It has been close to a month since I landed back in India.
Finding the kind of settled inner space that allows me to write has taken close to a month.

I have noticed that the Indian use of English comes with plenty of flourish. Gathering together fanciful British words in a cramped space.

Westerners hear us use English & congratulate us for such good use in spite of it not being our first language.

We respond by cramming fancier words in smaller spaces. Flourish and emphasis, which is a stark contrast to the brevity and banality of American use of English.

Navigating emphatic objects in cramped spaces—whether they be belongings at home, cars on the street, or people in cafes—took 24 days to get to a point of inner settledness whence I could write from.

In my own peculiar flavor of emphatic flourish.

I feel a bit shy admitting this but a part of me harbored this fantasy of an American wife for long. A White wife, to be even more honest, but we are not going to open up that can of worms fully in this essay :)

I noticed that this fantasy began to dissolve earlier this year. I didn’t realize it while I was in the fantasy. And that’s not to say that the entirety of my romantic entanglements with the ladies in the USA were of a fantastical nature.

That’s not how fantasies work.

Fantasies spike an upwards tug in my heart, from my loins often, into the thoughtspace. It’s a uniquely airy-dreamy amalgamation of mind, heart & loins. The spurt is from the loins, moving through the slightest opening in the heart & then settling fully into the mind where the Fantasy belongs.

Mostly in the mind yet carrying wisps of the heart and the loins to give the faintest impression of wholeness that creates this mirage of a structure.

Dissociative numbing takes a similar pathway. The threads of consciousness, that spread through the body and meet the varied spots where traumatic kinks lie, momentarily pull back into the wispy airy nature of the mind. Forgetting the pain momentarily.

Such relief.

Oh what a relief it is to dissociate!
Oh what great relief to dissociate via romantic fantasy!

To leave the miseries that surround, to pack some sex, some love chemicals & run off into the freeing domain of thoughts & ideas, where all is possible.

Thoughts & ideas of what we could be together.

Dissociated from the reality of what we are together right now.

Fantastical adventures often collapse.

In creating room for a human to enjoy the relief of an imagined, alternate world, a Fantasy creates tension with the real, present world.

If that tension isn’t bridged by action, the gap increases and as it does, it becomes harder and harder to lay the first brick to close the gap.

Oh my love, I don’t know how you’d have managed in this tiny apartment in Mumbai.

In creating room for a human to enjoy the relief of an imagined, alternate world, a Fantasy generates Inspiration.

Inspiration to create an alternate world. The clarity of a vision of an alternate world is fantastical, at first. The Revolutionary brings it forth.

Art is fantastical, at first. A Muse, when beheld by an Artist, can unlock fantasies in him that then birth art. It isn’t unheard of for a man to be so besotted with a woman that the longing of his heart brings forth some of the most beautiful poetry ever written.

What differentiates a Fantasy that leads to collapse versus one that leads to art?

The Artist allows the Fantasy to climb out of the cellar of his loins into his workspace. Taking the seed of Inspiration contained in the Fantasy. Sitting with it independent of who offered it.

There is a technicality to this act that is worth diving into.

You are the Subject of Life unfolding. A Subject, to be clear. But from your subjective perspective, you are very much the Subject.

You perceive an Other. As your senses take in the Other, it evokes within you your subjective Experience.

Your senses are The Five, and many more.
Your Experience contains your felt emotions, your judgments, your evaluations, your stories of who you are, who the other is, and much more.

Many a times, you may conflate the Experience with the Other. The Other may do the same with you. But your Experience is very much your own.

The parts of your Experience that you haven’t yet realized as parts of your Self is your Projection onto the Other.

These stray parts of your Experience—your Projection—blanket the Other and prevent you from seeing their Self.

The journey of Self Realization can be fun if one observes and learns to appreciate the subtle intricacies of Projections, and how joyously harmonious it can be to collaborate with an Other, to deduce your Self, their Self and the Rest.

I’d call this the Reductive Path to Union.

A journey of discernment between subjective and objective truth. Your subjective truth, their subjective truth and the Rest.

There is much richness in such a relational journey. Because there is much richness in the structure of subjective truth. How inner reality is constructed and how starkly at odds it can be with the inner reality of an Other who shares the same physical space as you do! How rich! How intricate!

Such richness is swapped for the Dramatic Turmoil of Relational Entanglement, the more you forget the distinction between your Experience and the Object that evoked your Experience.

Often that is what I’ve noticed with the twin experiences of Lust and Anger. Each carry a rich seed, but many are led astray by the outer covering.

Imagine encountering a jackfruit with its thorny outer covering and never having the wisdom to crack it open, so the soft tender juicy flesh inside gets revealed and nourishes you and all around you. Abundantly so.

Most vividly have I felt this nourishment in disconnecting the Object of Anger from the Experience of my Anger.

Oh, the fire! The flames flap up and out, freed from the single-pointed focus onto an Other.

Can you visualize that geometrically?

When I am angry with an Other, all the Fire within me is being focused in one direction. The choice of that direction is not conscious. It is provoked.

One minutely specific direction in the three dimensional world that surrounds me.

When I separate the Experience of Anger from the Object—the Other—the Fire is freed to flap all around and engulf my entire being. And I can just relish the life-giving nature of the Fire.

Fire can unlock possibilities that seemed inaccessible before.

In the absence of disconnecting the Experience from the Object, such fiery engulfment can lead to murderous rage.

He seemed like such a sweet boy. We never knew he would do something like that.

Fire unlocking possibilities that seemed inaccessible before.

Fire that yearns to be used for forging a man’s purpose.

The first time you disconnect the Experience of Anger from the Object, you don’t need to worry about this. Just enjoy and relish the felt sense of Fire in your body. Once sufficiently enjoyed thusly, you may even find gratitude for the Other.

Of all the directions that surround you, there does exist one minutely specific direction that the Fire inside wants to focus on. And it’s not the Object that provoked the Experience.

Internally, the Fire yearns to burn through all the thorny self-protective barriers you’ve constructed around your heart, so then in the tenderness of your own soft heart, you may see the seed of your purpose.

The longer you entertain the juiciness of the Dramatic Turmoil of Relational Entanglement, the longer you stay disconnected, from the greater riches that lie beyond.

So then, when you receive the seed of Inspiration from the spark—be it Anger or Attraction—sit with it, independent of the Other that offered the seed. Forging it into the creative Fire of your Life.

Time makes it clear what Fires grow together and what Fires whip at each other momentarily to burn out, but with the practice of separating the Experience from the Other, such clarity can arise without you, yourself, burning out.

All because you sit and wait. Momentarily you forget and get entangled. But the seat is always waiting for you, graciously welcoming you when you remember.

Fantasies may come. When they come, they entertain. You may allow yourself such entertainment now when you feel drawn but you are aware that it is a Fantasy. As what is superfluous dissipates, you don’t grasp onto it.

Now, you don’t hesitate to ask the American woman—so what do you think of India? Have you travelled out east? Have you been to any non-Western country? And so you’re less likely to end up in a three year relationship—that by many accounts is still your most significant attempt at merging Fires with a potent Other—where she has neither been to India nor has hardly spent time with your family. Not because she didn’t want to. But because you never invited her there. You were caught up in your Fantasy.

That’s how fantasies work.

Emerging from a spark in the loins, moving through the smallest opening in the heart and finding their resting place in dreamy thoughtspace.

My fantasy of having an American wife has been put to rest. That’s not to say I won’t end up with one, but the fantastical element driving me towards that possibility feels put to rest.

I feel more open to all possibilities. More settled.

Settled enough to be able to write in a small 2 bedroom apartment in a loud city, with my mom, my dad, my sister, all of the unresolved projections between us and my two cats.

To write. To pray. For them and with them.

To cultivate my routine—prayer, writing, gym, dance. In an old home. In a new home. In an old land. In a new land.

By the grace of God, for the glory of God.