one learning to move through the dark – she seems to offer a helping hand in that dark more tangible and useful than any I’ve been offered.

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