Varshaa: Rain Melodies

In one of his stories, the celebrated Malayalam writer T. Padmanabhan writes of a man who loves to listen to the sounds of rain so much that he takes a cassette of rain-sounds with him abroad. When he feels homesick, he listens to the sounds of rain- the sudden outburst, the pitter patter of rain on the roof, on the ground and to the sounds of occasional thunderbolts. The rain has always held a fascination for artists and is a constantly celebrated theme in Indian literature and films. 

The theme of the rain is explored by the artists Jason J.Nair and Aby in Varshaa: Rain Melodies, a collection of five rain melodies that inspire both creativity and nostalgia. Though it bursts on you unawares and creates plenty of inconvenience, the rain serves as a muse or a source of inspiration for many writers and artistes. The rain pitter-pattering outside, the sound of thunderbolts flashes of thunder across the sky, the wait for the rains symbolised by the dance of the peacocks or the memories of getting drenched unexpectedly, there are so many threads that come together on listening to these rain melodies.

The Scribbled Stories

Though one comes across so many different kinds of writing on Facebook, one cannot possibly like them all because of various reasons- differences in taste, poor narrative style, even content that is unappealing or unsuitable to your age-group. But, something that I read breathlessly from beginning till end are the posts from The Scribbled Stories.

Reading The Scribbled Stories feels like reading a love letter that is so exciting that you read it again and again. They are so candid and thoughtful as it talks directly about lost love or friendship. For me, it brings before the eyes memories of college days, where one used to look forward to days of friendship and laughter.

Metamorphosis

The butterfly develops through a process of transformation called the metamorphosis. It undergoes change from egg, to larva, to pupa and finally to a fully grown adult butterfly. 

The human soul or psyche is often compared to a butterfly. Just like the metamorphosis of a butterfly, the soul needs time for solitude so that it learns to connect with the spirit of the Universe and to imbibe lessons of wisdom, self-knowledge, humility and healing.

❤Have a nice day❤

Twin flame connection

Kindness

World Environment Day

31st October 1819: An Excerpt from the Diary of John Keats

31^st October 1819

It must be three hours past midnight and though I have been trying hard to sleep, I am wide awake as I am so excited and so possessed by a writing spree that I decided to get up from my bed and write by the light of this burning candle. For today is no ordinary day but my twenty fourth birthday and I find that I am too tired to write yet too excited to sleep. I have no other option but to get up from my bed and pour my thoughts into the blank sheets of paper before me. This has been my habit since my young days when I fell in love with the realms of imagination created by the pens of great writers such as Horace, Spenser, Dryden, Pope, Gray and Collins. I have tried my best to create a world of beauty like they have done though how much I have succeeded as a writer only my posterity can answer. For when this mortal body perishes and nothing will be left behind to say that such a spirit lived and died, my poetry would speak for me to the rest of the world.

I am too excited tonight that I cannot sleep a wink for my thoughts begin and end with my beautiful minx Fanny. Before I met her, I was just a plain young lad contented with solitude and the beauty of this natural world. The verses that I wrote extolled the virtues of a solitary life. However, the moment I saw her, my heart was seized with love and I experienced its beauty as sung by the poets. From the very first week at the house of Mr. Dilke, I realised to my surprise that my life was full of longing to be in her sweet presence and this foolish heart had become an absolute slave to her. Though she was stubborn and distant at first, later she became friendly with me when I discussed books with her. I love the way she wins arguments with me and her love is like opium to my miserable life.

For my life has always been a mixture of joys and sorrows with sorrows dominating the balance. I was miserable from an early age as my parents died quite early. The last year has been troublesome with Tom’s sickness and his untimely death. When I look back upon this last year, I think how Fanny has been a constant support to me through my personal troubles. If it were not or her, I would have died of grief! It was this last year that she turned from a beautiful minx to my only love and her sweet letters are on my table talking of her loyal love. For me, she is like a goddess, full of perfections and sweetness, to be remembered constantly as a source of loyalty and affection. Her presence in life helped me tide over the grief of Tom’s death and it inspired to compose some of the poems that I have scribbled this year. Sometimes, I wonder if I can whisk her away on a beautiful winter night like Porphyro does his Madeline and live with her till we turn old and bent.

I was reading Spenser last night and like always I want to write like him. His imagination is so powerful that he can paint pictures with words and I still remember my twenty second year when I first read him after borrowing Clarke’s copy of the Faerie Queen. I was just glancing through his copy, when I was struck by the loveliness of the diction and the images that went with it. I begged him to lend me his copy to read. That night, I was like a young horse that tasted the charms of a spring meadow. Just like the flower draws its nourishment from the soil that surrounds it, a good writer must be inspired by beautiful poetry.  When thinking of the art of poetry, one must draw inspiration from the works of great poets and create worlds of beauty where a stranger can inhabit with wonder. Writing poetry has to be natural; for one does not write for the sake of fame but because one is inspired to create a world of beauty through words. Every reader must create a beautiful world of his own so that one is guarded against the miseries of daily life that can turn the spirit weary.

It is much later that I became acquainted with the Greek epics through Chapman’s translation. Clarke recommended the book and I knew that I had to read it for his recommendations are always worthy of reading. My perspective of the world has never been the same since then as I have seen this world of delight from the ancient times. For me, the natural world is a land of comfort that can experienced through the five senses- touch, sight, hearing, smell and taste. This Earth that we inhabit is so full of mysteries and it beckons man to indulge in the pleasures that it offers. Its seasons are a delight -full of sights, smells and sounds that are inviting to me. I remember these gifts to the senses with pleasure, just like a night spent amid the intoxicating smells of flowering plants and try to recreate them with words when I sit down to write. Often, when I sit and dream, I recall the smells of ripening fruits in autumn or the glorious tints of the setting sun or the beautiful song of the nightingale and I am pleased that I have a power with words that I can bring these pictures alive to my readers as well. When I first started writing, I was just a lover of beauty but with time I have learnt that art needs to be about human sorrows and suffering too. Like a drop of water to the wearied traveller, poetry should offer solace to the humans worn out by the daily toils of life.

What worries me is whether I will live to realise my dreams as I have the same illness that my mother and Tom had. During my walks, I have been thinking seriously death. What if I were to die like my mother and Tom, sick with tuberculosis? Usually my thoughts are fully occupied by my lovely Fanny and the place she holds as a goddess in my religion of love. But in the last few days, I am preoccupied with the end of this life. How will that end come? I ask myself as my future stares me in my face and though I am fully conscious of the beauty of nature around me, my mind is beset with gloom as I wonder what will happen to Fanny!  For the last few days, I am feeling tired after a few minutes of exertion. From the signs of it, my hour of death approaches fast and I hope that I will remain brave till the last and not succumb to the despair that overpowers one when struck with the possibility of impending death. Will my words survive my death and live forever?

 

A Song

 

 

You are my favourite song that I sing day and night till I get tired of singing. You are my summer love of youth that come to me in snatches of songs and as pleasant memories though our love never got a happy ending like others did theirs. With you, it was always the silence that reigned as if we came from some primeval ocean full of ancient longings. You were the sun, the moon, the land, the ocean and all that this heart wanted to see around it.

It was as if we did not need words to speak of the magic that was between us, it was as if we have always known each other minutely and the much-needed words failed to come out though I tried hard when you were around with you. I wanted you to stay around with me always and it is your companionship that I craved throughout all the years.

What I remember is your mellow voice that spoke enthusiastically and warmly of things that moved you and the beautiful way words sounded when you spoke to me. Not that others do not speak enthusiastically or warmly or sweetly but this heart remembers you with fondness and exaggerates how you were, how you spoke and how you behaved. Now, eons later you have become a beautiful song that I know by heart and that might be sung a lifetime.

The Vagina Monologues

The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler is a celebration of female sexuality and contains around 200 anecdotes that were compiled by the author on sensitive topics such as sexual experiences, genital mutilation, pubic hair, menstruation, vaginal care, rape, sex and body image. When the book came out, people wanted to censor the term vagina and instead V monologues was used.The writer points out that vagina is a medical term and not a pornographic one yet most of the women use euphemistic terms when they want to speak about their vaginas. Ensler encourages women to say the word aloud as it will bring about freedom in speaking about their personal experiences that are too shameful for them to talk about including their desires and how they were violated or mutilated.

You suddenly realise all the shame and embarassment you've previously felt saying the word has been a form of silencing your desire, eroding your ambition...And as more women say the word, saying it becomes less of a big deal; it becomes part of our language, part of our lives, Our vaginas become integrated and respected and scared, They become part of our bodies, connected to our minds, fueling our spirits. And the shame leaves and the violation stops, because vaginas are visible and real, and they are connected to powerful, wise, vagina-talking women (Preface). 

 Ensler wrote as a celebration of female sexuality but the V-movement that became a worldwide phenomenon changed its aim to that of preventing violence against women. The book became an eye-opener for women who did not dare to speak openly about their sexuality. It celebrated a woman for her desires, her conditions, and her needs, and "did not classify her by class, religion, identity, or race" thereby threatening the silence demanded of women across various cultures. 

 

Energy

world turtle day

Happiness

Joy and Sorrow

Books

The heart

Present

prayer

Prayer to Shri Maha Devi Lakshmi

I bow to you, O Mother of All Worlds, O Lotus Born, O Four-Armed Giver of Boons. Gently floating on the Shatki Seas, sitting firmly on the Heart of Vishnu. O Maha Devi, sitting on a pink lotus, thank you for letting us see Your beauty, elegance, exquisiteness, perfection. Thank You for showering our soils with abundant rain, and for the millions of petals, flowers, fruits, seeds, nuts. Praised be you, Loving Devi, shimmering in golden adornments and wearing a splendid red silk gown. You are Shakti, Siddhi, Svadha, Svaha, Sudha. You are the purifier of this world. You are the evening, the night, the light, the darkness. You are Glory, ecstasy, joyfulness, intelligence, and devotion. You are Sarasvati. You are Maha Devi Lakshmi. You celebrate with us and You bring to us flowers, baskets of delicious food, a golden pot of coins, sacred plants, your beauty, your smile, the world as it is right now. You are the Knower of Great Truths, the Watcher of the Here and Now. O Auspicious One, you fathom the Secret Knowledge and are Supra-Insightful, Supra-Intuitive, Supra-Genius. You are the Science of the Self, O Devi, and you are the giver of the Fruit of Freedom (Mukti). Logic, the knowledge of all Vedas, the Tantras, worldly knowledge, and Raja Neeti are all yours. You are fully filled and are present everywhere in this world within and without your ideal, grandiose, or fierce forms. O Devi, who other than You could reside in the Heart of the Him who is the real form of all Yajyas, who is contemplated by all Gods and Yogis. O Devi, when you give up these entire Three Worlds, this entire creation goes to destruction, and then You Yourself choose to play with possibilities of an alternative world, compelled to give life another spin again and again through dozens of Kali Yugas. By your grace only, a person gets a Wife, Husband, daughter, son, house, family, prosperity, peace and friends. Those upon whom You, O Devi, bestow your kindness, they are so favored with good health, prosperity, safety, peace, and happiness. You are the Mother of these entire worlds, and the Goddess of Gods. Vishnu and You, O Mother, are present everywhere in this moving and unmoving creation. Please favor us with continued work, good health, wealth, home, farm, animals, enjoyables, clean water, and food. O Vishnu-Vaksha-Stal-Vaasini, help keep us Loving relations with our Wife, Husband, daughter, son, parents, family, spiritual community, alter-egos and friends. O Devi, Protect our valuables, books, tools, appliances, art, jewelry, personal belongings, and home life. O Pure One, your presence moves us to now celebrate purity, kindness, truthfulness, and goodness. You help us, O Devi, to become admirable, virtuous, brave, fortunate, full of goodness, and intelligent. O Devi, even Sri Brahma Ji is not capable of praising Your greatness. Thus, Maha Devi Lakshmi, may You be satisfied with us and don’t ever leave us.

Prayers to Inanna, the Queen of Heaven

Mighty, majestic, and radiant, You shine brilliantly in the evening, You brighten the day at dawn, You stand in the heavens like the sun and the moon, Your wonders are known both above and below, To the greatness of the Holy Priestess of Heaven, To you, Inanna, I sing! I say, “Hail!” to the Holy One who appears in the heavens! I say, “Hail!” to the Holy Priestess of Heaven! I say, “Hail!” to Inanna, Great Lady of Heaven! Holy Torch! You fill the sky with light! You brighten the day at dawn! I say, “Hail!” to Inanna, Great Lady of Heaven! Awesome Lady of the Annuna Gods! Crowned with great horns, You fill the heavens and earth with light! I say, “Hail!” to Inanna, First Daughter of the Moon! Mighty, majestic, and radiant, You shine brilliantly in the evening, You brighten the day at dawn, You stand in the heavens like the sun and the moon, Your wonders are known both above and below, To the greatness of the Holy Priestess of Heaven, To you, Inanna, I sing!

Hail Mary

Hail, Mary, full of grace! The Lord is with Thee. Blessed art Thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, Jesus. Holy, Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Hail Holy Queen

Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve: to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary! Amen.

Orphic Hymn to Gaia

Oh Goddess, Source of Gods and Mortals, All-Fertile, All-Destroying Gaia, Mother of All, Who brings forth the bounteous fruits and flowers, All variety, Maiden who anchors the eternal world in our own, Immortal, Blessed, crowned with every grace, Deep bosomed Earth, sweet plains and fields fragrant grasses in the nurturing rains, Around you fly the beauteous stars, eternal and divine, Come, Blessed Goddess, and hear the prayers of Your children, And make the increase of the fruits and grains your constant care, With the fertile seasons Your handmaidens, Draw near, and bless your supplicants.

Divine Feminine Prayer, by

Mother of the Light, may you reign as a Goddess of Wisdom within my soul. Be present for me now and in every moment of eternity. Take my hand and lead me to the Birthing Light of God within me, for there shall I find my purpose in life revealed. Mother, greet me at the door, embrace me in your loving countenance and smile gently upon me. As your lost child, give me assurance that your grace is with me always. All streams spring from the font of your heart. Your eyes shine as the blue sea into my heart, and you forever find me worthy of your love. In the spirit of this revelation, I offer to reveal myself fully to you, who is my Divine Feminine being, at all times and in all ways. Amen.

Enlightenment

Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. Although its light is wide and great, The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. The whole moon and the entire sky Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass. - Dogen

Prayer

Harmony We reverently pray for eternal harmony in the universe. May the weather be seasonable, May the harvest be fruitful, May countries exist in harmony, And may all people enjoy happiness.

Giving To Those In Need

May I become at all times, both now and forever A protector for those without protection A guide for those who have lost their way A ship for those with oceans to cross A bridge for those with rivers to cross A sanctuary for those in danger A lamp for those without light A place of refuge for those who lack shelter And a servant to all in need. - Tenzin Gyatso

Offering the Peace

With Every Breath With every breath I take today, I vow to be awake; And every step I take, I vow to take with a grateful heart. So I may see with eyes of love Into the hearts of all I meet, To ease their burden when I can And touch them with a smile of peace.

Being Peace

If we are peaceful, If we are happy, We can smile and blossom like a flower. And everyone in our family, Our entire society, Will benefit From our peace. -

Thought for the day

As you search diligently, you will surely find what you are looking for, your at-one-ment with Me, the Source of all life. But you have to take time to search. It is something that will not drop into your lap without the deep desire in you to know Me, to know the truth, and to seek until you find what it means to you. This deep spiritual experience of inner knowing only comes to those souls who wants to know; therefore never dabble vaguely in these spiritual experiences. It is up to you to go forth and experience it within. How completely empty and futile life is until you start living you start living it to the full and putting everything to the test to see whether spiritual life is practica; and worth living! Start now doing something about it. Let there be no armchair spirituality. Let it be living and vibrating and there for all to see. Let Me see you start living a life now.

Thought of the day

Friends

Obstacles

Ripples

6th May 2021

Angel Numbers

Loves in colour

Yin and yang

Gayatri Mantra

Anahata chakra

Lotus

Rain Dance

Rain dance is a ritual that is performed in Native American cultures to invoke rain. It is commonly seen among the Zuni tribe and is performed by wearing feathers and turquoise or blue items. 

Icarus and the Sun

Knowledge

Knowledge

Spirit Animals

Second Chance

Meera and Akash enjoyed the time they got to chat with each other. It was a second chance for both of them and in a world where divorce is still viewed with suspicion, they were divorced and their children were with their respective spouses. Theirs was a casual acquaintance on facebook that led to friendship.

Chance brought them together and the moment they started speaking to each other, both of them felt comfortable after a long time. For a while, the old scars were forgotten and both of them felt happy being friends. It was on Friendship Day in August that Akash recognized how much they were more than friends. At twelve midnight, he stayed on chat so that he could be with Meera and she seemed quite happy with him around. They chatted till early morning and they shared their apprehensions about love and being in a relationship again.

My roots strangely

I belong only to you, my dream.

I dont belong to my place that left as a child.

I do not belong to my father's family since its all dead and gone, with a few bones scattered in a churchyard long and far away,

I do not belong to the place where I grew up,

Beside the River Green, my mother's family

Where it was always fun to be playing in water,

Yet too scary to belong,

For there were rightful inheritors,

More rightful than us.

Nor do I belong to a family which calls me my own,

Though the blood that runs through my veins is hardly theirs,

Nor do I belong to them who call me by a sweet name,

They do not know me at all, am a familiar stranger,

That nods and smiles and passes them by.

Its only you who know me, my love

My feminine spirit and tenderness,

My occasional clownishness in trying to belong,

To some name, some family, some tribe,

Where I do not belong.

You are where I belong, in the melting down of the barriers between you and me, 

and the all engulfing tenderness that follows,

That is the space where I see myself,

As yours having a name and being other than all these illusions.

A Process for creating my own reality

I connect with the Creative Source of the Universe-while I maintain this connection every word that speak becomes a creative truth. 

My intention with this process is for me to bring into my current reality the abilities, the ideas and guidance to bring me into alignment with my best possible outcome. 

I go back into the past, my soul knows exactly when, to just before the very first time that I believed that I was limited in the scope of my life experiences, and I make a different choice. I will not allow the limitations to hinder me, instead I choose and accept my unlimited potential in creating my own reality. This releases me to become the best possible version of myself. I am filled with gratitude and anticipation for all the opportunities now available to me. 

Source: Unknown

Yellow song bird

She was born on a rainy afternoon. People came to see her cursing their bad luck. Rain brought good yield and was a blessing for the soil, but wasn't it unlucky for a child to be born during day? The Little yellow bird smiled never guessing how the bird clan welcomed her. Even her mother thought she was unlucky for the very knowledge of her being was a pain to her mother. One day the baby would grow up and ask her mother, "If I were a pain to you, why didn't you kill me?"

But she knew her father would never kill her. He loved her fondly and named her a lucky name selected with care. Her mother believed that the name was unlucky too and screamed at her father. She was proved right when within an year he died. He came home one day complaining of body ache and died within a few days. May be he died on a rainy day too, the baby thought. She never heard of him except on rare occasions and that made her cry.

The bird clan always treated her as different. She was unlucky, they said. "Killed her father", they would whisper to their children. So one day she was taken home by her grandparents who belonged to another clan. Her roots remained there but she had to go. So she took with her the only heirloom, a feather belonging to her father.

The new life in the new clan wasn't very exciting. Everyday people would pass by and remark, "oh, this is the little unlucky bird" and she would stare at them with her big eyes. But as she grew up she learnt how to be happy but no one liked her being happy. "She's so happy; let's take away from her happiness". So her precious toys were given to poor children, her beautiful clothes to those who had none, her books to those who could not afford books. For a while she cried and protested but then giving became her nature. She held on to nothing- the past she frittered away, her books she gave away, her jewels and gifts she shared.

The bird clan expected only giving from her because one day like her father she would die too. They expected her to exist for them and then die. Whatever she did was treated with contempt and disdain. Others praised their children before her. Fathers sang praises of their children's small achievements and she had none to say anything good about her. Everyone talked about how ugly she looked and how she would sit still without saying anything.

Then one day a traveller came who heard her singing to herself and wondered at the softness of her voice and her flair for music. He took her with him and taught her music. The others in the clan stood and said " Now what bad luck will she bring him?". After a month he went away but the fire he had stirred in her heart remained. So she learnt how to fly just to be alone and practise her music. Never did she sang before those in her clan. Yet the trees, the night and the stars became her friends, who listened and praised her songs.

Soon other birds listened too and praised her flair for music but her own clan would say with certainty that it was all nonsense. So one day when a great musician praised her, the clan leader put her in a cage and kept two birds to guard her. She asked herself, "what have I done in my life to deserve so much of torment , contempt from other people and sadness?" She sat and cried. Why didn't my mother kill me? why? why? She sat in the cold rain, who tried to soothe her with its icy fingers. She would sit and shudder as the warmth in her decreased day by day.

One day the traveller saw her in his dreams and thought "Let me go and see what she do with the music that I taught her". When he reached the cage, he saw her sitting still with her eyes closed. When he called her by her name, there was no response. By the time he had opened the cage and touched her wings, her wings were frozen and dead. It was still raining as if she was in the realm of clouds singing along with them another melody.