More than Words !

the snow is falling in the mountains.. from azure blue to white to that yellow sun.. streams of reveries of worlds in the water cycle of life.. pebbles; every moment a pebble universe of infinity.. oh, emerald emptiness, the river ganga flowing through the crown jewel of ShivaSakti... the evening wind of mornings yawn.. in sleep all is one.. in wakefulness all is one.. the distance is but a mirage.. crystal winter is painting the mountains white for you, the current of waterfalls slowly uniting in white is now dancing in the rainbow color of light.. remember to dance in the coldest winter night enveloped in the warmth of darkest dark.. where darkness and light unite  .... a painting inprogress inspired from Nicholas Roerich

When a culture faces epistemological breaks, it suffers a fate of subversion, for it cannot unhinge itself from the imaginal blockages. It limits itself from entering the realm of the unknown. This is when a culture loses its respect to philosophy, and spirals out as its own doom. In this abandonment of the respect to philosophy, how will the culture break free from its own shadow and integrate itself in to the possibility of a future, a NEW future, a FREE future? A future where imagination is an act of knowledge, not sleep. Take for example a culture which constructs of a family of four living a happy life. Very happy middleclass life. That’s what most of the 7 billion of us can dream for and achieve. Or maybe it is the best-case scenario. But for how long? The inner voices will be too loud before the family itself will collapse. It is bound to collapse. It is collapsing. It has collapsed in a lot of human places of plastic perfection and deep sleep. A state of forgetfulness ...

.. there stood she again staring down the narrow tunnel of memories .. a twilight masked as the dusk covering her journey as the quiet spider making its move toward her favourite book, for unknown reasons… the invisible and uncontrollable rumble of the thinker... lying in the bed… a silent flickering thought of how this world is unfair to itself.. .. or how the loved one seems to be so unfair or may be love .. who remains awake looking at her from both corner of the highway.. and also leaves with every vehicle that passes this way.. but does it matter?.. her freedom… the facade so bright and clear she is free, she thinks she is free… only escaping the torture of folded realities .. who is thinking that thought?... gazing upon the shapes of the shadow laid upon by her dreams, …??who is this dreamer gardening the flowers of outlined direction, directionless caring if the outlook of freedom should look in a certain way, and if not, it's not fair ..engaged so deeply i...

the dreamer's infinity  looks like a painting from visions of Blake  there, alive, deep, poetic  b ut quite untouchable  like an unrequited song of a nymph  that echoes everyone's heart, but no one listens  or no one knows what it is  reconciliation it is like a spiralling flame burning deep within the quest  toward  the sorrow of the fleeting beam of creation  the moment it creates, it vanishes  the moment it vanishes, it creates  an endless pit or  maybe an endless bliss  paradoxes painting paradoxes, he remembers   illumination  you touch my heart with your eternal smell  'I' look for it everywhere  ....opposites reconciling ......... bondage oh! liberation  an intimate communion  the unstruck music  nothingness  for bliss is despair  transmutation  the sun said, I am the light  I laughed  so she de...

closely knit blood vessels intertwined as the cathedral of ONE self-standing electrical impulses interpolated in natural condensation of love drumbeats breaking barriers as carriers of irony and charm mingling deep into the void as the lover's breath in radiating calm  what is iniquity when in a dream? and when the dream is life... the lotus as it grows in the bewildered embrace, is it YOU who decides? was the universal ocean churned by the gods or the lovers?  or... or, did the union of the love sprout as the oceans? who nestles in the heart? the impulse or the ONE? or is it the poetry of love, can it ever be found? is this poetry a foolish prattle trying to settle in the ceaseless cradle of a dream the silent screams of ignorance claiming to be one with the pearls of pleasureful thrills are you quite enough to hear this? ...the silence between the nude spaces

the wheel turns the apostrophized muse into the soliloquy of reflections blocking a view or a memory of an abyss and jumping into a sandstorm of an unusual dilemma an auditorium where they formed life fading slowly into a modesty of nothingness to break the 'fourth wall' of this catastrophe she has to defamiliarize the familiar ..the recurring dream, a horror she has to erase the faces of the lover, those he wore, around her, near afar the faces of the hide and seek or the hands of aesthetic illusions the 'wheel' suspended in the beams of her eyelids and memories played in a sequential loop the faces are not him, or her but a landscape of cognitive biases a tantrum of reality where many are stuck, many lost this act makes the bigger wheel turn as if an illuminated acknowledgement of life is laughing back at them laughing at everyone and itself and at this 'play' of actions and reactions to the apostrophized muse whose lov...

restfulness BREATHE.. inhale, exhale  she said to him, hear the songs of life singing to the ears of love help your heart feel the poetry  weaving inside of you waving at you  spinning as you learn to feel as a scientist.. learn to question  as a poet.. learn to breathe the beauty  as a philosopher... learn to see the vile as a mystic.. enter the temple enter inside the innermost sanctum of your being as the great Mahasiddha Sarahapa once said to realise it, rest in unstructured ease without meditating on anything nothing to do, silently singing the songs of love and entering the temple of life .. in the silence of restfulness  but that does not mean that the wonder has vanished away and no creativity emerges from that silence  its just the opposite  .. in the silence of restfulness is the great tree  the tree, as it branches towards the heaven  also roots towards the i...