Nisha was taking bath in the open on the small platform raised around the only well in the compound where both males and some old females drew water and bathed. Invariably all the young females took a couple of bucketful of water into a rickety bathroom beside the well and bathed there, except Nisha. Unaccountably Nisha frequently chose to take bath in the open and thereby causing considerable flutter in the hearts of all males present in the compound. I didn’t know why she was so nonchalant to the male eyes that scanned her lovely body inch by inch while she was engrossed deeply in bathing. I suppose she was practicing a kind of meditation in which one was supposed to make only the most deliberate and conscious movements in complete disregard of one’s immediate surroundings for she never wavered for a moment her attention away from her body. Who watched her and for how long and from which angle and corner she never bothered herself to know or verify.
Normally I didn’t watch her bathing. No no, please don’t think of me as morally or ethically so erect and tall that I won’t stoop to watch this kind of free and full public display. On the contrary I enjoyed to the brim such lovely sights and consciously sought for more. But Nisha’s case was something else. She was mine for the asking. I knew a few hours later she would present herself before me with that well-soaped and well-toned body for my/our enjoyment. But for a different kind of taste and for novelty’s sake one day I wanted to watch her bath in the open from the beginning to the end. I thought if all others could watch her in that state why couldn’t I? But how to watch her without being watched by others, that was the problem. For others to watch her could be understood and forgiven but how could my interest and behavior be accounted for when all suspected that I was having a rocking and tumultuous affair with her? The compound was full of people with a lot of prying eyes. I had to be extra careful. I decided to watch her secretly from a safe and secure position.

And I discovered such a safe and secret place right inside my room. I needn’t venture out to do the romantic job. Someone defined romanticism as ‘ amorous of the far’. Yes, I wanted to see Nisha’s body from afar, at least from the perspective of fifty yards, a sort of ringside view not the usual close ups. More importantly I wanted to see her as she appeared to others. Habit is a great deadener. One needs to see sometimes even things and people belonging to oneself from the perspectives of others in order to keep their novelty, freshness, charm, innocence, virginity, purity and appeal alive. I have seen how a book lying unopened for decades in my shelf suddenly acquired a life of its own and became extremely interesting when viewed and commented favorably by someone I valued. After all things and people, in short the whole Samsar itself is the creation of the mind only. It is all a mind game. Sorry, even watching beloved Nisha’s semi naked body was a mind game too. I was about to see not her as she was, not even what was there to be seen but what I chose to see or put in her. S.T. Coleridge’s famous line, “Oh Lady, you receive only what you give” was only etched in my mind in indelible ink.

So one day I stood on the chair placed on the table ( I hope readers will recollect this pair of stark, inseparable furniture that adorned my room which Nisha consecrated with her daily presence and which I described in some detail in my earlier story,” The woman who would dance only to the tune of her heart’s beats) and thus successfully bringing my eyes on a level with a small window that opened directly on the well in the compound. She pulled water from the well and poured on herself with a mug. Then she soaped her body very slowly and deliberately trying to reach all the crannies and crevices of her body as much as could be done politely standing in a public place. Well, to put it bluntly, leaving that small place about three inches in diameter around her genital she covered all other places in suds and bubbles of soap and water. She lathered her body very freely. Ten minutes of rubbing over the whole body with a terry towel followed by pouring of bucketful after bucketful of water on herself as she slowly moved her bare hands over the length and breadth of her body completed her bath. The most exciting part of her bath for which I had put so much effort and strain to witness turned into an anti-climax and passed most prosaically. I had mesmerizedly watched several times how Indian rural women took bath in river Ghats and how deftly and swiftly they changed saris with twinkling of an eye, as it were, as they finished their baths, all the while remaining in the full public view. Nobody could see any of those private parts men hungered to witness for which a woman’s body was the most beautiful and desirable thing for a human male.

With Nisha nothing of the sort happened. There was no deftness, no dexterity of hands. I was inclined to think of her as pitiable in the sari changing act. It was quite evident she had no one to teach her this common lesson. After her bath was over she wore the sari at one of its end and just piled the rest of it on her chest that covered barely her breasts, keeping her back completely exposed. I had never seen four or five yards of cloth being put to so little use, covering such a little space of one’s body. But it had one seemingly unintended effect. Nisha’s very fair, rounded shoulders and bare back aroused me. I had tried to witness the event with as much detachment as I could muster. But at what stage of my observation I had let off my guards I didn’t know. The result was that the rounded and curvaceous contour of her body, her braless undulating breasts shaking like two dancing butterflies in the air as she took measured steps to her house from the well holding a bucketful of water in each hand, made me long her so totally for an urgent engagement in sex. I confess I had a monstrous erection at hand that demanded attention and urgent satisfaction.

I waited in my room for her. In this kind of situations a belief held me together; that if I could wait patiently then things would turn in my favor, that everything could be mine, that everything right would happen only at the right moment, that the world might pour itself at my feet if I just could be endlessly patient. If, at the end of the day, nothing came to my hand then I would at least gain myself; for patience and trust in patience is my true nature. All impatience is the result of impurity. I couldn’t afford to be impatient. Patience was my opener by which I would at last succeed in opening the oyster that was the world. I told myself repeatedly to be more patient, more organized even when under the thrall of a highly amorous nature and at the moment trying to cope with a huge, recalcitrant erection. I told myself that Nisha would surely come. I was just to silently wait for a while longer before she threw herself at my feet to be explored even more fully and deeply.

That day unlike other days, she took a lot more time to come to my room, as if knowingly testing my patience. An hour later she emerged out of her house well dressed and well-coiffure. I thought she would come directly to my room as was her wont after her husband had left for office. Instead she went outside the gated compound. When I watched her from my rear window I could see some novelties with her. She had tucked in a small Turkish towel to her sari fold at the waist and as she walked very leisurely the dangling towel was swaying side to side with each of her steps giving her a bohemian, gypsy kind of look. And I liked that. That also stoked the fire raging in me. Just as anything could be fodder for a raging inferno like a jungle fire, so also it was with lust. No wonder, Buddhism considered lust as one of the three fires in which the suffering humanity got burnt. The other two being hatred and illusion. Illusion meant the illusion of separation; the inexorable and often unconscious desire to think of oneself as separate and superior to all others. I was in lust and I was burning. How I wished I had been a Buddha, morally and ethically pure, perfect and serene or a Confucius never leaving for a moment the Golden Mean. No more would I be burnt by the three fires.

She was walking to a laundry at a little distance. I could see her talk with the laundry man, possibly to get some of her laundry done urgently. Then she returned with the same leisured steps. When one had the whole life to spend as one liked like the millions of Indian urban middle class house wives freed from the burdensome duties and responsibilities of joint families, without the modern day distractions like T.Vs, mobiles or video games that are engineered or structured to fill up or eat up one’s time, it was wise to go about life leisurely, deliberately and consciously which was what Nisha was precisely doing. It had become her habit which has been rightly called as second nature. Sometimes I think that no matter how much consciously, deliberately or leisurely one performed one’s daily routine, monotony and boredom would set in one day sooner or later unless some varieties or novelties were also there in one’s life. Possibly Nisha started her affair with me when her life had fallen into one such monotonous rut. Why she chose me out of so many eligible males present in the compound would remain a mystery for me. Probably she had that uncanny ability to recognize in me the same kind of a victim of boredom and monotony. Yes, my life too had fallen into a repetitious pattern that lacked joy and creativity. That probably explained the bond that was formed and forged between us as we came closer. Sex was the glue that held us together but what attracted us to each other was probably like that of a drowning man’s wish for life-giving air, just to be out of the water. She was like fresh air for me as I suppose I was for her. That’s why we enjoyed each other’s company so much. Or we might have some residual karmic past to settle; in some past life we might have been a couple. I won’t ever know. But one thing I am certain that a man or a woman would surely sacrifice anything including the serenity, peace of a moral and ethical conjugal life unless that life also left some scope for creativity, enjoyment and zest for living. I think most of the extra-marital affairs are hence less to deal with sexual problems and more with spiritual ones.

So she was returning from the laundry. I could unmistakably see that typical womanly swing of hips which came so naturally to women, especially the Indian women. I guess the special kind of arrangement of pelvic bones with which the women are naturally endowed to facilitate the birth of their babies might have got something to account for that womanly shape and swings of hips and buttocks. To a horny man in the driving seat of a mountainous libido even that swaying gait acted like gasoline. It made me fire from all cylinders.
And then she entered my room and silently shut the door behind her. That she always did whenever she was unusually late in coming. I knew she must have surveyed the whole scenario outside and decided that now the coast was clear enough to sail our little amorous boat into the ocean of passion. To say that I fell on her like a bull who had smelt the oestrum of a cow on the heat or a male insect who had smelt the pheromone of an ovulating female would not be far off the mark. I confess there was nothing refined, human or civilized about my behavior on that day; it was rank and out bestiality on display. Where was that man with “exceptional restraint,” as Nisha once had spontaneously pronounced about me? That man was nowhere to be found. Inside the room there was only a beast. Without much ado I began to undress her and fondled her breasts and sucked her teats and lips for a long time. Inevitably with Nisha a time came after fifteen or twenty minutes of lips and nipples sucking when she would signal me to stop. That meant she was successfully brought to the same stratospheric libidinal orbit in which I had been orbiting for a long while. That also meant time had come to take our lovemaking to a deeper level or to the next higher level. We couldn’t afford to tarry any longer at a particular stage of the lovemaking act without attracting monotony to ourselves. So her signal was to move on with nature. We were nature’s children. In the lovemaking act we were relentlessly prodded and goaded to move on till the goal of orgasm was reached. We were also given numerous clues to synchronize our acts and anticipating each other’s moves, responses and adjusting oneself accordingly were the high points in the art of lovemaking.

If I wanted a tell tale physiological sign that would confirm me her readiness to mate, her state of heightened sexual arousal, I had just to lift her sari and inspect her vaginal region which unmistakably showed a small rivulet in spate. It is her seminal fluid gone wild and berserk, it usually breached all dams and jumped both shores. So without making any more delays and to put an end to my pulsating libido, I mounted her on the bed. She was looking happy; a joyful smile was evident on her face. As I shoved in my erect penis and made just five or six deep thrusts, something stung me nastily from inside her vagina.
I blurted out an “Ahh” in pain and said, “Nisha, your cunt stings!”
As I immediately pulled out my penis in pain what I saw I couldn’t at first believe. Deep gash had been made on the foreskin and red blood was spurting out. The pain was sharp and throbbing. Seeing this Nisha too sat upon the bed and remarked that it had happened once with her husband too.
I asked, “What for this sting is? Who is stinging?”
Nisha laughed and replied that no one was there to sting. It was her copper T, an IUD, which had somehow come down so low from its usual position that it had scarred my thing on contact.
I asked, “What is the remedy?”
She replied,”Nothing. Just push the thing a little deeper with your finger. All will be O.K. But you may have to take a day or two of rest from sex in order to heal the wound and not to rupture the wound again.”
I said, “I am not going to take rest even for a day. A few minutes rest at the most and then whether the bleeding stops or not I will resume the act from where I had left.
As we both watched red blood spurting by, I said,”Nisha, so much blood is going waste and I am also experiencing a throbbing pain. Couldn’t you take the thing in your mouth and suck the blood dry? I would also feel very comfortable and relieved in your warm and moist mouth.”
I didn’t think she would comply. But surprisingly and most touchingly she did exactly that. Without wasting even a second she brought her mouth to my loin and very tenderly and lovingly took my thing into her mouth and sucked it exactly in the fashion I sucked her lips and teats regularly and religiously for a long long while in which the world outside just ceased to exist. Her act of sucking my penis was even more commendable. While I sucked her clean, freshly bathed breasts, she sucked my penis which was bleeding and was liberally laced with vaginal fluids at that time. She didn’t even wipe it clean before inserting it into her mouth. She had no such squeamishness or undue concern for hygiene. In that very touching gesture I felt completely one with her.

My view of the world, especially the world between our loins, surprisingly coincided with her. My view was that our mouth contained more germs, bacteria and other microorganisms than either our anus or the sexual organs. So whenever I kissed or sucked Nisha’s body I did it with a kind of abandonment which might seem shocking to some or be considered as unclean or unhygienic to some others. But surprisingly Nisha had no such qualms and she seemed almost a cloned copy of mine as far as the acceptance of each other’s body was concerned. The only visible difference between us was that Nisha did all such acts while keeping her eyes shut and I did keeping my eyes wide open. I didn’t want to lose even a second of this kind of intense act by failing to register it in my consciousness. It could be said Nisha felt me more in her shut-eye position while I ‘saw’ her more in my wide-eyed open position. I can’t say who was the gainer or who was the loser. All I can say was that while she was sucking my bleeding and slimy penis in her shut-eye position I felt a very strong surge of tender emotions welling up in me for her. I stroked her hairs; I stroked her face and for umpteenth time kissed her face bending awkwardly from my sitting position on the bed. Again I felt that oneness with her and through her with the whole universe; the same oneness, devoid of all sense of separation from the other, which is so desirable by all mystics, seers and by many lay men and women of all religions. Who has not experienced the burning pain of separation at sometime or other in life, who has not been deluded by the illusion of separation and hasn’t longed for peace, harmony by becoming whole again by a vision of our essential oneness? Buddha said, “All life is one”. Through such acts of kindness and closeness and deep feeling and concern for others Oneness could also be realized. We are just to see the other through the uncontaminated and unselfish eyes where we didn’t have any personal axes to grind.

Nisha came to my life towards the fag end of a decade old reign of depression. I was weak, pessimistic and despondent after a decade of straining with all my might to break free from the vice like grip of the depression. What kept me alive during that period were some books and I fought on to keep the monster at bay without ever taking the help of drugs of any kind. During that period when I was hopelessly plodding my weary way, a line from Samuel Beckett’s play “Waiting for Godot” came to my mind often. “I can’t go on; I must go on.” I must have uttered that line hundreds of times to myself especially during those days when the vice like grip was most complete and total. To that scenario of my life Nisha entered like a breath of fresh air. I was already enjoying periods of peace and calmness but Nisha gave that human touch, especially the womanly touch which I so badly needed. As for her she too went through similar angst almost for an equal period for different reasons but nevertheless as authentic as mine. So in a sense we complemented, supported and boosted each other. That explained while I repeatedly told her that she had chosen a bad, lousy lover for herself she stuck to her view that I was almost perfect for her. She corrected me by saying that she had not chosen me; I had been returned to her after a decade. When I still insisted that she had made a poor choice; to my unbelieving ears she declared that if I needed proof of my worthiness, future would only give ample evidence of them. To someone who had just managed to emerge out of a pall of gloom and darkness this was light and life. She reposed full faith and confidence in me at a time when I didn’t have any on me. That was when I was thirty. Now I am nearing sixty. Only two years from hence I will be retired from Govt. service. I don’t think her prophecy has been fulfilled in any way. I don’t think I have a future. Just coping with the demands of the present moments and situations has been a full time job for me. I hope she hadn’t meant that seriously. I have also not taken it seriously. That way lies less frustration and disillusionment.

I don’t know if I deserved her love, confidence and trust in the first place. All I can say is that I am grateful for her reposing so much confidence in me, her bestowal of so much love on me. My association with her lasted exactly two hundred days. Then the Existence which had so miraculously and unaccountably brought us together also devised a game of separation to make us drift apart till we were out of each other’s lives. But so long we were together I experienced repeatedly those moments of Oneness, togetherness, that merging of the personal and private self in the universal, impersonal Self where we existed not for attainment of any personal and selfish ambitions and achievements but for consciously being our true self which is being kind, compassionate and good towards all living beings. Eastern mysticism which is so much distrustful of sensuality and sensuous pleasure utterly lacks the experiential confirmation. Even animals, birds and insects know better and hence discard the nonsexual way of living altogether. It is only the megalomaniac human ego which wants to attain the elevated status of imaginary gods where sexlessness or celibacy is associated or synonymous with godliness or divineness. I know what celibate priests and God men have been doing throughout the world and throughout the ages. I have no taste for such divine life. The sacrifice is so enormous; the reward is so puny, trite and mostly consisted of rehash of old, secondhand opinions and experiences. Of course, there have been exceptions; a Buddha, a Ramana, a Shankaracharya, a Ramakrishna or a Vivekananda. They were great not because of their celibacy but in spite of it.

Nisha was not only an excellent mate of mine but a good wife to her husband too. It fell to her lot that she had to choose to live for some time the kind of life she lived. She had to do a lot of balancing act during that time under the stress of which many lesser mortals would have caved. She never talked or encouraged me to talk against her husband. In her words,” I cannot tolerate my husband belittling my lover nor can I tolerate my lover belittling my husband.” Circumstances so conspired with her that she was forced to lead a life where her husband and her lover were not the same person. But she tried to make the best out of her situation. She never intentionally hurt anyone. She was even extremely unwilling to hurt a mosquito sucking her blood. She must have suffered some poisoned barbs from her husband for her too close for comfort kind of association with me. But she never shot back nor gave any opportunity for him to feel slighted. She never compared one with the other. Each one was equally important for her, so she never took any step that would jeopardize the fine balance of peace and harmony in her home. She kept her relationship with me a secret in her heart, tucked away safely from all prying eyes with all her customary diligence and meticulousness. Discussing about it with anyone else, including her husband was like dragging a very precious, personal and private thing to the marketplace for public display and thereby doing a sacrilege on it. She would never do it. I too never discussed our love with anyone else.

It is only after more than a quarter of a century after our affair was over and after protecting the identities of all main characters by changing their names I am writing about this love story. A few lines before I mentioned that she never compared me with her husband or anybody else. But the same cannot be said about me. For instance, once I asked her, “Please tell me about the love life between you and your husband”.
She replied, “It would be better for you if you don’t press me for an answer because I know you will be hurt and what you will hear may not be to your liking.”
I replied,”Nisha, your reply may hurt me; nonetheless I should like to hear it.”
She said, “Take today itself for an example. Within the last 18 hours we have had sex three times.”
I asked, “Please tell me exactly when you had those three sessions?”
She said, “The first time happened in the dawn just after I came back from the garden after plucking some flowers for the Puja. When I had gone out he was asleep. But as I came in he was awake and finding the children still asleep expressed his desire for sex which I complied as always. By the way, I have never refused him sex. The next time it was in the afternoon after we had taken our lunch. You know today is his holiday and unlike the other days I am available to him throughout the day. The third time it was in the evening when the boys were still out playing crickets. So this is my answer. Are you happy hearing it? I know you can’t be because you love me so much. That’s why I was so reluctant to reply.”
Strangely, though I had thought of me as incapable of being shocked by whatever might be her reply, yet frankly I admitted that I was shocked and had a feeling as if I had eaten a bundle of grass. Such is the power of illusion. Almost everyone is under the illusion that his brain power is the best; and a corollary to that is his sexual prowess is also the best under the sun. Nisha’s candid reply just decimated that illusion for some time. I said sometime because fragments of the illusion would again coalesce and come together and again enshroud the human mind. Myths, beliefs and illusions are hard to discard or obliterate.
I replied, “Yes, I am feeling a bit uneasy. But the question is not how I feel at hearing a fact. The question for me is to know the facts, however pleasant or unpleasant they may be. So just tell me whatever the truth is. I know I am in love with a married woman who must be having sex with her husband. I ought to have been prepared to hear such truths.”
Days passed by. My curiosity, as usual, in matters of sex knew no bounds. One day I asked her the question which had been lurking at the back of mind always.
I asked her,”Nisha, please tell me how do I stand in comparison to your husband in the matter of sex. Please give me a frank, true and as far as possible emotionally detached or uninvolved answer with no concern whatever to my personal reactions, from all angles and sides of the issue including an assessment of my instrument vis-à-vis your husband’s.”
She replied, “What you will hear may not please you because you might be unfavorably compared. It is better if you don’t press me for an answer.”
I said, “You know I have always wanted to know the truth in all matters. It doesn’t matter if I cut a sorry figure in comparison with your husband. I know a decade of depression has severely affected my health. I also know your husband has an athletic body and he is far more handsome than me. So I won’t feel slighted however you may describe me or my instrument.”

I don’t think the world would have been as wise and well-informed had not someone took the courage in his hands and asked the difficult question that lurked in many peoples’ mind but none had dared to ask. I am led to think so because what came as a reply to my difficult question was like so many gems cascading from Nisha’s lips. I think mankind would be richer by taking heed to it. I certainly have.

What she replied took my breath away. But after the initial shock I recovered ground surprisingly fast in her estimate because after all her entire statement and the vivid descriptions in it were not against me. Towards the later part of her almost clinical description of our private parts I scored some brownie points whereas I had prepared myself for thorough drubbings.
She said, “So far as size is concerned my husband has a bigger penis than you. Even in the completely erect state you show some infirmity unlike my husband’s which is almost like a ramrod. But what you lack in size and firmness you make up, I should say more than make up, by your prolonged impassioned kisses, strokes and especially sucking of my lips and breasts. He doesn’t like all these elaborate foreplays. He doesn’t have the necessary patience. It seems he doesn’t get much pleasure out of kissing and sucking. For you foreplay is as much important as the sex act itself. Coincidentally that also pleases me more. I reach orgasm with both of you. But to speak honestly, I reach orgasm more number of times with you than him. But I must warn you here against thinking that I come to you for orgasms. I come because I love you and because you make me feel important, valuable and precious. So this is my answer. Did you like it?”
I said, “I did more than just like it. You gave me very valuable insights into the workings of a woman’s mind, what she likes and what she would love to be done with her to give her the maximum pleasure out of the sex act. By sharing this information you have made me a better human being, a better lover because I consider the sex act as a way of giving one’s partner and oneself as much happiness as possible with all considerations for the other in the common pursuit of mutual love and oneness.”

I have digressed a little. Even digressions and detours one takes in the pursuit of love, peace, happiness and oneness are lovely. I was stung viciously in my penis from inside Nisha’s cunt and so had to take a halt in the middle of the sex act to stem the blood flow and recuperate from the pain, both simultaneously getting done by her glad insertion of the full penis into her mouth. With her moist and warm mouth around my penis I felt much better. The libido had returned with renewed vigor for the mouth treatment was novel and any novelty in the bed was a great aphrodisiac. All misgivings regarding not being able to perform or having to take a day or two of rest had disappeared. I could feel my penis hardening again insider Nisha’s mouth and as if it were straining at the lease to go and perforate and snugly fit, where it should, inside her cunt. I could hear it sing,” I think I can; I think I can”. It couldn’t be restrained any more. Exactly five minutes had past after she put it into her mouth.

So I withdrew my penis from her mouth and without seeing whether the bleeding had stopped or not I let it jab into her equally wet and moist cunt. Believe me or not, even after this bloody affair, my throbbing penis immediately swung into action and very swiftly engorged itself with blood and transformed itself into the most monstrous erection I have ever had. Sex with that kind of erection and with a mate like Nisha was a thing for which many Presidents including the President of US of A would envy.
To keep the danger element alive and to make the sex act resemble the game of Roulette I had not pushed the IUD deeper with fingers. The danger of the IUD gashing the glans of my penis was so real. But I was willing to take the risk as that was a welcome novelty. Moreover, I was experiencing the highs of a heightened sexual excitement that stifled or muffled pain, so I couldn’t be risk averse.
I was initially a little afraid of the sting from the IUD, but with each deep and forceful thrust I regained confidence. In order to give me even more courage and boost my morale, after a few deep thrusts I began to utter the words,” Oh Cunt, where is thy sting?”
Nisha giggled at that turn of the words and phrases. A few more deep thrusts and again I would say,”Oh Cunt, where is thy sting?” I continued going deeper and deeper as if I was possessed, as if I was chasing after a demon. With that kind of hard erection I couldn’t afford to just skim the surface. To my serious, determined face Nisha gave the complete contrast. She was all the while giggling, laughing and stroking my back, face and neck. To me she looked as if she was the most beautiful, the most perfect woman on the Earth. Not a trace of the awkwardness at the change of sari on the platform of the well could be associated with her; as if that was some other person. Now she was only at her best and strangely I too, notwithstanding the danger from the murderous IUD, was at my best. Things couldn’t have been better or more perfect. The world, it seemed, had no better sight to show than a contented pair of lovers like Nisha and me. All our moves were so appropriate and synchronized that not only we felt oneness in our minds and hearts but in our loins too. As always, as we reached orgasm almost simultaneously, Nisha’s was a muted affair but mine was most mind shattering and noisy, to speak the least. Nisha always deliberately muffled her intensity in orgasming as she said she got a migraine triggered simultaneously with intense ones.

Two days later I met the friend who was instrumental in finding me that house. He called me from the back and as he drew level he informed me that he had been to my housing colony. I asked why he didn’t drop in. As he replied I was taken aback. What a lousy person had I been! In the midst of the bloody game of love we had exceeded time limit, made noises, giggled noisily and for once had thrown all cautions to the wind. We couldn’t afford to be so careless again. Nor the Existence might be so sparing always.But sometimes I didn’t want to care. Didn’t the Patriarch of Zen Buddhism say,”From the beginning not a thing is”? I believe we are but aspects of the universal Mind only which always knew. So why be unnecessarily worried and anxious? We could relax and rest in that Mind peacefully.