In the stillness of the early morning hours, the empty page stares at me. My pen is poised, ready to chart the course of the flight of my thoughts. The pristine whiteness of the page soothes my mind. Even before I have written anything, I am calm. With the process of writing I get in touch with that part of my soul which is nurtured by silence and blossoms with the light of attention.
“Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly, all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and Listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.” Linda Hogan, Native American Writer It was at a retreat that we were asked to look at our hands.
A popular show on radio requires the Radio Jockey to call up an unassuming person to chat about some simple issue. Slowly and determinedly the RJ escalates the conversation to a point where the person called comes down to angry swearing within seconds. This happens with unfailing regularity, much to
`Khalwat` is a beautiful word. I had heard it sometimes but its real meaning eluded me till I went for an art exhibition and found this amazing definition describing the work space and life philosophy of artist Nasreen Mohammedi. “Her art practice became her way of life, each inseparable from the other. The
She took one last look in the mirror to make sure her hair was in place, smiled and turned to leave. I observed her immaculate attire. Everything was matching to perfection. There was nothing in her demeanour to suggest that she was headed to the hospital. A new day had
“Go lightly, simply….Just go, and follow the flowing moment. Try not to cling to any experience. The depths of wonder open of themselves.” Frederic Lehrman Its four o`clock in the morning. We are prowling around like alley cats, getting our gear together and sneaking out of the house with stealth
This article is written by a Seventeen year boy, I thought it was worth sharing 🙂 On the Prize Giving Ceremony weekend I went for a night out expecting to meet my Grandmother at the English Book Depot, sitting behind the desk, with her radiance and that beautiful smile. Instead, my
Hot chocolate.. The cold is intense and bone- chilling. The surroundings are dark and heavy with depression. I wonder how people survive in a place where there is no sunlight for months on end. The grey and black clothes do nothing to alleviate the gloom. Thoughts of magenta, turquoise and
We had a manual type writer when I was growing up. I chanced upon it during one of my many forays into our ancient store room. Silent for years, dusty and weather beaten, it was begging for some attention. As I lugged it down to my room, all gasping breath
We had a manual type writer when I was growing up. I chanced upon it during one of my many forays into our ancient store room. Silent for years, dusty and weather beaten, it was begging for some attention. As I lugged it down to my room, all gasping breath
