Category Archives: Personal Reflections

‘Mountains should be scared of you’

 

“….what d’you mean?” I mutter but we are in an Inner Garden where creatures talk.

 

Tim

Tim Price
Off Center & Not Even @ T&L Photos
http://www.offcenternoteven.com  

 

I don’t even like these creatures. Our home lives next to a bunch of trees and more than once we’ve had to chase war gangs of bees with smoke, repellent, yells….looking at Stings here wasn’t helping.

 

“This is a friendly wasp and she isn’t batting an eye at us…” The Gardener’s eyes crinkle with amusement.

 

What’s the point? 

 

This is a dream metaphor I do not want right now. Want to feel strong. Don’t wish to be reminded of mountains, real or otherwise.                                        “Mountains should be scared of you,” He repeats.

 

Friend Wasp nods. “You human, are more complex than every galaxy put together. If you only knew….”

 

I need her to shut up but Words open me up, petal by petal. I’ve done Time muttering at ‘Mountains’, rummaging my yard for Mustard seeds of Faith. Here, in this Garden, Little Wings shouts Nectar: 

we are Honeycombs within,

 

we could scare mountains…

 

….

 

Thank you Tim Price http://www.offcenternoteven.com for your Image and Info on Friendly Wasp. 

 

 

 

…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

2 Comments

Filed under Writers, Inspirational, Healing, Challenges, Faith, Personal Reflections, Photographer

That Stairway inside you

 

Joepa prayed like he and God were thick as thieves, you didn’t argue if he said it was going to rain that day, or that you best stay away from the river a particular afternoon. He was an old school warrior kind of Prayer-er, he’d kneel and kneel straight. Not sitting sideways slumped in the floor, nor cross-legged, like a lotus. Then he’d go softer soft, till you had to lean in to hear the words that would arrive between pauses, as if he were listening.

 

brown and black wooden staircase

Joepa would listen when he prayed, That was new for me. I had heard other kinds – where you instructed God about the rains, exam results, menus, visits; requests for shoes, the right shade of lipstick, cricket matches; pleas for grand-aunt Mei to stop snoring, a certain relative to not visit that frequently, that kind of thing. When Joepa prayed he stood at a stairway, his eyes shut wide, sometimes he would tremble as if the replies that came down were too much for him, or even the Silences. As if his head or skin were too fragile for the intensity of those conversations that went on in the little room above JoseVilla where he had lived all his life, with his canes and hats, his books and shoes, his lovely wife and children.

 

On our many visits, Joepa would tell me little details about his life, about love and faith and trust. He hadn’t accumulated wealth or houses, because he gave them away. If someone wanted something he gave it to them – his radio, a piece of land.  “Some ask me don’t I have my own family. I tell them its what I had to do.”

So, it made sense to me – the way he prayed. He lived like he prayed. His words were lived at an altar, a glass altar here heaven and hell and everyone of us saw his reality.  He lived like he feared to ever hurt anyone. He saw others as if they were God’s own too. That’s what got to me. That’s why I believed that when he prayed he really was at a Stairway and it took him beyond the little room, beyond the nitty-gritty of asking, talking and not listening. Listening deep.

Today I sat with our youngest at home – he prays a few sentences or long ones, depending on the need. His needs aren’t exactly like yours or mine, unless you are visually challenged like him. He is intense, expectant. A few weeks ago he developed these motor/vocal tics twice, thrice a day, or more. All our check ups weren’t revealing much. Wait, Doc says. Go home. Relax. Let me know if there are changes, but right now, there are no signs to alarm us; 

back against the wall, we, I started praying, telling God what He had to do here. Three days ago, out of sheer fatigue I leaned back and refused to say another word, not at the powers that be, at medicines, at Docs, and flustered feelings;

leaned back and took a good look at Joh, our son. He’d changed. Changed from a restless young one, into a quiet careful human, watching the hours of the day – for “Tizzy”. We call his Tics “Tizzy”,

…we let go. Yesterday Joh woke up early (as he always does), ran to us with, “No more asking for healing. I’m thanking God….”

We did a happy dance small celebration, but here’s the news, Tizzy showed up just once so far. I don’t know how to say this without sounding over optimistic. For some reason the pressure is off. Tizzy or no, its like the floor’s changed.

If Joepa were here, he’d have understood better than us, what makes Joh pray the way he does, fearless, focused, as if there’s no veil between the spheres, as if we are a bunch of scaredy- rabbits for nothing. Papa Joe was my father- in- law, I miss him sore today. I miss how his hands trembled when he talked with his heavenly dad , there were no doubts at all between them. If there was a conversation it was about trust, about meeting each other, unconditional togetherness that placed no blame or need between that relationship to sour it,

thank you Pa.

….

 

 

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Blindness, Challenges, Faith, Fear, Healing, Hope, Joy, LIFE, Love, Miracles, Personal Reflections, Prayer, Writers

The Embrace of Healing.

This Post inspired by some extraordinary people

Kintsukuroi – (keen-tsoo-koo-roy) the 500 year old Japanese art of repairing smashed pottery. You’ve broken something? Fix it with gold. What a Gift in positive metaphor:

the story is told of a tea bowl that was a particular favourite of 15th century military ruler, Ashikaga Yoshimasa. One day a servant accidentally dropped the bowl. In the breathless pause (Ashikaga was known for a lethal temper), one of his guests reeled off a poem restoring Yoshimasa’s spirits, ” ..instead of its diminished appeal, the bowl is now the more beautiful for being broken. Its value was in its story. Its true life began, the moment it was dropped..”  Continue reading

6 Comments

Filed under addiction, Blindness, Challenges, Disability, Discouraged, Fear, Forgive, Healing, Hope, Inspirational, LIFE, Love, Personal Reflections, Writers

The Scream

 

 

 

 

The Scream, 1893 is the 2nd most famed painting (after Mona Lisa) and the saddest painting I’ve ever seen.Is Edvard the one leaning on the fence, (he talks of leaning in the fence, unspeakably tired), but then this is a self-portrait?

 

 

grayscale photography of man praying on sidewalk with food in front

From the moment of my birth, the angels of anxiety, worry, and death stood at my side, followed me out when I played, followed me in the sun of springtime and in the glories of summer. They stood at my side in the evening when I closed my eyes, and intimidated me with death, hell, and eternal damnation.
Edvard Munch

When The Scream got in the news again, (CoBo Social Art Blog), I stared at its decibel; Munch on that walk with two others separated by gaps and back drop blue swirl. In this pastel version,  center figure’s skeletal eyes gawk at a deaf Universe. The Scream is certainly no photograph, with random pedestrians; this is E. Munch’s mind, another heirloom hanging in there in the noise of us.

 

Yesterday a Reader’s comment here got me two words – ‘suspended understanding’ –

“…perhaps love, peace, joy, compassion, grace, beauty among others were never meant to be understood. Those moments when our understanding is suspended are to live for – where does it start or end? What actually exists in between? Is it good or bad or less significant than we make it out to be. More questions than answers ..and I don’t particularly like suspended understanding…”

Nor I, dear Reader but what if it makes for Masterpieces. One tries to own joy peace, love, strength, all that. Perhaps in the ‘suspended moment’ we cross fjords, chasms. Fenced in, we keel over at dusk. Is possible we hear each other’s screams in our own; perhaps that’s why this painting grabs the imagination of so many. One relates to it.

 

Image result for quotes of Edvard Munch

In our daily pursuit of happiness I’d like to think our best moments are perhaps in those suspended places, even if they are too loud to understand. or forget.

///

Innerdialects.

 

..

 

Below, excerpts  http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20160303-what-is-the-meaning-of-the-scream

 

*Art historian Jill Lloyd,  “The Scream ..sums up a changing point in history – man cut loose from all the certainties that had comforted him up until that point in the 19th Century: there is no God now, no tradition, no habits or customs – just poor man in a moment of existential crisis, facing a universe he doesn’t understand and can only relate to in a feeling of panic. That may sound very negative, but that is the modern state…this feeling that we have lost all the anchors that bind us to the world.”

Scream Meaning: Meaning of The Scream (1893) Painting by Edvard Munch: Art Analysis

The Scream, by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch

“..the pastel version is incredible, .. vivid..fresh.. like it was made yesterday. In my mind, it is the most intense version: because pastel is such a free medium, you can see Munch altering lines and changing contours. So it has this unbelievably charged, vital surface, which you don’t really get in the oil paintings in the same way.”

*http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20160303-what-is-the-meaning-of-the-scream

**

 

Related Posts :

https://raeindia.wordpress.com/2018/07/10/the-ultimate-sin-2/

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/edvard-munch-beyond-the-scream-111810150/

http://mentalfloss.com/article/62425/14-things-you-didnt-know-about-scream

http://legomenon.com/meaning-of-the-scream-1893-painting-by-edvard-munch.html

 

 

12 Comments

Filed under Paintings, Pastel art, People, Personal Reflections, Writers

My Peninsula today : 

 

I try not to look at the papers, the first one and half pages of the Times are Real Estate rearing skyscrapers- neighbor to ‘300 corporate offices’ & HDFC bankers swearing by Galaxy S9+, after which you finally get to the Times’ official Pg1Image result for photos of shiradi ghats

Nice weather, Bangalore 25 deg. C, cool shade, no thunder wails here- pic below is my home town (half a day’s journey from here) Mangalore Coastal ghats;

travel by rail Shiradi Ghats hosts some insane bridges. I am seriously stressed out by heights but the terrain is  beyond beautiful- old world mist and mountain before you roll into Coast. Was thinking on that and trying not to look at our Burari mass suicides, Delhi. Whyyy?

But look at this, TO KEEP KIDS IN SCHOOL TEACHER TURNS INTO DRIVER..ferrying 20 students, 4kms to school and back in his car across a forested stretch by a river, dangerous during the rains..” my hero for the day;

IMG_2997

beats chatter of Medical/Engg college fees that dwarf real estate prices, how do they do it? There’s that/ and there’s the nice Pediatric Neurologist at our son’s regular checkup-

he would not charge us his consultation fee, never mind colleague Eye Doc shearing me up with her nice brown eyes,

“… are you qualified to teach your son?”

We’d never met before, I was groaning inside at the amount of work this was going to take. Our kid is blind, not deaf, don’t talk loudly at him… that kind of thing.

I said I’d been a teacher (didn’t tell her that meant assisting my mum through college hours, that I’d been street school play teacher- my forte : non-academic fun, staunch believer in the University of Play therapy, ‘course  I did not tell her, I’m not suicidal);

Eye Doc, (re- re – confirming our son Joh was / is technically blind, and since there isn’t adequate education for him), puts us on to a person ‘who could train Joh for a certain fee.’ I looked at her through slits in my soul and told her our son could stand not structure, hadn’t we tried Integrated Education, and near every school in the city;

my husband, a gentleman – led us out that valley of the shadow of Edu- care at its darkest;

Neuro Doc honorary Medical Superintendent, took my wildly trembling arms in his hands and whispered that he had good reports about us from Open Schooling Chief herself,

outside the Center there’s kids in wheelchair, kids with popcorn,  a mother feeding her very young child rice and pickle, they were smiling and tired; our 3 pm sun hidden by clouds, like now. Yeah its a Peninsula pickling with the times

..

Innerdialects

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 Comments

Filed under ASIA, Challenges, Cultural Affairs, Disability, Humanities, Personal Reflections, Reflections, Times, Writers

My Fantastic Stalker

woman covering her face with corn leaves

Bright scarlet buds in grass, why am I staring ?

I’ve lived in fields and wave, e’en  mountain by the sea, off a river delta, an island, a town in a valley, but today I’m standing still

flower bloom blossom red purple

Today is different; 

there are things to do, promises to keep, miles to go as I sweep through lists of chores, but I’m Stalked 

by tender new leaf & bud –

Stalked by  God’s brand-new batch of new mercies 

blade of grass blur bright close up

Yeah tho’ I go thru’ the next 24 hours of work, love, laughter, sweat, tears, fears, crowds, hope, nail biting hope, 

I fear no evil; 

man s hand in shallow focus and grayscale photography

my Divine Stalker is with me, His messengers of Love –these darling scarlet Reminders reinforce the next words: you are not alone. Read that –

You are not alone.

2014-06-006

8 Comments

Filed under Design, Faith, Fear, Friends, Healing, Hope, Inspirational, Journals, Joy, LIFE, Lonely, Personal Reflections, Real life, Reflections, Times, Writers

I said a prayer for you, July

That you and I would find Wings, that we would fly beyond the limitations of dreams and desire. That we could finally shut our eye wide, to human frailty, and breathe, as it were not ours to play gods, nor revert to being babes of wrath,

image

Vi’s pastel angel

Oh July, I prayed a prayer that you and I would leave our skin behind and fly out of cocoons we’ve refused to leave; that we would let the process hurt if it must, that we would not be suspicious of skies no matter how high it appears to the little iris in our eye

July, stretch me our Wing, this Thing on my ‘blades I’ve thought was shadows in my shoulder; fly me out 31 days every minute, flung wide with grace, reckless grace in the sapphire of heaven around us, that we might see with shut-less eyes, our Wings

6 Comments

Filed under Healing, Hope, Inspirational, Joy, LIFE, Love, Personal Reflections, Writers

The Age of Rude ?

She stared through my face as if she never saw me –  stunned, I waited. Maybe there was a mistake. Maybe I was expecting too much, but the woman wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t acknowledge my presence. It was as if I did not exist.

The next day we met again, this time in an auditorium. She talked to everyone else, but not even a nodding good-morning hint at me, as if I weren’t there.  These were new family friends, not even distant relatives, no histories exchanged. No I hadn’t stolen her best dress at school, no I wasn’t an artist rival, nothing. She was a mom like me, a citizen of this same earth, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Its possible she was just tired, or thought I had nothing of use to say to her, or be. Is possible she was having a bad day, is possible she was ill, is possible she didn’t like my face, or hairstyle, or work.

But the question followed me all day and night, it stood there between my mirror and me the next morning, it sat in my toothpaste and hair brush, my shoes and sandwich.

 

This morning, I looked at images from around the world images of waiting….
ss-161216-yip-18_d9b16fd06c848a2e90e3d649508758d6-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

ss-161216-yip-22_777df00ec999ee653576222e760044f4-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

 

ss-161216-yip-19_4711e939b4f52105d537a0eeac20e4f7-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

What made something as beautiful as a human heart, such a refugee

ss-161216-yip-28_fc1ff00bd6f7d6da69a5d2d5bae4d037-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

ss-161216-yip-17_d1a89f3c20634ba4f5070806a97c45d2-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

ss-161216-yip-43_b9bc04da4ce709297b898c6d66a0781c-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

 

ss-161216-yip-01_0f0a821c841e73e75e18065e5e26de26-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

ss-161216-yip-14_ac305bcd00109045f2d8afa7700d200a-nbcnews-ux-1024-900ss-161216-yip-50_b9bc04da4ce709297b898c6d66a0781c-nbcnews-ux-1024-900                                                                                                                                                                                                                  424665_406549232738048_1671826253_n

 

1385_608910192463512_249059210_n

Leave a comment

Filed under ASIA, Disability, Discouraged, Habits, Healing, Homes, Hope, Humanities, Inspirational, Journals, LIFE, Love, Personal Reflections, Prayer, Reflections, Times, Writers

Thank God I’m not a mollusc or something…

WHAT I READ LATELY ON U TUBE – … Sy123 1 week ago   ” Thank god i’m not a mollusc or something. I wouldve missed out on knowing these beautiful things…  ” 

English: Notocypraea piperita Gray, 1825, a mo...

 

 

 

7 Comments

Filed under Explosion, Faith, Friends, Humanities, Inspirational, Journals, Literature, People, Personal, Personal Reflections, Places, Universe

Earth’s Open secrets

cucoon

Cucoons – like us, deep inside, waiting growing, breathing, living dying, breaking, tearing, crushed, expelled, shed skin and diminished, to excel ;  shellled, to spread wing, from little feet to skies….

DSC00276DSC00057
DSC00056 PiCourtesy RayCatcher

DSC00059Image0299-5Fields looking to the Sun ( from Home Fires Collection)

30 Comments

Filed under Human rights, Humanities, India, Inspirational, Journals, LIFE, Our Earth, People, Personal, Personal Reflections, Personality, Photographer, Photographs, Writers