From Truth to Stillness

I have a beautiful house. It has got creepers on the wall, a beautiful garden, nice big windows with the curtains drawn shut always, stone walls, a nice big drive way, and a big green lawn to run around like a free dog. Many who pass by have looked at the house and wished it was theirs. And I’ve taken much delight in hearing and seeing the expressions of what people thought. Because it was MY house, which I built with my friend. My friend was the architect. He designed these beautiful, big French windows to bring in a flood of light through the day, and even designed a sky light so when I sleep at night I would see a sky full of stars. Just the way I loved it. Just the way I needed it. He knew I needed the light, so he kept that in mind as he designed my home. He wanted me to understand his house design for me was perfectly suited to my needs and safe. And he wanted me to promote his mastered work. 

The first few years I enjoyed the bright light in the house, and the freedom with which I could enjoy all the space I had. I would cook in my kitchen, and garden in my garden, and dance on my living room floor, and sing loudly in the bathroom without caring two whatever-s what my neighbour would think. It was big, and I felt free. I enjoyed looking out the windows every once in a while and admiring all the things which are beyond human creativity. 

But as I started peering out the window more, and things outside  increasingly seemed far more attractive. Things started to slowly and steadily change. I got distracted and drawn outside my house. I began to see other homes coming up nearby. Comparison became a norm. And this lead to fear. Fear of intruders. Fear of embarrassment. I began to spend more time outside my house. I began to see theirs as better than mine, and I started to spend less time in my own space, and more in other people’s homes. And while I did, my house became a neglected target. I stopped cleaning it, and I grew, and I changed. I took it for granted that other people’s homes were there and so while I externally took pride in knowing I had a beautiful home, it had slowly grown to a place where I was now embarrassed to show, at least the insides. My curtains remained shut 24/7, the doors and windows mostly closed, the house began smelling musty. My architect friend asked me several times why I was hardly home, and why my house was no longer feeling like it used to. I stopped allowing many to come in. I stopped allowing my friend to come inside, because I knew the first thing he would do is open the curtains. And just the thought of it would shake me. But I would meet him outside my house and spend time talking to him there. I didn’t give him room to interfere with my choices. Others who came in would not come back again OR they would ask me to come over to their place. 

One day a passer-by said a sweet hello and asked if she could come in. Something in me told me to welcome her in. I couldn’t refuse. Although I had warned her that the house was an absolute mess, I took her in. I did want her to see how beautiful my house was. I really did. But at this point I knew I had completely neglected my home. She asked if we could open a curtain, and while she did, I started cleaning. When the light gushed and filled the room, there was so much I didn’t even realise that I saw at this point. I didn’t realise there was spilt milk on the floor which had now become a pool of maggots, contributing to the stench. I didn’t realise I had clothes which I had bought and hadn’t used. Nor did I see the big leak in the guest bedroom. So many things had gone wrong just because I was living in darkness. My friend said “Sruti you have such a beautiful space!” While at this point I was cringing in embarrassment, she kindly offered to help me clean it up. And while she walked around the house with me, room by room, she patiently helped me tidy up in places where the light was bright. And in spaces which needed more light, she helped by holding the torch. It was pretty taxing. But it wasn’t impossible to clean. There was a lot to dispose. There was a lot to give away. And a lot of things needed to be moved around. But I was ever so grateful for the time she took to help me. She did so as though she knew what it felt like. She had compassion, and experience, along with knowledge of my friend’s architectural design. He had designed her house as well. The more I could see, the more I could clean.  

After a lot of scrubbing and rearranging and throwing away my house felt like a home again. It was clean. If something spilled I would just clean it right up. If there was even the slightest bit of dust or a table or surface it was easier to spot. It was a relief indeed. I loved my home again. I didn’t find the need to go out as often. I was comfortable. It was unusual and a strange pleasant feeling, and for the first time in a long time I felt like I had done the right thing. Even though this passer by had to see my filth, if she hadn’t asked me to open my curtains, I wouldn’t have known even if a 100 rats made a home in my space. But she did. And I think my friend sent her to me. Because I wasn’t listening to him, and kept ignoring all his warnings. He knew what would happen if I stop the light from coming in. And he knew I was afraid. 

Now I know I enjoy my house with the curtains wide open through the day, the light filling every corner (of course I’m still discovering new spots which need cleaning), its become easier to maintain. Thanks to my friend who designed my home which is well lit. My passer by friend stops every now and then to say hi. And others have also started coming. Some don’t want to leave. Some stand on my lawn and look through the windows to see what I am doing and how I am cleaning. Many have started feeling completely safe in my house. And I realised, like how I was earlier, spending more time in my friends house’s, and neglecting my own, there are many who have now come to my house with the same reasons. Many who are neglecting their beautiful homes, and thinking mine is better. 

So I’ve now started to share my story of how we have been designed to live in light. By sharing my story, and hearing the stories of others, I see how similar and yet different it all is. But the tools to clean are the same. The source of vision is still the same. We all just need that one (maybe more) passer by-er who will politely come into our messy home without judgement and help us open the curtain.