Truth

Another Moment

What this moment has to say is the truth…
Image from Pixabay.

In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.  

Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.

Riddling the riddle, puzzling the puzzle, I walk ahead.  

The memories made, the dreams fulfilled and the forgotten ones merge to make me smile, to make me cry. The voices locked in the chamber of my heart can sing, it can make me time travel.  

The visions are laced with hopes and surprises and successes and miracles… is it not magical enough?

Promises are magical too, especially if fulfilled.  

And in this moment, I wonder how did it begin, how will it end, how much have I understood and how much have I measured, how to define and how to let go.

What this moment has to say is the truth… the truth that quietly then slips away into another moment.

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Sri Aurobindo

A way of life that knows simplicity and truth, that values every living thing, that changes with the changing time, staying focused all the while on the one who is beyond time, beyond space, the one who is eternal.


A life where every second is a celebration, where the soul sees the divine and dances with it, where the mind witnesses birth and death and yet continues. The drama of this wonderful life goes on.

A life that sees beauty all around, that values beauty, that breathes in beauty, that prays to spread beauty, understanding that the beautiful is the perfection is the divine… the divine which is within.

A life of action.

A life of responsibilities.

A life of renunciation.

A life of freedom.

The man who lived such a life was called Sri Aurobindo.

The Writing Continues

It is still writing. This writing won’t change. Or it will, if growth is synonymous to change, if evolving is change, if awakening is change, if change is truly blissful. It has bundle full of memories stored sincerely, memories that glisten when talked about. New vistas, old memories, feelings usurp, and the writing continues.

Yes, it continues, even though realisations slow down with time. Amazingly, just in a déjà vu second it speeds up, collecting all shades and colours of memories, infinite times faster than before. And what do memories do? Memories create, elaborate humbly, resolve, express, spread warmth and love. Pure, true love!

It in the making of itself uses the eternal ink of faith. Sometimes it believes and sometimes it smirks, cheats, forgets, sinks and turns away. But it nevertheless keeps writing, always. Either with a heavy heart or a feathery lightness. And when in the end it listens to its heart’s beating, the heaviness vanishes.

It in the making of itself? Whence did it all began? Listening to its memories it gets to know whence. A tough journey gets no support, but a rough straight answer. Accept or ignore the answer, toss it away or idolize it, the answer stays.

Incredulously, observably it lives in its own truth, the truth, the only one for it. While walking in every direction, on every day, in every moment, it distils the world through its sieve, adding and subtracting memories at its true whim.

Lightly, o lightly, it writes forgivingly, gaily, o gaily, it enshrines its memories, softly, o softly it speaks of the truth, deeply, o deeply, it sinks to reach the end, bravely, o bravely it passes on the pen. And the writing continues.

Weighing Up

Locked in a room without a door, I am divided into two. Now red, the walls resent me for something I am unaware about. But the other side of me knows nothing of it. Lost in dancing, this part of me can see a ray of light. A strange light that brightens up whenever I dance.

The red walls and the part sitting rigidly next to it can also see the strange light and me, dancing. Ecstasy shared a blissful piece with me. When did this happen?

When a part of me almost left the room, a part of me refused to move.

I know nothing about the strange light and this nothingness has brought me closer to freedom. But the flustered part of me is stuck and is waiting for an invisible veneer of conflict to accept defeat. And the truth awaits.

Know Time?

I never knew time moves
Then I saw it slip
I never knew time walks
But I saw it run
I never knew time loves future
Oops! I saw it kiss tomorrow
I never knew time is invisible
As I saw it in wrinkles
I never knew time is a quiet winner
Soon I saw it with the trophy
I never knew time and its friend
Strangely I saw it in my watch
I never knew time is kind
Again I saw it fall as a blessing
I never knew time is mighty
Only when I saw it with the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park
I never ever knew time
Jumping, crying, laughing, assuming
Truth is, I always knew time
I just never felt it
Until now

I heard you say the Truth

I heard you say the Truth.
 
They say it ends. Everything that begins will have to face it. It is the ultimate truth, yes, death is. But is it really?
 
Why does one hope then? Why is there a belief, a truth that empowers one to rise whenever they fall?
 
That what has gone, does it fills the emptiness?
 
An empty road on a hillside seems endless and you hope.
 
The sun sets down and the brilliant golden colour makes the eyes wet and you believe.
 
You see a butterfly loving a flower, a laugh nearby and then you share the smile…and you breathe in the truth of lifetime.
 

 

Orange black butterfly, orange love.
Image by JL G from Pixabay

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