Coming back to Abnormeality

Every moment is reality; every moment awareness.

Cheppu, by Mukti Singh Thapa.

Long ago, I read a story from an adventurer who had just returned from the Middle East. He wrote, "Adventure is over. I’ll be back in England, back to reality." When I returned from my Indian odyssey, a friend greeted me with a similar phrase: "Welcome back to reality." But I resisted that idea then, and I still do. What is reality? I am certain that what we consider reality is, in truth, a kind of abnormality. No, it’s abnormeality. Abnormal — Reality. Though the word may not exist, it feels right to me.

What was I doing then, if not living fully? Is reality only found in the confines of society or in our constant connection to the internet? What about the life I experienced out there? Living life as it comes, in its purest form, is the most basic and profound truth, recognized across cultures and time. From the Rishis of Vedic times to Christian saints, mystics, Greek philosophers, and scientists—they all spoke of this timeless, singular reality. And they were right. That is all there is. It’s the same truth that Thoreau and Muir discovered when they retreated into the wilderness, connecting deeply with nature and, in turn, with themselves. So, how is it that we’ve forgotten all of this?

Today, I conclude a 10-day digital detox. A 10-day digital detox taught me that nothing in my life was truly urgent — what I once deemed important, demanding immediate attention... For days, I’ve been confined to a small cubicle, practicing meditation—not the kind I inherited from tradition, but something that resonates with the depths of my being. It’s a practice that breathes life into ancient words, words that once seemed like hollow echoes of a distant past but now carry the weight of the universe within them.

Growing up in an orthodox Hindu-Brahmin family, I was immersed in the world of Sanskrit verses and shlokas, like a river flowing through the fertile fields of my childhood. My maternal grandmother would reward me with a rupee for every shloka I recited, and my grandfather would sit me down, reciting longer verses that felt like endless rivers of sound. Yet, whenever I asked why I was doing this, they had no answers. They simply handed me the torch of tradition, without understanding the fire it carried. It was a ritual passed down through generations, a chain of devotion stretching back into the mists of time, but with links that had grown rusty and brittle.

In the stillness of my meditation, those forgotten verses began to surface, like ancient ruins emerging from the depths of a vast ocean. They came to me not as commands, but as whispers from a place deep within, a place I had never truly explored. Thoughts and memories I had long buried began to stir, as if a door had been opened to a hidden chamber within my soul. It was as if I had become Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, where the world was not as it seemed, and every familiar thing held a new, mysterious significance.

What is reality?

As I sat in stillness, the world as I knew it began to unravel, like the threads of an old jumper coming loose. First, the immediate fears and worries faded away, dissolving like mist in the morning sun. Then, the thoughts of the future, once so pressing, lost their urgency, drifting away like autumn leaves on a gentle breeze. The past had already ended, a story that had been written and could no longer be changed. And so, I found myself in a state of timelessness, as if I were sitting in a cave high up in the mountains, watching the world go by far below. Was this what saints experienced when they went on their long stretches of isolation?

Each morning, as I began my practice at 4:30 a.m., I watched the world awaken, like a vast organism stirring from sleep. I saw people rise, driven by desires they could never fully satisfy, chasing after things they did not possess, as if those things would bring them peace. They rushed about in a frenzy, like ants scurrying to build their hills of mud, unaware of the larger world around them.

And then, there came a point when the outside world ceased to matter. I was no longer concerned with what was happening beyond the walls of my meditation. I had journeyed deep within myself, to a place where the noise of the world could not reach me. It was a journey through my unconscious mind, a descent into the underworld of my soul. I encountered old wounds and buried fears, like the mammoth stones along the path, and I uncovered forgotten joys and hidden strengths, like diamonds glinting in the darkness.

But then, I realized something profound: neither the stones nor the diamonds were what they seemed. They were just experiences, moments in time that had passed through me, like waves crashing on the shore. The good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, were all just part of the same ever-changing flow. Nothing was permanent, and nothing could define me.

As I traveled through my body, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, I saw that even this physical form was in a state of constant change. Sensations arose and faded, like clouds drifting across the sky. Some were pleasant, others painful, but none of them lasted. When I stopped identifying with them, when I observed them as a witness rather than a sufferer, they lost their power over me. They dissolved into the air, like smoke from a fire that had burned itself out.

This journey inward was like a pilgrimage to a sacred temple, not made of stone, but of flesh and breath. Each moment of stillness, each breath I took, was a step closer to the truth that had always been there, waiting for me to see it. The world outside may be ever-changing, but within me, there is a space that is timeless, untouched by the passing of days and years.

In this space, I discovered that reality is not something that can be grasped with the mind or defined by words. It is not found in the rush of daily life or in the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. Reality is the silence between thoughts, the stillness beneath the movement, the presence that remains when everything else has fallen away. It is the essence of existence itself, the heartbeat of the universe, pulsing through every moment, every breath.

1. All that we are is the result of what we have thought. It is founded on our thoughts, it is made up of our thoughts. If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him, as the wheel follows the foot of the ox that draws the carriage.

2. All that we are is the result of what we have thought. It is founded on our thoughts, it is made up of our thoughts. If a man speaks of acts with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him.

-The Dhammapada, Buddha

The Law of Nature

These 10 days made me ponder upon some questions that had been stirring within me for long. What is religion? What is spirituality? In the 19th and 20th centuries, as the ancient scriptures of the East were translated into English and other European languages, a profound mistake went largely unnoticed. A crucial word, dhamma or dharma, was translated into the term "religion." Of course, the English language didn’t really have a separate word that exactly translated ‘dhamma’ in its purest form. This wasn’t entirely the fault of the translators; the same error had been made in India and across the world for nearly 2,000 years by then. Yet, this small shift in language altered the essence of what these texts truly conveyed, and this mistake has given rise to decades worth of confusion - both in the east and the west.

The sutras, Vedas, and Upanishads—texts that form the core of Hindu belief—were not merely religious doctrines; they were the laws of nature, universal truths woven into the fabric of existence. Vedas were experiences poured out on paper by those who experimented on themselves. The word ‘Veda’ derives from an older word vedam which meant experience. These were highly personal experiences which were put down on paper for each and everyone to learn from. These were laws of nature and as they were experienced by the yogis of then, so can be experienced by the humans of today. Similarly, the Ten Commandments were not just rules for a specific faith but reflections of these same natural laws. These principles were not exclusive to any one religion or culture, for how could they be? We are all made of the same essence, the same stardust, born under the same sky. Therefore, these laws of nature had to be universal.

It doesn’t matter whether you were born in India, the Philippines, the Middle East, or the far reaches of America. These laws have always been the same, timeless and eternal. They existed long before humanity conceived of religion, and they will continue to exist long after. They have no beginning and no end, stretching beyond the boundaries of time itself.

When Jesus said, “Before Abraham was, I am,” [John 8:58] perhaps he was speaking of this very thing—the eternal, immortal life that flows through all beings, all times, all places. It’s not confined to a book, a temple, or a ritual. It is the law of nature, the cosmic order that binds us all together, whispering the same truths to every corner of the Earth. These are the truths that transcend language, culture, and belief. They are the rhythm of the universe, the pulse of life itself, guiding us not as a set of religious commandments, but as the fundamental principles of existence. To live in harmony with these laws is not merely to follow a religion, but to align oneself with the very essence of life, the unchanging, eternal reality that flows through everything.

Sadly, we have lost out way in this endless pursuit of money and desires. We have forgotten our shared humanity. We call ourselves religious but we don’t investigate into the true meaning of it. We forget that Jesus and Guru Nanak too had to traverse through vast unconscious depths that laid dormant within themselves. Prophet Mohammed too went through scrutiny when he talked of love and compassion towards everyone. Saint Tukaram and Dnyaneshwar too had to face the harshness of the society. They had to walk through the bridge passed through the metropolis of Unconscious to the Conscious and then to the supra-conscious and finally enlightenment. They all asked us to look within; to observe ourselves and see our own faults before seeing faults in other people. Yet, we have forgotten their values. We are fighting as Hindus, Muslims, Jews and Christians. Forgetting that there is no other out there. Forgetting that this separation is our clinging to our ego. This is the demon within us. The devil didn’t really have long nails and teeth, but he sure was a hindrance in our peace and meditation. The devil was our own mind.

Whatever harm an enemy may do to an enemy, or a hater to a hater, an ill-directed mind inflicts on oneself a greater harm.

-The Dhammapada, Buddha

And so, as I emerge from this digital detox, I carry with me the understanding that reality is not out there, in the world of distractions and noise. It is within, waiting to be discovered in the quiet moments, in the spaces between breaths, in the depths of my being. In the silence between words where the songs of nature are being sung. Every moment is reality. Every moment is awareness, if we choose to.

Every moment we can move a tiny bit away from abnormeality and more towards reality.

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If you have reached this far then I hope it means you like what I’m doing and if so you might consider supporting me by ‘buying me a coffee’ ( Substack does not let me monetize my articles because I am based in India) which is a one off payment rather than a continuous subscription. Payments, however small, encourage me in my writing and mean that I can spend more time honing my skills.

You can buy my book which is a memoir about my 1800 km walk through India through my website. Thankyou, really!

There is one more thing by the way.

Most of you joined this Substack after reading stories from Saving a Village. In that series, I spoke about the urgency of taking action against the looming threats of deforestation, coastal highway projects, and the chemical and oil factories set to rise in this eco-sensitive zone. These developments could devastate many villages, including mine. That’s why I’ve decided to embark on a 500-kilometer journey across this stretch of land.

My purpose isn’t political, nor am I here to point fingers at specific companies or factories. Instead, I want to visit each village, sharing the message that while change is inevitable, it’s vital that we steer it in the right direction. I have no desire to cast myself as a hero; my goal is simply to witness this land and its fading culture before it's too late. However, if I can raise awareness and ignite even a small spark of understanding, I’ll be content knowing I did what I could.

But I can't do this alone. To plan the walk and cover necessary supplies, I need your support. Unfortunately, platforms like Kickstarter and other crowdfunding sites aren't available to me here in India, so I’m relying on your donations. You can contribute through PayPal—here’s the link. For donations over $30, I’d love to send you a personalized postcard as a token of gratitude.

I’ll delve deeper into this journey in the upcoming newsletters. Thank you for your support!