I do not know where to begin except to say that life often bares strange fruit. At the end of the silent retreat I found myself wanting to delve deeper into the inner sphere of existence, as I came to have glimpses of something beyond the known self. From this place it became impossible to write or think. Gone were the hungry thoughts desperate for a place in the world of meaning. Into this inner universe, the words "Mum died" fell like a great boulder, exploding into unintelligible sound. I asked my sister to repeat her words, "Mum died" she replied. Oh I said as if commenting on the weather.
The words, cold and hard as steel, cut into the soft flesh of me and I watched with detachment as blood gushed out of the wound. With nothing to hold onto, I must wrestle with this monstrous apparition named death. A mothers hands never to be felt again. A mothers voice never to be heard again. A mothers love never to be tasted again. All that she embodied, no more present, relegated to the catacombs of memory. I find myself swimming where there is no water. Arms flailing against the surface air, as I gasp for breath. Nothing has prepared me for this! And so the story, abruptly ends here, in Tiruvannamalai with the sudden and unexpected death of my mother.
