Emergence
Towards writing as a process of devotion, and what you can expect going forward
Some of you have been here since the early days of this publication. If you’re still here, thank you. This space is beginning to come alive again.
What follows is a longer, reflective piece. If you’d prefer to skip ahead to what’s coming next for this publication, you can scroll to the bottom.
Many of us yearn to express our gifts long before we recognize what those gifts are or how to create space for them in our lives.
In my case, there was always a deep but unconscious longing for intimacy via the written word—intimacy with myself, with others across space and time, and with experience itself. It was perhaps more visible in my reading habits—as a young girl I read every book in my school’s library.
And yet, precious little writing has emerged over the years, at least for public consumption.
What follows is not some grand narrative of finally claiming the identity of “writer” nor is it an admission of fears related to being seen—though becoming visible has indeed been an area of inquiry for me.
Rather it is an account of my unfolding relationship with writing—a gift whose authentic expression I was never initiated into—alongside bits of what has transpired over the last year and a half, since I last wrote to you.
The gift and the grip
It wasn’t until my early thirties, which was over a decade ago, that I even had an inkling of a creative calling. My writings up to that point were limited to private journal entries and dry research papers. I might have busted out the occasional haiku. But that was about it.
I first sensed a desire to write in the aftermath of a divorce, which translated into a few short anonymous pieces. Friends began to tell me that I was a born philosopher and meant to write. But I focused on establishing myself as a product manager during a period of precarity. I did find myself drawn to articles about creativity and sometimes cried when I heard authors speak about their books.
Writing, if it was to happen at all, would have to happen on the side, I figured. On the side of jobs that paid the bills. On the side of all that seemed to promise stability in life.
And this was how I kept denying my soul’s truth.
Even as I attended writing workshops and circles, even as I began publishing a few public blog posts in my mid-to-late thirties, writing took a backseat relative to other priorities. For I was also trying to find a partner, find my people, and find a way out of a soul-crushing corporate career.
It was only in my early forties, during a process of spiritual awakening, that I took the call more seriously. That was when this publication was born. The first challenge was how to unlearn productivity—I sometimes sat with a blank page for hours before sentences appeared. Even so, I managed to post only once in a while because I now had a few more open questions to resolve, including options for motherhood, where I could set up my own nest, and what I was meant to do in India. Because the call to go to India—for reasons I could not fathom—was growing stronger by the day. My soul ached for India.
Now, the simplest thing to do at that point would have been to cast my fears aside, surrender to the call of my soul, and move to India, no questions asked. But stubborn and scared as I was, I wanted to find a partner who would marry me, have a child with me, and move to India with me. Sure enough, the universe provided a few candidates, but none of them worked out.
If this is beginning to sound a wee bit hilarious, it’s because it is, from a higher point of view.
Life became an explosion of competing options—an intractable, thoroughly frustrated constraint-satisfaction problem, at least from the vantage point of my human mind, for you AI buffs out there.
Desires were being manifested and timelines jumped, though not exactly like a pro, for you quantum magicians out there.
Energies were being scattered while this dream character remained attached to the outer reality, despite many attempts to source love, safety, and fulfillment from within, for you sages and contemplatives out there.
By then I had already learned, a few times over, that when I could no longer solve, manifest, or transcend my way out of things, surrender became unavoidable.
And so, shortly after the last time you heard from me here, I found myself whispering a voice-note into my phone: “Thank You, God, for freeing me from ever wanting things on my own terms.”
Within a month I packed up my belongings and departed for India with the proverbial two suitcases in hand—half of which were filled with the books I would need for my writing.
The year in India
Well, there is no danger here of this narrative devolving into a spiritual cliché—single woman surrenders, goes on many a spiritual adventure in India, returns enlightened.
Nor can I offer a clear explanation for why I was called to India in the first place.
My memoir—if I write one someday—will not be of the ‘Eat Pray Love’ variety, because its greatest plot twist would be the absence of a plot altogether.
If I had to impose a veneer of orderliness and offer a summary of a very transformative year, it would be this: I was repeatedly stripped of any investment in or dependence on people, places, and things in the outer reality.
There were moments when I believed I had lost almost everything—certain friends, mentors, alliances, projects, status, health, beauty, wisdom, knowledge, and whatever was left of my voice.
I could not even adopt a cat. Believe me, I tried.
The days were full and unpredictable, and yet had a monotony to them, defined only by the movement of curtains at both ends.
And for reasons not worth getting into, it wasn’t always clear where I might be living on a month-to-month basis.
Not exactly the kind of stuff you'd want to post on LinkedIn, eh?
Sometimes it felt like the universe was teasing me: You want this? You want this? Here you go—oh, sorry, not quite.
And what of my writing? Surely I was making some progress there?
The lifetime of resistance was thankfully behind me now and I was more devoted than ever, abandoning quick wins and viral posts in favor of honing my craft. But as a former academic, I couldn’t help but go deep into topics—entire books sprang into existence in the depths of my mind upon contemplation of a single topic. Pages upon pages of notes and reference materials on topics such as love, truth, and freedom. PhD-level articulations that were more rigorous than readable. Long essays awkwardly abandoned because of one new life emergency or another.
It was painful to work so hard with nothing outward to show for it. As a spiritual teacher kindly reminded me, I was still addicted to the idea that there had to be something to show. I was still attached, no matter how subtly, to showing up as a brilliant and prolific writer whose nuanced treatises would inspire her readers. I was still breaking out of unconscious patterns regarding what it means to shine or to make an impact.
What I had been doing in India all along, she emphasized, was the real work required for my soul’s trajectory—which was to train my perception and discernment in deeper and deeper ways, in one of the best places in the world to develop these distinctively human capacities. It was work that no one, including myself, could ever have designed or authored—that was the beauty and the horror of it. For I did wonder how my soul could ever have agreed to such an assignment—to venture into the underbelly to refine my understanding of the light and the dark. My writing was suffering, yes, but not for nothing.
I was sometimes reminded of a scene from Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior–I think, don’t quote me–in which a woman walks out of a war-zone carrying just her baby and a few valuables. Along the way she has to let go of everything she’s carrying, even her baby, whom she finally leaves under a tree in order to be as empty and light as possible.
Metaphors aside, I could no longer care about the open questions that had had such a grip on me earlier. Whoever wanted to come could come, whoever wanted to go could go. It had simply become too costly to hold on to anything or anyone in the outer reality. Freedom is free, you see, but it is not cheap—something that most coaches on social media somehow fail to mention.
But in the midst of this came a peace, and a knowing that life would be alright no matter how it proceeded from here on out. An unconditional trust in life and in myself emerged, even as I found myself saying out loud one day, “no one is coming to save me.”
From that ground of unconditional trust, an older knowing resurfaced—my soul did not want me to be devoted to the role of a writer, it wanted me to treat writing as a process of devotion. Much like a man I once watched in a temple, placing little purple flowers on an idol with presence and precision.
And yet I knew that my writing was to be but one expression, among several, of a life lived in service to something greater. Given the years of preparation and refinement, this knowing was a bit hard to swallow. But the soul knows what it’s doing. And the writing will happen when it needs to.
What comes next
The tagline for this publication is “Thrive, be well, and turn towards the Eternal.”
I will happily let the word “Eternal” remain ambiguous, with the caveat that turning towards the Eternal does not imply a rejection of the human experience. If anything, I celebrate the human experience and am very much interested in exploring all things human.
The themes to be explored span consciousness and non-duality, healing and awakening, feminine leadership and sovereignty, love and liberation, the creative life, and the deeper questions of what it means to be human—including the nature of intelligence, reality, and the ancient wisdom that illuminates both.
The genre and style will vary from brief notes and reflections to in-depth analyses of contemporary issues, wherever the muse takes me, with spiritual memoir appearing less frequently.
I cannot promise a regular cadence, but posts will arrive when they need to. Fortunately, I do not anticipate extended phases of hermithood anymore. 🙂
In fact, I am also opening enrollment for two offerings that have been quietly taking shape alongside this writing—The Bloom Room, a sanctuary-meets-salon for soulful, brilliant women navigating uncharted terrain, and Bone & Bloom, a more intimate leadership mastermind for those ready to move from survival to sovereignty. 1:1 sessions remain available as well.
And now, with a wish that whatever emerges be as true, beneficial, and timely as possible, I sign off for today.
Much love,
Anubha
I’m glad you’re here!
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Words rock. I enjoyed catching up with your news and hope you enjoy some more writing soon! -Kim
Most fascinating!