the heart of the matter

The heart of the matter has always been here. I knew it when I learned of its existence….and then it made sense. Of course it did- it’s where we came from, and I had to go to it.

The Grand Canyon has haunted me since memory- even when I lived on the other side of the planet, surrounded by no one and nothing that had any connection to it, it was like a given.

In everything I do, I seek understanding- the bigger picture, the bigger picture. An obsession that keeps instigating wandering- very precious to me. The heart of the Canyon had to be a stop in the journey. It would be the place that hurt my soul to leave….and it did. Something of my spirit lies in that river, in the red rocks I lust after- it must, because I left it the day before, but the tears are streaming down my face still.

Every step of the journey was surreal. I kept trying to trace the source of this craving- it is so far removed from the life I come from- the roots of my lineage that wind around the Indian subcontinent in simple minded, earthen folks; our Vasant Kunj flat that I grew up in in the heart of Delhi…Delhi, where most are consumed by survival, amid the bustling humdrum of life lived in sensory explosion….to here; to rocks, and yearning and joy and pain.

Here I was. I was here.

I still can’t believe I touched it. Or rather, that it touched me…this magnanimous space chiseled by the ebb and flow of time and water. One look up- the history of our planet carved and on display. Swallow that, it says to me- and I struggle to digest.

When the climb got really rough, I found myself singing “we had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun…” just like my mother had taught me…back when I had just learned to speak and words flowed into each other, sometimes amalgamating their meanings into residual feelings, that I still remember.

Funny thing about that canyon- distracted by your desperation to understand its heart, you stumble upon the heart of your matter.