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I realize that loneliness and aloneness are two different things. I have been in the middle of lively parties surrounded by people and felt heart-wrenchingly lonely. I have also been by myself in nature with not another human soul in sight and felt immensely connected with all of life. To me, loneliness has come to mean a loss of connection, and aloneness has come to mean a space for rejuvenation. Both are experiences of the spirit, and both are choices I can make. In my aloneness I reflect on all the good things I have been blessed with. When I realize how the universe has conspired to create and keep me, how every morsel I consume and every experience I enjoy come with the contribution of a thousand hands, my loneliness becomes a victim story I tell myself. As I grow older, I remind myself that my time, and what experiences I create with them are the only things that matter. If there are people who evoke stories of loneliness in me, I can avoid those people and situations that make me feel lonely. This is self-compassion. This is a choice I can make. Until next week! With gratitude :) Immanual

Last night, I woke up with a burning question: What is the purpose of an earthworm’s life? The earthworm- he is simply an idea, a dreaming of the universe- until some force we cannot yet explain latches on to a bunch of cells. Then, suddenly, there is a creature which seeks order in the middle of chaos. It consumes of the earth to survive. It instinctively strives to protect itself. It experiences life, and brings forth more life, and then one day, the force that made it alive departs. Where that force came from, what it is, where is goes to- this we do not know and perhaps never will. But did this earthworm, uniquely and marvelously insignificant that he was, live a purpose? The geneticist tells me that his goal is to perpetrate his genes. The biologist argues that he occupies a niche in the food cycle. The theologist states that he lives out a plan of God. But what is life to this earthworm. The fevered mind that analyzes his being is not him. One day he wasnt, the next day he was, and then one day he wasnt again. I, the human, am simply an earthworm with a lot more stories. I too come of the oblivion and head to the oblivion. But, I fill the space between with stories, something that earthworms may not do - because I can, and because the void is scary. Purpose is a story I tell myself about myself. Purpose makes me believe that I am more than an aimless blip of the life force. Sitting here, watching the moonlight stream through the windows, I remember how privileged I am to be able to afford these thoughts, when many like me have to spend their time fighting for survival. Perhaps it is folly to define my journeys by narrow descriptions of profession or desire. Perhaps, being the traveller on this unknown terrain, my goal should be as collector of experiences. What happens to the experiences and memories of them, I do not know. I am not going to solve all the mysteries of the universe sitting here on my bed. Perhaps there are no mysteries- only peaks of consciousness amidst chaos, that evolve and devolve randomly. These questions are too heavy for me to consider tonight. The bed is warm and inviting, and sleep is an experience I cannot deny myself.

I turned 45 this year. I am now a middle-aged man, but my mind refuses to accept this fact, even with the lingering reminders from my graying hair and wrinkling skin. When did this little boy, I wonder, trudging the potholed Chennai roads to school with an over-burdened backpack, become a man? What happened to that college kid who wrote so many passionate poems for his first love, and threw them all into the trash bin because he didnt have the guts to talk to her? When did the two tiny beings that toddled into my life grow up and become high schoolers ready to fly the nest? Middle age is turning out a time of reckoning for me. I am slowly coming to terms with the realization that I cannot do all the things that I dreamed of doing when I was young. I am learning to accept my fleetingness, that I am straddling a generation before technology and another inextricably interwoven into it. Change is happening, and I am becoming more aware and accepting of it. This is what middle age is doing for me. Amidst this sea of change, I am seeking out constants. My constant has been thinking and writing. I have been happiest when I have spent a quiet morning reflecting on life and putting them in words. Whether the words find their audience or not is a different story. But it makes me happy. It makes me feel purposeful. I just finished my eighth book, The Road to Kedarnath, which captures the best of my thoughts and my writing. But I know there is a lot more reflection that comes knocking at my mind in the early hours of dawn. These are reflections, that I have found over and again, orient me to my inner compass that is harmony, balance and peace. So, I have decided to make a blog- to create a space for journeys and reflections- and share it with the world. At this time, my blog has no agenda except to bring a little more joy to the reader- a little reminder of the omnipresent light and love inside each of us- and thoughts on how to access them. Hopefully, should you choose to read my blog, you will find ideas and inspiration in the right way at the right time. Perhaps you too will be inspired to share your wisdom here, so we can all learn together. Stay tuned! With gratitude Immanual