And don’t you ever shrink so you can squeeze yourself into small places and small minds.
Grow. It’s a big world. You’ll fit. I promise.
And don’t you ever shrink so you can squeeze yourself into small places and small minds.
Grow. It’s a big world. You’ll fit. I promise.
As the rain drops trickle down the old glass window,
I stare into what I call ‘that world’, What an epiphany!
To see another world inside a tiny shiny dew drop
I see the petals of the cherry blossom tear away
And fall ever so gently on the snow white ground
The soft and gentle touch – reminds me, so clearly,
Of an emotion – evoked by her hand on my cheek.
A maple leaf just flew past me – I tried to hold it quickly.
They say, if one catches a maple leaf in mid-air,
All wishes shall be granted. So I let my eyelids drop,
Whispering, “God, help me remember her. Who is she?”
Only the tiniest of memories, her scent, scintillating, yet elusive.
The fragrance she wore, the way she smiled, intensely.
Only the tiniest of memories are tormenting me – I need more!
Oh, I need to know, who was she that had encaptured me in her love?
The Oracle lady had but hinted – was it a past life? Or a dream?
Why do I see her hazy silhouette, and skin radiantly glowing?
How can I not have memories, yet have emotions so precise,
How can I hurt so deeply, yet not remember what had pierced?
I sense her…
Fresh as the morning glow,
Deep as the cherry red,
Mystical as the ocean’s depths,
Dark as the empty night.
I sense her…
She holds deep pain inside
She wields soulful eyes
Her voice tries to sing a story
Her hand, outstretched in longing…
I sense her…
Yes, I sense her… she is real.
I don’t know yet – who she is,
or why she visits my dreams
I don’t know yet – why emotions overflow
upon her thoughts – each time.
Yet, I sense her in me.
Deeply in me… unwaveringly real.
She is a mystery, a mystery full of intrigue
She has trapped me in an embrace of eternity.
I sense her.. eternally.
I just almost finished watching the Korean drama ‘The Guardian’ (AKA The Lonely Shining God – Goblin AKA The Goblin) and this verse was inspired by the events in the drama.
Life, in reality, is very beautiful – each cell inside the various forms of nature – tress, oceans, waves, rivers, wind, breeze, birds, bees – throbs with the testimony of life’s relentless pursuit for happiness. Man has complicated everything with fear, expectation, pride, jealousy, greed and rat race.
In a mother’s womb were two babies. One asked the other: “Do you believe in life after delivery?” The other replied, “Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later.”
“Nonsense” said the first. “There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?”
The second said, “I don’t know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.”
The first replied, “That is absurd. Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord supplies nutrition and everything we need. But the umbilical cord is so short. Life after delivery is to be logically excluded.”
The second insisted, “Well I think there is something and maybe it’s different than it is here. Maybe we won’t need this physical cord anymore.”
The first replied, “Nonsense. And moreover if there is life, then why has no one has ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery there is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion. It takes us nowhere.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the second, “but certainly we will meet Mother and she will take care of us.”
The first replied “Mother? You actually believe in Mother? That’s laughable. If Mother exists then where is She now?”
The second said, “She is all around us. We are surrounded by her. We are of Her. It is in Her that we live. Without Her this world would not and could not exist.”
Said the first: “Well I don’t see Her, so it is only logical that She doesn’t exist.”
To which the second replied, “Sometimes, when you’re in silence and you focus and you really listen, you can perceive Her presence, and you can hear Her loving voice, calling down from above.”
~ Authored by Útmutató a Léleknek, a Hungarian writer
Note: I don't own the images and anyone who believes their photograph has been used here, please write to me and I shall connect with you asap.
One look at her and he knew she was a rag doll, a million shards of glass fixed together with something that was hardly visible – what held her together?
SHe intrigued him. He just did not know why he hired her. She was a mess. A clear mess. Deepika. Her eyes told it all – every broken shard shone in her deep eyes – blinding me into shock. What could have happened?
A heart break? He thought? Nope.. doesn’t look like. This is something much more deeper. He did ask her, “Have you ever loved someone?” And she just nodded. That’s it. Something about the way she fluttered her eyes made him feel that she could love deeply. As deep as her teary eyes.
But still, heart break wasn’t really what it seemed like. He had seen enough of life to know how many different faces this being called ‘grief’ wore. She was in grief. Yes. Absolute grief. That’s the right word. Grief.
Deep, dark, lonely, shrouded, NUMB.
A zombie. That’s what she had turned herself into. A zombie that knew only to work. Go back. Sleep. Get up. Come to work. Sleep. Nothing else. She hardly ate – and when she ate, it was tasteless crap, which she’d so sweetly share with me. Grief had turned her so numb that she couldn’t even make out the blandness of food.
WOuld you like to have coffee? Would you like to go out for coffee? I asked again, ensuring that she heard me. She looked up from her laptop. “Huh?? I don’t like coffee.” That’s it. This girl. This 30 something just turned a date into a coffee preference conversation. My Bloody Goodness!! She was either too smart or just too naive. Naive was a tall order – naive doesn’t exist these days. What was she?
All I knew was she worked – like hard labour. Effing hard labour. Tell her anything about the work she did, and she’d turn into this tigress – roaring and defending left right and center.
Something about her told me she could be trusted. Perhaps the mean gossip that went around about her ‘wierdness’ never reached her ears. Or if did, she perhaps didn’t care. Whatever it was, I could sense a flicker of respect for her. Unlike all other women of her age, she was just. A girl. Like a tiny tot that hides behind her mother’s sleeve – except that she hid behind her grief.
And she was determined to not let anyone shake her pieced up million shards up. It would have taken her ages – to pick up the pieces and walk tall again. I suddenly felt another sharp sting in the center of my heart. Protective?? Of course not!! I have seen enough. But the sting kept digging in and in – until it morphed itself into an arrow that pierced to the other side of my heart. I was confused.
It doesn’t really work that way. It doesn’t. But that sting was a growing desire to unbreak her. To peel off that pieced up skin to reveal a bright shining beauty that had retired some 5-6 years ago, I guessed, only to be proven correct later.
Deepika, he thought, somehow, I believe there would always be space for your hand in mine. “Give me your hand”, he said.
The lady doesn’t even turn her head!! She just gives a cross eyed look.
Phewwww. The Board Room fight was easier, I guess!!
Who does he think he is? Absolutely no sense of how to talk to a woman..!!
*back to her article
Do you think this is a paragraph from a Mills & Boon story?
Would you like to give him a name?
*Originally published 9th January 2016
PLEASE take the time to read this!
The Black Telephone
Those of us old enough to remember when the phone was wired to the wall, usually in the kitchen, can relate to this story. I loved this read.
When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was “Information Please” and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone’s number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.
The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. “Information, please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
“I hurt my finger…” I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
“Isn’t your mother home?” came the question.
“Nobody’s home but me,” I blubbered.
“Are you bleeding?” the voice asked.
“No, “I replied. “I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.”
“Can you open the icebox?” she asked.
I said I could.
“Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,” said the voice.
After that, I called “Information Please” for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, “Information Please,” and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her,
“Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?”
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly,
“Wayne, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.”
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone,
“Information,” said in the now familiar voice.
“How do I spell fix?” I asked
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.
“Information Please” belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please.”
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, “Could you please tell me how to spell fix?”
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess your finger must have healed by now.”
I laughed, “So it’s really you,” I said. “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?”
“I wonder,” she said, “if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.”
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
“Please do,” she said. “Just ask for Sally.”
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, “Information.” I asked for Sally.
“Are you a friend?” she said.
“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” She said. “Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.”
Before I could hang up, she said, “Wait a minute. Is your name Wayne?”
“Yes.” I answered.
Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you. The note said,
“Tell Wayne there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean.”
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Whose life have you touched today?
Butterflies in my tummy
From a far far away land of fantasy
For so very long, I truly believed
I had dead butterflies in my tummy
It’s taken too long for me to accept
That there’s no one but me
You know you are taken, taken, taken
So don’t cause butterflies in my tummy
Do you know how it feels
When so many I see in twos
A void begins to fill me up
In every cell through and through
Your intentions may be clear
I know we are friends dear
But the desert but has just one oasis to be
So don’t cause butterflies in my tummy
Oh it’s a great thing to hear
All will be okay when you love yourself dear
But nothing seems okay to me as I think why
Even the moon has the eternal company of the dark sky
Some in twos are craving to be one
Some all alone are wanting to find the one
If perfection were to be a tree
It would be like a cactus thorny
If perfection were to be a movie
It would but be just a tragedy
For the heers and the ranjhaas and the heeras and the pannas
Haven’t they all met with the same destiny
How would I then, be different?
Scarred for life by a narcissist with torment
Lost all my confidence, trust in self and worth
To be rebuilt all over from square one
So your request for a dance momentarily
Caused fluttering butterflies in my tummy
Yes yes I know I deflected it promptly
With words about pen, paper and a story
But hey, then this poem came through eventually
So don’t you cause butterflies in my tummy
Leonard Cohen: Anthem The birds they sang at the break of day I heard them say Don’t dwell on what has passed away Or what is yet to be Ah, the wars they will be fought again The holy dove, she will be caught again Bought and sold and bought again The dove is never […]Rumi: The Wound is the Place where the Light Enters You
Me: Hello God.
Me: I’m falling apart.
Can you put me back together?
God: I’d rather not.
God: Because you’re not a puzzle.
Me: What about all the pieces of my life that fall to the ground?
God: Leave them there for a while. They fell for a reason.
Let them be there for a while and then decide if you need to take any of those pieces back.
Me: You don’t understand!
God: No, you don’t understand. You’re transcending, evolving.
What you feel are growing pains. You’re getting rid of the things and people in your life that are holding you back.
The pieces are not falling down. The pieces are being put in place.
Take a deep breath and let those things you no longer need fall down.
Stop clinging to pieces that are no longer for you.
Let them fall.
Let them go.
Me: Once I start doing that, what will I have left?
God: Only the best pieces of yourself.
Me: I’m afraid to change.
God: I keep telling you: YOU’RE NOT CHANGING!
Me: Becoming, Who?
God: Becoming who I created you to be! A person of light, love, charity, hope, courage, joy, mercy, grace and compassion.
I made you for so much more than those shallow pieces you decided to adorn yourself with and that you cling to with so much greed and fear.
Let those things fall off you.
I love you!
Become who I want you to be, who I created. I’m gonna keep telling you this until you remember.
Me: There goes another piece.
God: Yes. Let it be like this.
Me: So… I’m not broken?
God: No, but you’re breaking the darkness, like dawn.
It’s a new day.
Become who you really are!!”
Author ~John Roedel
Hey God. Hey John.
Sacred Wild Woman Medicine
Shouldn’t these sinful things be banned from the face of earth?
For once, Dairy Milk got it just right. This could very well go on to be their winning product.
*Earlier posted on Sulekha.com in 2013
“Please help me out, bete. I have got a new laptop, and it has Windows 8. They have installed the softwares but I need to arrange everything so that it’s easier for me to find it. I had Windows 7 before this.” – So saying, Raghav Uncle expressed his distress in having to fumble across the extra hi-fi user interface of Windows 8.
I personally don’t like Windows 8 so much. Cumbersome and takes time to adapt to.
I could imagine how Uncle would have struggled for 3 weeks. I told him not to worry, and that I would set everything for easy access.
As I entered his humble abode, I see a room filled with a history of memories in the form of photographs, mementos and awards. A feeling of pride emanates just in the mere presence of the room.
“How is my grand daughter doing?” was his first statement to me. I told him I am doing well, and that I was here on a small project. It was my privilege to be able to meet him. First of all, he introduced me to his wife, who looked back at me serenely from the photograph. How many people honour their spouses in this way after they have left for God’s abode? Very few. I don’t know of any. Uncle has dedicated a whole section in his dining room to his late wife, declaring that this is my commitment and love towards her – it will always be there, so what if she is not with me today.
In my fruitful life of 86 years, I have no faults – except one. Just one fault. Just one regret.
I was taken aback. I asked him, Uncle, what regret do you have? He told me, “Beti, my wife loved me so much. The only regret I have is that I did not obey her. She wanted me to learn Sanskrit. She wanted to teach me Sanskrit. She was an expert in it. But due to my work commitments, I could not do that. Bas, that is the only fault I did.”
The simplicity of his words struck me.
Then he introduced me to his great grand children (through the pictures adorning the walls) – one of them had received a token of appreciation from Mr. Barack Obama, and had done his Great Granpa and parents proud. Ah, what kids, of course they have carried the genes of their smart thatha.
To see the room filled with relics of a life lived with great honor and principles, is an experience worth savouring.
What best to describe the same than to post this picture – which commemorates his contribution of ‘Highest Professional Standards’ to the Andhra Pradesh Police Department, in 1982, when he was awarded the President’s Police Medal for distinguished service.
And then, as I understood with what kind of difficulty Uncle was trying to share his wisdom with all us Sulekhaiites, I could see the will power of a man who had lived a life of strong principles and who wished to keep the enthusiasm alive, no matter how difficult and no matter how tough it got, with stomach cancer and low visibility in the eyes.
He showed me the video of his felicitation when his book ‘Reminiscences’ was launched. Late Mr. Y S Rajasekhar Reddy spoke a amazing words and really eminent personalities were present on the stage, remembering what service Uncle has done for the country.
There were anecdotes that he amused me with, especially the one in which he said,
Kamzarf Gar Daulat, Zar, Zan, Zameen Paa Jaye
Maaninde Hubaab ubhar ke Itraa Jaaye
Which in context, meant that, if it so happens that a man of low character suddenly acquires great deal of wealth, gold, land or woman, he takes pride and loses it just like a soap bubble, which flies for 3 minutes before it bursts.
What should be my fortune to be receiving wisdom like this straight from the noble grandpa himself!
As I set his laptop to make it as easy for him as possible, he blesses me with gratitude and wishes well for me, sharing with me, that he is completing 5 years on Sulekha on 2nd October.
At this age, he has been the most active member on Sulekha, and has written almost 550+ blogs.. What an achievement!!
Here’s congratulating him for his 5 years’ completion and wishing that he enlightens us always with his sher-o-shayari, life’s anecdotes and just plain blessings.
As I was leaving, Uncle stoops over a small plant in his balcony, and tries to pluck a leaf. He criushes the leaf, inhales and checks for aroma… and breaks another leaf and hands it over to me. I am not sure what to do with it. It looks like Tulsi. I ask, “Uncle, should I taste it?” Uncle said, “Bete, smell it first.”
As I smelt the crushed leaf, I felt the the most most most wonderful aroma I had ever smelt in life. And I exclaimed, “Uncle, This looks like a combination of Mint and Tulsi!!!”
And what do you know??? Uncle nodded and smiled, saying, “Yes, bete. It is. It is called…..” I think Mentha Arvensis.. (I don’t seem to recall the exact scientific name, but I am sure Uncle will correct me.
Here is a gallery I am proud of sharing with you all:
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Observe, Don't just see
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Hold Your Step Dear Traveler...--Michael Madhusudan Dutta
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