The morning was bright with crystal clear sky. The early rays of sun were gently penetrating through the forest top of pine trees into the mountains of Dharamkot creating a gradient hue of yellow-green mix at Tushita. Monkeys, some playful, some violent as usual were breaking the serenity of the place.
Amidst these curious combination of chaos and serenity at 6.45 began the first guided meditation of the day. We were told and explained on the basic meditation techniques. The eyes should be partially opened and the mind should observe on heart and breaths which have deep connection with mind. Then follow on thoughts, visualizing someone dying amongst our close friends, parents, family members, relatives and how do we react to their death. It did not affect me much as my conscious mind could not think of someone at that moment. I was forcibly trying to remember, but without a success. The day followed one after another activity – meditation, discussion, teaching, yoga, lunch, dinner, and so on.
In the night, I went to sleep at 8.30. Around early morning, in my subconscious mind (dream), I saw my mother to whom I am so closely attached is dying. Throughout my life my mother has been closest to me among all. I have been sharing my every moment of joy and sorrow with her. I collapsed seeing her dead. However, my father who would have been worried most was found quite. My father has spent more than three-fourth of his life with her, yet was found absolutely normal. My father has a deep attachment with my mother. He even can’t make a cup of tea of his own. He is dependent, both emotionally and habitually. But still he is quite accepting the death.
As the dawn knocked Tushita, I woke up restless. I cried for a while, and then asked myself what makes me so attached to my mother?
I flashed back my childhood days. The food I was fond up was often sacrificed by my mother for me. When I got less marks in exam than expectation, my mother used to hide it from my father.
When I moved out of home and lived in hostel, there used to be often financial constraints. My mother has never made me feel the difficulties. I remember: to pay my university fees and make my travel arrangement, even she sold some of her precious jewellery.
Once, when I was in Delhi, I fell sick. It was discovered that I had jaundice. As there was no one around, my mother forced me to fly to Bhubaneswar, where my parents live. The money was paid by her.
There were so many moments like these, when my mother has gone out of her ways to make me feel happy, safe and protected.
But, excluding a few moments, I craved mostly for my pleasure. I have been attached to her to seek my happiness, not of her and today when I experienced her death in dream, I am crying. Why? Is it because of the attachment for personal pleasure or a genuine mourning?
My mother is very healthy and I wish her for a healthy long life to live.