It is not just that He can drink poison, He actually loves drinking poison.
Some people say He likes drinking bhaang (a drink made with cannabis, milk and other goodies). It is not easy carrying bhaang but so many of us live with it churning inside us – crazy unpredictable see-saws of exultation and despair.
My counselor found it tough to be the recipient of it once (the bhaang I was struggling to carry). She wrote, “It is a challenge for me to evaluate, living so far apart from you. I don’t have eyesight to look at you. But it seems to me that through your letters I feel intense mood swings. Have you ever considered that you may be bi-polar?”
I knew whatever I was writing to her were reflections of the churning happening inside. Samudra-manthan literally.
समुद्र मन्थन हो रहा है
कभी अमृत तो विष कभी
मन मेरा उगल रहा है
I wrote in my diary.
It was natural for my counselor to wonder what is happening with this wonky gal writing intense emails to her from the other side of the globe. Emails that were sometimes dark and dank, sometimes soulful and filled with light, all in the span of hours and days. A good counselor is a wonderful and crucial gift. It is a wise thing to do, to seek help of a professional counselor. I have to write about that one day… but coming back to The One who can carry bhaang and the poison that samudra-manthan generates –
Give your pitcher of crazy to Him. “Here, it’s all yours”. Even if you think you are a cool dude who can carry his drink, share a bit yaar!
Actually, sharing a bit does not work. He wants it all. You can’t do things half-way by giving only some of your crazy to Him. You’ve got to give it all to Him to carry. If you want Him in your party you can’t be the cool dude. He is the cool dude.
The flavor of bhaang He likes best is poison. The muckiest muck, the darkest pain killing you drop by drop. Give it to Him. He’ll slurp it up.
Here is a shot I served Him once –
Anger. That is the only word, only thought, only feeling in me right now – what do you want me to write?
You are lucky that you do not have a body – else I would have kicked you hard right now.
You do not keep your promises. You are a liar. A fibber. You stink.
And I could go on and on and on and it is not making any difference to you – not one iota bit.
I do not want to ask you for anything.
He smiled the faintest smile. I felt better.
So bring it on. Serve Him whatever poison you have. The stash you’ve been carefully hiding for oh so long. Using paper as the bowl to serve in, pen as the ladle to serve with, is one way that works well.
कैसी खाई में ये छिपा है, मन का मैल है गहरा जी
खुद को देखूं, डर लगता है, दानव देता पहरा जी
किसका डर है, कैसा डर है, कुछ भी मैं ना जानूं जी
भटकी फिरती इधर उधर मैं, ठौर किधर ना जानूं जी
जग सुधरे, क्या मतलब इसका, मैं खुद ही न सुधरी जी
बेल-पत्र ही चाहो तुम या, लोगे तुम क्या कीचड़ भी?