Month: Apr 2020

Tribute to a fabulous Human we had the privilege to call our Brother.

We drive off Commercial street (Bangalore, Peninsula India), 3 pm, mid a month’s Lockdown- the streets are clutter free, we are armed with ID and saying ‘Nice!’ through the pain of losing our precious brother Sam.

Yes, he would’ve approved. “No big church service, just like he’d want it. No suit…” quiet words from his sister Dr.Prema Dhanraj, her eyes misty with love. No sad song & masses of tears. No hyper-parade of bouquets. Just a clutch of family members, though masked, distanced….

Beloved brother

He was a Minimalist with blazing intellect & humor. He lived to love but his love was quiet, no frills. If you looked for a compliment he’d say, “Nice!” Or “Good” complete with dimpled chuckle that I cannot get out of my system and shouldn’t.

My eldest sis Thel (Sam’s wife) had a Bible that we all wrote in; she snuck this in his casket: its lid standing on Stone nearby had “I am with Jesus” on it, it stilled me. Still does.

With him, I was my unselfconscious self: was it only a few years ago, he and I mimicked a local street drunks’ brawl lasting not a few minutes? Recently his health got fragile, his shoulders had that tiny tremor, you wanted to hug him just a little longer but didn’t dare make him think you were worrying. He could read your head, know your ‘unnecessary‘ thoughts!

Sam wasn’t big on ceremonious religion but had this Respect for God, a thing you didn’t mess with. It was the way he lived, careful, caring, sensitive to detail. You didn’t hide things from God, if you needed an occasional peg you had it in His presence. I remember asking him for a taste of his cigarette, I was 21. He choked laughing then gave me one: “Try exhaling that, k?” That was fun. I’m rambling. Running from memories I want to chase away, but they’re larger than life now.

The last time we spoke (10 days ago?) was an accidental Group-Call my second sis Li made via our sisters’ WhatsApp ‘Mermaid’ Group, yes mermaids πŸ˜…, don’t forget we girls grew up on beaches, (once on a sand dune we’d daydreamed of being mermaids, hehe! The name stuck).

So Li called and Sam picks up phone instead of Thel. Li : “Now who’s this low voiced man on Mermaids saying, ‘Hellooooh!?’

He chatted generally and about how good he’d been eating the past week; Thel walks in,” Uh ohhhh? Sam’s on Group call with …who?”

T ‘s her bubbly self, “This is a first group call of this, Haha!”;

she & he had become one Entity with shared polarities; how good they were together with their 2 fabulous sons Anudh & Akash: a treat to watch the four of them – each maddeningly independent, ferociously loyal to the other…… oh brilliant even to detail of when to add chillie to sizzling roast, steak!

These five can do wonders in any kind of day. Ask me how I know. Pic, Goa holiday with their beautiful darling ‘Girl-Sam'(antha) daughter-in-law who deserves a whole other Post: she’s more Indian inside than Australian : the Stunner kind you think must have some secret flaw? You look for it but it isn’t there. Ay, marriages are made in heaven, the Samuels are living proof of that...

The last thing he said in individual byes to Li and me….. “Bye Rayla!” His voice strong and cheerful. “Bye Merman, Sam.” I replied.

Age 22?

Offstage while we waited for the next Event at a local Fund raiser…how can I forget his guitar doing the Beatle’s Crybabycry:

with no Lyrics, I worked my own non-word- stylized-gibberish. He called it Russian. We did this very seriously, Thel streaming tears down her cheeks hurting from laughter…


Thel & Sam’s gorgeous sisters: I could write reams about his three illustrious sibling, each serving Humanity like only they can: Bravehearts – brave now, as the Pastor wraps our small service in a Silence that somehow feels right. I cannot find a word good enough for it. Silence can be reverent gold. The sky rumbles for a second, gentle winds settle in the family tree under which the few of us huddle, forgetting Covid.

Death is where your sting, oh grave where your victory? Here we are immortal for the Love that binds us together across continents via Videocalls coming in and familial Love thicker than blood or the sadness of Now.

Like a tree planted by streams of living water

Next to him, in engraved marble- lies the Stone of his first son, the most beautiful baby boy I had ever seen. He lived 5 days. 36 years have gone by.

Now as they lower his daddy’s mortality into the same earth, there is this silence of a family held by things best described as Peace that surpasses human understanding.

Marriage turns strangers into family. Sisters in law become a beautiful kind of sister: we admire their eyelashe and feature not just exterior but deep within. It turns our lives around to learn from each other through the years. I write this realizing how much we’ve been blessed by Sam’s presence, nah entire families, cousins, nephews, nieces….wish this post could cover also friends that became family because of Sam.

What can one say but go back and forth.

I could never count well enough even at our Scrabble board fights. He a Chartered Accountant / Sultan of Sudoku non par would cheerfully shudder. “If you try to, y’know? Maths is basic. Idiots.” His grin included all non-mathy people with me + tolerant brotherly kindness lending a generous taste of what it was to ever have a brother.

He’s not here, no Thel?” I whisper. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

“No Ray.” Her voice is level.

Thankyou Thel for the photographs.

I draw strength from her, admiring her straight firm back and calm doe eyes. Sitting down somewhere among family Stones, I am unable to tear my eyes from the candles and flower petals all around, the air softening with dusk and with the Presence of Comfort; with the presence of each other softening from sorrow. Tomorrow we’d be able to take this. Maybe not. Tomorrow would have its share of challenges. New ones? I don’t know.

As we walk back past more names and dates and symbols of Love and Departure, we walk close. Life was/ is short. I want to love without barriers and protocol.

We move past high ornate stone gates; the Caretaker and wife watch their children play with a plastic bat and ball, all safe- distanced from each other.

Somewhere a koyal calls.

It will rain tonight. You loved it cool Sam, but you’re not here.

You’re with Jesus.

I’m jealous.

Saw some of this yesterday, enroute…


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The beauty of a broken heart

It breaks boundaries. Watch this heartessentialist!

You heal differently. You disregard the material: unslave Self from clutching life. Mask & Glove are off. You touch stone and raw earth. You sit in the floor. You don’t need much. This begins a dangerous freedom. Your friends maynt like your new self: your peace with God. Is odd. You don’t mind being odd. You don’t need comfort bars. This isn’t grief, it is awareness of the Other Life here on earth. Why are we afraid of it. I never understood that. I don’t understand it more now; and love that we were born to experience all this. We hurt, and that’s a gift. A Narnia peek into Shelves of Another life….


These past days on the edge of life, where is his spirit

Last night sometime around 2 am sleep got me in little bits: but my daughter’s words tossed me on pillow. “Hope can be a painful thing,” she said, her face melting with the things I was telling her….


…how I want my brother in law back from the valley of death (not Covid) : how bad my sis Thel needs a miracle, how impossible it seems. Sometime now they will know whether he can really make it back. And how. Should I say all this in a Post at all; here it’s become an altar, an altar of healing, prayer for us all in steeping places: the best of us may face the worst. Dearest God please bring my brother back even for a bit, there were many wishes he had, many we all had, have.

Yes I know the pain of hope, how it can wrench heart. And we’ve seen the fulfillment of many things these past years.

Don’t you too wonder where the spirit of us goes when we rest in particular state in hospital bed? That tunnel of life, the Light at the end of breath….

Yesterday and now this reading: “..the word of God is alive and full of power( active, operative,energizing,effective), it is sharper than any two edged sword, penetrating to the dividing line of the breath of life(soul) and the immortal spirit, and of joints and marrow….” (Heb 4: 12, Amp.Bible)

What d’you say in a day like this…

we wait, pray; grief and hope hold each other. It’s raining outside. Is that a sign? My brother you are with God right now I know, just wish you’d come back for a bit and tell us all of it all. Love you forever.


Just got word, you’ve gone ahead

Hidden Treasure

..Stash hoarded in sepal & leaf, in leftover laughter and trippy tears, in faces in places we remember we forget we hoard stash hoard ~ places in our ears and tears of joy tripping thru our days here & there between earth an’ things we fear, or don’t: Treasure: hidden. We must find them.



The ones looking at the painting, they are the Work of Art.

The Window turns about looking at Us. πŸ‘‡
PiCredits Unsplash
We are the Clay, our hands made by Hands that made the clay we do not originate.
Who are we? The little girl asks her mother in The New York Times: existential questions that needed to be asked long ago.
We are best when looking within, looking with some amount of discomfort. When Humans ever did something of value to the personal or global community, was when we bowed deep.


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There was no ‘magic’ in Penja’s bowl, nothing but her basic steamed rice in turmeric & garlic fried curries.


If we were fortunate we were treated to stir fried onion rings, tomato pickles and home made breads.

When Penja served you her glass of water it was in copper tumbler scoured clean with tamarind. She didnot own one store bought masala tin or even toothpaste. When you had her rice cooked in earthen ware, you smelt the rice field it had grown in; you were made to think of the farmer’s ride to the grain bazaars …of hands that bore that rice sack to the city all the way to Penjas store room next to her mango tree and coconut stack.

All this made you feel well. It cured Dantri’s asthma, and Shom’s colic. We didn’t talk of it but we knew. If anyone saw Penja whispering in her pot as she cooked, no one said anything about that. We just knew it worked.

She had no visible gods and goddesses in her rooms or in her compound where she lived alone with her mint garden and pomegranate. Oh she served pomegranate in juices, in salads, in curd, with dessert, or by itself. Oneday she told us how we had everything to live well, and how to thank God for the workers who brought them to us. It was confusing at that time. Like we were responsible for causing that much work to farmers. Or God. But Penja, our neighborhood friendly aunt lived grateful. So everything she touched spilled with that emotion. I’m thinking it’s a cure all by itself: gratitude to mankind, the planet and God for all favours received, and for necessary or unnecessary hardships. It all clung together somehow, all of us going round and round the sun in a merry go round of events that made sense or none, but it was like algebra. It worked itself out if you were patient and waited for itself to settle. Somethings didn’t settle fast. Like trigonometry for me, or tonsillitis. Not till after the surgery, and after my throat stopped feeling like a thousand cuts, after which there were food restrictions and no icecreams till later. Penja felt kind especially during those times. She made illness and pain feel important and celebrated. I got a eucalyptus throat wrap and inhaled sweet camphor under our guava tree, the one with tiny anthill and crumbly sand. It all was gold washed in sunset or early noon. You let the sun fall on you, it made you feel altogether and not odd. You picked that up from Penja if you lived nearby or stopped over on the way back from school.

Penja had a ritual of sitting a few moments every now and then to be still. We were too young to know the depth of that. But it felt good to watch when we could. It was like the sky and earth met up somewhere between her ears and gave her joy. This was more than Peace. She had been a young widow, now she was silver white like her cotton saris and ragged hymn book. Oh a golding white, like ripe corn in a setting sun….her hymn book, her prayer sheets and hands – as if they were rinsed in Light. That’s all I could think even back then. Even her low voice singing words hard to decipher, my guess is they each were thankyou words, she loved God like that. Like a personal Person. She was too much a home body to go out to a chapel but it was all in her heart someplace shining out her eyes.

She died recently and left me a legacy I’m trying to pursue in these days of Essential Existence ~ in the art of tomato chutney seasoned with curry leaf or roasted red chillie/ cumin seed. Yeah, all those chillie farms and onion braids in bazaars ripe with God’s own aromas of life.

Oh and her pomegranate juices, they made you think differently of ordinary events like after -school messy socks and trails of homework, ugh. Sigh yes! Like an Elixir.

Penja, wherever you are out there in His Courtyards, I love you for making me think of all that now.


Here, I find me.. pieces of me, stitched together in the Hem of Your garment.

Old calendar on tiny easel at home.

Look Lord, here around Your edge, pieces of prayers, darts sewn with silent fingers.

Here I am Hannah, a woman ridiculed, hated by her sister, despised for unproductivity. A Hannah ruthlessly in a life not as good as expected. Here my God

how did You find my ash heap (Hannah’s song), how did You recognize this enough to come by?

How do I feel the contentment of reaching in this moment-

You stopping to hold my holding of You. You not laughing, not You:

here there is zero derision/ judgment. Here, we receive that Touch that alone can reach a wound. Only You, of the Cross where no pride rules, only You could Hem the Streets of my Hannah,

I begin to shed all need of social acceptance. As I breathe, I understand this isn’t as bad a place as we thought it was. Humiliation can wear a crown of thorns. It can disgrace vanity: its stronghold. Rejection bears wounds you cannot receive in courts of honour. Being hated too: ah this one can teach us one or two lessons in freedom. Freedom from that race for supremacy.

There is a State of man, woman, child: a State that is freed from the clutches of skin-deep power. You lose the craving to be loved; you can still love, perhaps more! There is no bitter. There is forgiveness, there is a certain letting-go of all other hems.

You walk valleys and climb mountains barefoot till the mountain becomes you. You cannot be a plateau anymore. Or you sink sink in waters so deep, the river takes you: here, you cannot be anything else anymore. You understand the power of that very tide that towed you off limiting shores.

Or you walked a desert so long now, its acres speak in a voice you couldn’t have heard any place else. You’re grateful for that, for the way it could run without showers or oasis for as long as it took. If you’ve run to the Hem of His garment you meet these wastelands in the Hem. You hear the voice of the Humiliated, the cast down. There is no other place that holds it all, like here. Here there is zero pride of performance, of amassed wisdom, here, you are freed from the whip of laughing scorn, it cannot tug its hook in you anymore, how I don’t know. Ask The Hem.

I woke up this morning with all that. Like I’d met Ruth and Hannah here in the Tattered edge of This. I asked a few things, He will answer in ways we will understand later. He always gives us what we ask for, or something better. (Anonymous quote)

Cover me with Your garment Lord; spread Your shield o’er an earth keeling. There are things we do not know to see. There are Secrets in these Edges , as invisible as a virus, as potent, virulent. Here I kneel my inner being, grateful for the privilege of feeling a certain ‘lowliness’. How beautiful it is, to come apart and rest in the secret place of This Freedom.


Do check below Poster: is a Live Concert, Vihan D. featuring Originals. You’ll need to be there, 6 pm to 8 pm tonight, April 23rd- Indian time, to know what else goes on. Please do.


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My Earth-Day song

Shhhlisten to me pace

You my celebrated Earth, my Jewel of Heav’n: your hills are my Psalms,

Elijah O’Donnell. Unsplash.

your rain ~ my answered Prayer, rinsed by day by night, by silver crested twilight;

Om Prakash Sethia,Unsplash.

they are hoarse with saying : “...there is more,

Olivier Miche. Unsplash

there is more than rational 365, 24×7 glory & gore; shhhlisten

to what summer screams in winter’s core..

Tim Barrett.Unsplash

ashes & dust try bury humans, but they and stars and all Earth neighbours e’en

know that we are more than mortal tree and sod, we are the little Footstool of understanding, at the Feet of God…'”

Tim Barrett. Unsplash.

Ay. We Gravity’s babes too may ignore what Mars & all Earth’s neighbours do so know,

Jacqueline Day. Unsplash.

that we are the Resting place of the Steps of God, Ssshhlook-


E. DONELL Unsplash.

“…away from men and towns, to the silent wilderness, where the soul need not repress its music.” P. B. Shelley



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40 wink Covid cure

In my dream just now, giant lemon rinds chased us down with mint sprig, down ginger spiced soda, home-made like they used to make them,

Street angle, Unsplash

& in the dream This could cure disease, even Covid- could it, could it be, the cure of deadly disease that feeds our machine, could it be,

that the cure of Larger distress…is in the Little un-noticed things: not just lemon drops in ginger-sprigged minty ices,

could it be: the Elixir of Life is in often ignored Instruments of Peace?



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Where eagles fear, and angels dare…

Like tens of thousands of Doctors -my sis Li, (and Nurses, Care givers), what can one say but thankyou. Thankyou for going out to work every day, for the strength with which you live your life.

My fabulous sis Doc Li.
Pic taken four months ago.

We talk of survival and essentials; she works, while I sit worrying about tomorrows food supply. I hope you’re wearing your mask and gloves Li? I ask.

She laughs,Oh we always do.” She’s an Eye Surgeon few hours away from Bangalore, in a growing township- border to three of India’s large South Indian states. 45 patients yesterday for eye care alone. Isn’t an Eye Doc at risk too? She won’t listen to my worry. She is like our dad, a warrior with twinkle in eye. Has built a life serving others, to the dwindle of her own finances, her own health. I’m praying she will be safe and well and cared for at a time when health is not restricted to one faculty; remembering tens of thousands like Li, all over the world caring 24×7 for humanity as it reels under the deadly grip of Covid.

If there was ever the sound of Music that heals, it’s the sound of people helping each other breathe.

Response to above Post just in:

πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘Dr.Prema Dhanraj

“Salute to her & all the doctors and nurses.”πŸ™πŸ™πŸ‘πŸ»πŸ‘πŸ»πŸ‘πŸ»πŸ₯°πŸ₯°πŸ₯°πŸ˜ŠπŸ˜ŠπŸ˜Š (Krishnaveni, Muscat, Oman).

So nice, Doctor’s and caregivers are our heroes of the day.” Yasmin, Ex-Baldwinian.

Such invaluable service“πŸ™. Esther Khatri, Baldwinian, Bangalore.

From around my home

From around my home

A Letter to you: (inspired by a blog-friend)

Heal Warrior,

know you are Loved by a Force you cannot see, but One that sees you. Regret nothing but what you deprive yourself of tomorrow. Love generously, live every minute, I mean LIVE. Lockdown all noise that Intrudes. We deserve more than we give ourselves. You are No.1 and should be in your list of beautiful things this side of heaven. You are precious, more than trees and leaves of all the pages ever written anywhere on earth, aren’t you?

Aren’t you? Look deep in the eyes of your heart and read the preciousness with which you were created. See how Someone died so you and I could live free as we do, children of an earth almost too blest. Aren’t we, too blest? Warrior friend mine, yes you,

I write this with an urgency I do not understand: there’s a day to live for today and you and I must excel all expectations to just be normal. We ride above the boring norms we chalked out for yesterday… eh warrior please let go of yesterday’s habits, yesterday’s nightmares, let go, let go of tomorrow’s predictions, let’s be who we were, we are, will be… warriors in love and Peace: nothing missing, nothing broken-

we were made for days as these in a Love that forever breathes heavens’ brand of peace Warrior, please.

Old calendar, in tiny easel. Some Words never fail, no matter the way humans err and one decade after another breaks down in the stress of Time.
Last night we watched the third episode of CHOSEN, is brilliantly put together: the life of Yeshua as seen creatively by Producers’ unique brand of wit that comes from a seriously awe-filled place. Yes some Americanese in it(…”you kidding me?!” Said by Hebrew disciple), which is in any case versatility at bestπŸ˜ƒbut besides that, surprisingly good – after watching way too many Jesus films, this still grabs. Looking forward to seeing the last episode now.

My little Harp girl in Water Colour, and paper roses (no florist around), yes, babe pics of our kids still around the house: Reminders of days that we receive every day from the Father of Lights with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.
Prayers that go up as incense. Answered prayers. Expectant healing from things more than an earth- bound virus. We are more than these, we are Prayerers: we forget who we are, we forget the power in our hands to reach out to The Only One Who has the power to save from Gehena. Yahweh, heal our earth from wounds we needn’t host. Remind us we needn’t be scared of things that kill earth life but cannot touch our immortality. Show us who You are. In these days, remind us of who we really are.
If you’re looking for Sunday Fellowship, do join here


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These days the Light does not fall thru’ open doors, but finds new ways in chinks and window pane, curtain sleeve and on plates and chair and floor, on leaves of page and street places I’ve been before, miles of acres of Light walking all over, unstopped, untouched by yesterday’s dying beams.

PiCredit Denny MΓΉller, Unsplash



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“Far from where?” he asked..

Every once in a while, people need to be in the presence of things that are really far away.Ian Frazier, Staffer @ The New Yorker.

WordPress #Discover Prompt- Distance.

I had 2 planes to reach Amsterdam, it felt far, very far from home. I was still young enough to be that scared. This is a strange story, but here it is. It was a work assignment, I was newly married, my insides were a knot of king-sized butterflies. Jeff said,“Go Ray, but come back soon!” He was (is) never one to stop me from something that needed to be done.

Nareeta Martin, Unsplash

My Ma had opened her Corrie Ten Boom daily Devotions, “Let’s see what it says,” she gave me her serious bright-eyed look, which dared me to go against ‘God’s plan’. And what did her reading say? “When God asks you to take a flight to another country, do not disobey…

Startled, dazed, I had tried arguing (lamely) about not having enough warm wear, that I hated airplanes, heights, that all this was so far away…..

Far from where???” Dad asked.

I still flounder at that question.

Which is the Centre of our existence? A place called home is what we are….where?

I took that flight: KLM from Delhi to Schiphol airport and the Rai Centre where 180+ country delegates met for a Billy Graham Conference. No, I have no nice picture with the legendary preacher, but I bumped into him without warning one morning on my way to the media centre. He peered down at my badge (& skinny, short-haired self, ‘pint-sized‘ some called me affectionately), and grinned, “You beautiful person from India… welcome!”

I stammered and tried to hug him back, those big butterflies in my tummy were in my ears. To this day I do not remember much about that encounter except his kind smile and a sense of the divine all around his humble daddy- eyes glowing with joy. It got me. I lost nervousness, the tummy cramp vanished, got talking to the wonderful people there, it changed me, still changes me to know there is no distance too far on earth: that the one environment that matters is what’s in on the inside. I needed to go that far to get familiar with my Core, that unshakable kingdom within.

It still changes me constantly

to realise that Change is one Certainty we best come to terms with, and that we were born better than every other Species alive, hence we are engineered to cope. We are better than we know, because the centre of the Universe is within, via a providentially structured mind.

Now and then a certain Separation/ Distancing reminds us: here is nothing (except us) that can dare separate us from the purpose for which we were brought this far; and that it might take a few mountains to know we are trekkers. Take a few oceans to know we love the deep …. take a bit of hell to know there is heaven…

  1. There is little we cannot really adapt to.

2. There is nothing as powered as the human spirit that knows the Love of God.

3. WHAT LIES between the things we once knew and what we can become no matter the odds?

We’ve been through the Ugh and Other moments. Did we think a virus could make us stronger? Yes, it has! Vulnerable? Yes. And that’s a good place to look within. Ask me how I know.

Don’t you think we are made for more than the Familiar:

distancing….from what?

My time in the Netherlands stoked this appetite for challenges, it made me peer within to find a spirit that responded best to the joy of knowing God as my one Anchor, against all odds. I would meet Christ in so many different ways and all of them weren’t ‘happy’ places: thankyou Lord!

Me in sari (ofcourse!:), with Indian delegation,
last day, banquet. Amsterdam.

He is that Kind.

Love one another,” He said those 3 words while I was thinking of me. “Think on each other’s well being. Hold one another in your thoughts, care deeply, practice hospitality …

How? I daren’t invite anyone home ….

But His Words fell at me today like fire crackles up dry wood. Sure, lets all think of people with no homes, no meal for tomorrow. I wish I were rich, I’d send food across my street..

but He says I miss the point. It’s not just food packets. Care for one another where no one sees: practice humility, esteem one another higher than yourself.

Christ would say something like that on a tough day. I get the distinct feeling we are headed for a new kind of existence where there might be more aloneness than we’ve all ever experienced : we’re all going to need each other/ pray? for each other across borders and walls. States and time zones. We are headed for the Age of Suspicion like never before. Let’s see what we will become. Right now I cannot see beyond my kitchen and store.

Love one another,” Painful words in a Time of Indifference: a time of poverty of the spirit. We are tiring fast. We do not need sermons. But He’s not listening, He’s asking a specific service.

“Love another, for Love covers a multitude of things that miss the mark.”


Rise Beloved

Social Distancing is perhaps The News now, but to an invisible majority it has existed in perhaps the most hideous ways. We do not easily talk of Social ostracizing but our ‘Outcasts’ have been there since the beginning of Time. ‘ They’ may even be you, or me in unique definitions via complexes, illnesses, alone-ness & abuse in ways we may not know how to say:

Rise Beloved’. Creative expression of Jesus and the woman who was about to be stoned to death. (The word Beloved here is taken from Song of Solomon, to capture the healing power of Divine Cover). Oil painting RN
For Biblica, ‘Asha~Journey of Hope’

this morning as the sun rose in the leaves and trees and sky flushing with energy, I prayed that you and I would access the freely given liberty to make a call on the One who knows/ can touch our Core like none other can.

Ill health and virus existed from day 1 of existence; we mayn’t all have immunity to social dis-ease, but we do give it permit to continue to mutate. Say? I’m praying for Liberation from social ills, stigma, taboos, victimization. ..

I’m asking for the freedom to be His Beloved, body, soul, mind..

leaning on His peace, His unrestricted acceptance of human condition: here where you & I are somehow precious, beautiful and sacred in His accepting healing redeeming Hands. It is an important fact to realise we are not invisible to Him, hence we value the power of our own presence as solo individuals doing what we can in His absolute care. Those with familie or without, we run a Race solo, within – undefined by who we are with, undefined by circumstance. Now here I stand refined, defined by Grace: the greatest Cure to de-humanisation.

Beloved, rise.

Breathe. Inhale the scents of a new day~ grass and fresh mint: the aroma of Grace walking in all over, creating Its own atmosphere:

Inhale Its Light, Its Touch: Its Seep in my skin. Yes we are still touchable.

We are the blessed generation of those that have seen much. We are powered Creations. Nothing misses our eye. We know more than our fathers? No way, though we are pursued by technical intelligence, even a certain lack of innocence; we are numbed by our discoveries of Life as is now. Our acquired Wisdom alone will not save nor our faith in Self. Yet here we can rest, nestle in the Light of Grace.

I believe in heaven, and that no matter the odds, heaven can begin right here.

as hell too is here, where we as migrant workers try work out salvation in the fleeting way of a blade of grass. Dyou know tomorrow, or even this noon: are we ready for something beautiful beyond human senses- no matter how turned our noses are right now towards disaster?

Can you and I walk tall, be as gorgeous as God created us, can we be beloved– our frail self leaning on Him alone, Social Norms stripped away? Do I know my essence, my own brand of fragrance-

can I now exhale this Light that Touches like none other;

we can do that, at the Source that never leaves.

That done, can we go a step further:

be a particle of that Light for someone else.…make a phone call? Pack an ‘Essentials’ surprise gift for neighbour?

If we could reach out to even one other person/day with awesome Light within, that is roughly half a 7 billion reaching out to the other half.

Hills outside Bangalore.
My son J.
More lately I see best, with my eyes shut wide.

Terrific Teachers

Beautiful Thel,
in Melbourne
with son’s
Dog Lune.

It’s like Noah and the flood!” My Sis Thel over the phone, her laughter always like happy bells on a low key day, but last week she was more listening to the world outside here in Bangalore. “Some people across our gate … we used to smile in passing, but not anymore…?”

Thel is a Teacher of the finest, like my Ma. She did her Masters then taught English, even to me as I graduated from college; she had this stack of Classics ~ Thomas Hardy(Return of the Native, Tess….I loved those, at age 17, I think), Dickens, ‘Grapes of wrath’ …Steinbeck?, Saki, Wodehouse; my sis Thel is a deeply caring person whose smile reminds me that Life is beautiful, even mid-odds.

Thankyou so much for another photographic beauty, Yomargey, UK.

So of course all that got me thinking how us Earthlings are on a type of Boat, waiting out a certain Tide to recede, meanwhile every day spent is a Lesson of sorts. Some of us venture out like Noah’s Dove; we return home with Olive Leaf to say ….yes, we got fruit today. Oh Tej Bakers was open. Ah, Veg Store too!

We are learning skills we never intended to: creating moments indoors instead of going out for them. Eating together and watching movies without worrying about bed time, or wakeup!

And some bad.

This awful thing in today’s papers: do we need ask why?!


Divorce rates went up somewhere; another country asked women to wear make up even while at home. Instances of abuse & rape rise.

Observing Social behaviour during Lockdown now is an Eye opener to the two Lives we live.

This morning as we got in some more groceries and washed/ dried out masala packets we chatted about how Life might never be as Unsuspicious of Surface Tension anymore. …?

it’s going to take more than a rainbow in the sky to make us feel safe about a hug and a kiss greeting anymore. Namaste? Maybe. 2 meter friendly Lifts/ Walkways? ……

Right now this Boat trip feels alright, with our visiting squirrel, pigeon, and Ivory&Blackie, (2 friendly dogs at our gate).

Life is odd and sweet and beautiful in flattening curves or otherwise, that teach us Things we will hopefully remember as one Community of Survivors.

‘Eat Cake…’

‘Eat Cake…’

Infamous Marie Antoinette quote that fired social rage, ‘Eat cake’ when people had no bread left: yesterday it brought home the fact of how rich these times of physical poverty can be;

I watched our little girl who’s outgrown/ still outgrowing little and large social – growing up- bruises in a time that’s maybe the best/ not the best for anyone this much@ home: she bakes a yum cake besides entire dinner/ lunch to warm our hearts, but it’s a day that hungers for all kinds of Breads.

Kitsy’s Cake yesterday

It is the 40 days after the resurrection of Christ, I’m curious about everything He did during that time. Wasn’t there also an early morning He fixed a seafood breakfast at the beach, at dawn?

Also curious about ’40 days’. His fast was 40 too. What is the significance of those 4 tens? Here a Newborn must wait 40 days before a Christening. People fast 40 days at Lent. Curious. There’s time enough to look close at many things we chatted on about/ took maybe easily. Now it’s all looking in at our windows.

We played LUDO! πŸ₯° another one from K’s Instagram.

My Gran Tara was Ace-Ludo player, oh was she queen at it, she’d kill, stalk us with the craft of a Chess champion. I wonder now, how the older Gen. would’ve handled Lockdown woes if they were here? They’d have taken music out, skimped on food mercilessly, there’d have been more fastings and prayer than we dare, or care to have, scripture readings….

Gran Tara was an avid Radio listener to everything from Vicks’ Vapourub commercials, to Beatle’s music and Billy Graham. Is how I got to hear him, and Beatles in the first place. Oh gran wasn’t into lyrics but she loved to dance, her sari pallu tied in knot at waist as she sometimes cooked a surprise meal for us, after insisting we all go out for a walk at the beach.

I try hard to be like the ones gone ahead. My Ma never never yelled if someone left a coffee cup somewhere. I break into hives, not that I’m a clean bee at all. Been praying earnestly for a ‘Clean spirit’ to de-possess my laid back self. Been praying for the easy wit of my dad, and Jeff’s dad, they were gentle-warriors too. Jeff has that patient love that will not take offense at all. I go up the wall. But no, not him. Yesterday all our streets were cordoned off and I know it’s all for good. I’m no extrovert, hate having to dress up to go somewhere, unless occasionally. Now I’m reeling at being physically fenced in like that.

Then. I read a blog post this morning from a young girl who lost her Mom this week, having given away their nice house to a poor family, to run from a political situation. My head blanks. How d’you cope with that?

Today is my quiet day, the family gives me abs space to go away into quiet with a list of things to ask Daddad in heaven. So my thoughts travel around all of us in an earth, in a time like Now:

will all miraculously change in 40 days? Should I take 40 to breathe soft in the air, pray, think, live, love deep: look at the dear ones around me, look for signs of things they need, watch them smile, eat their love offerings of little cake and hugs, take nothing for granted, not one little new green leaf in our tiny garden balconies and spaces around…

Jeff and me thought we took a good selfie at a friend’s new 11th floor apartment overlooking gorgeous acres of coconut grove & sky 3, 4? months ago. We never got those acres in any Selfie though, just our own shades. Haha.

I’m thinking some more thoughts. They walk all over my floor, and ears and mind. Wondering how little we know of an earth we share, and how massive our blockades are, in terms of culture and development, or language and pace. It’s all crashing. Our needs are getting more basic today, our prayers the same, almost….? I’m trading a particular memory of an old chapel on a hill we used to go to, it’s well worn pew…. trading that for a new Christ Jesus I’m seeing recently : nothing about Him changed. He still walks through Locked doors and wall….

What if only now we’re eating at the same table, communing with the real thing… what if This is all going to break into a new Era, the likes of which we have never even begun to comprehend ….

What if the Love and Life of God hasn’t even begun in Us, what if we’re all about to be startled like never before, in our prayer closets, in our Upper Rooms, and Hiding places in gardens of a self-centredness, nothing like the original One; we have just been weeping for our own daily bread and physical safety, been judgemental legalistic and narrow/ suspicious of each other, with zero preparation for Eternity.

I get that about this apparently new Christ Jesus treading the Waters of Social mindsets, treading our well fenced privacies; a Christ @ that Gethsemane praying futuristically for us in 2020 that we’d get off our rocky status in rocky boat & take those steps to Him no matter the waves of uncertainty; a Christ in blood tears hoping we’d trade old anchor for a walk with Him yeah via this valley of the Shadow …

eat Manna, feast at Tables of Grace, rest in His Touch:

Grace: let its Oils bore deep in our minefields of habit…

I must stop for now, but this is real: this Covid Age – Christ walking on the Waters to you & me.

‘LIFE’ is a state of mind…

Yesterday we put together a video of the Fellowship that has currently just the five of us, at home. It was past lunch time when we finally began: our son on his little keyboard: we had a new song= new lyrics😳;

Kitsy our angel finally sings though! Me I hate cameras, never liked them, but there’s a daughter with lens in this house. Sigh … I love God, will do whatever it takes. Besides it’s been 2 years of intense Love that kept us going. We’ve had family and friends pray over us and that’s no small thing. Gratitude!

Title of this Post is from the Word in Video: …death too is also a state of mind. We rise above the Things that hold us back, dead places of the heart and mind that cause us to die inside.

we are surrounded by physical death and associated shadows, but Life is what we are within and beyond all of that. Which is what makes this celebration more meaningful this time than any. Yes Uncertain Times! The only certainty is that nothing can take away our Peace, no matter what, nothing shatters the bonds broken at the Cross, for Free….

we’re packing in warm greetings from our home and homes associated with Haven friends here in India, to yours:

may you have the Peace of God which surpasses all human understanding, and the Joy that comes from staying with Him.

I do not know that all like such words, but it’s the thing within me and it’s why I write. I wish you Christ Jesus, like you did not think possible, in these times, this life, these days. These are those Absolute Essentials we cannot live without. We all may never see each other in this life, but it is my prayer that after all these words here and there, we will oneday truly be family together, eternally.

Family hug.

Step through Locked doors

May we seek and find Him more today, than ever before. May we touch His Wounds and never doubt again. May He step through our walls, our locked doors; may we experience His Passion in new ways, in our roads to ‘Emmaus‘;

oh that same power that raised Jesus the Christ from the dead, be our Dew and Manna today.

May we never be the same again.

Have a blessed day!

From our table, a month ago. No bouquets available, except a Post full of wishes that you stay safe well and truly happy, body soul and mind.

My Site Innerdialects does not support any of the Ads. you might be seeing: nor have I opted to be paid for them. It appears on every Post because I have not upgraded to Premium Website that “completely hides ads as you see in Screenshot attachedπŸ‘‡πŸ€—

Covid Miracle

The past few days I’ve been impatient for a real nice surprise. D’you feel like that recently? And I mean yelling impatient. Crying impatient. Life began to feel boring, staccato boringgggh.

Patient: Accept or
tolerate delay,
or suffering without
becoming annoyed
or anxious.

But! not! today!

My husband and second daughter Kitsy were out on another highly budgeted shopping round for Essentials; food stores are at their emptiest, blockades have come up right across our main, I think we’re cordoned off as some Covid hotspots are being sectioned off here in Bangalore. Hmm scary.

Never mind. So Kitsy and Jeff go out the door with mask and warnings about ‘The Budgie’ (budget): our Kitsy has sweet tooth, sweet fingers, sweet everything. She lives for shopping, adores food racks, or any activity that includes sale of edibles, wearables, bakeables.

Net pic

Anyway, they were driving up to local Store, when a very young girl looks in at window and says a word, “Rice.” She was requesting. This meant now, for our 20 year old to not just part with something from her list, but also to help this kid get her bag of rice, I mean buy it for her. The girl didn’t know how to handle those counters and two meter sections of long queue outside in a chalked bubble enroute to the inside of Reliance Fresh. Which Kitsy did too, her face beaming with curious pleasure as they got back home….

but they… we all had a bigger surprise. We get a surprise gift from a long distance friend. The gift he sent was a hundred times more than what our Rice-Girl got from us. What d’you say to that?

I don’t know about your country, but here it’s tough enough without looking into needs of Migrant workers/ daily wage workers left high and dry without the everyday wage they depend on for existence. I just do not know what to say enough about everything. It is all too much too think on. Personal needs/ citizen needs. You can grow multi-coloured hair just thinking on everything that can go wrong, and there is terrifyingly little one can do except do the next thing you can.

Sigh. Sometimes it is hard to even reach them with a helping hand, at a time like this. Restrictions are now at the gate. We daren’t all go out together, leave alone visit another section of community. I’m so glad that Rice Girl arrived when she did. Glad she got that basic need met: and look at what God did, at probably the exact time Kit was at that sales counter.

It is past midnight… so ‘Easter ‘ already here. We need more than essentials in this time of existence. We need Life and Life abundant. May the Risen Lord Jesus Christ fill your heart with His Touch, His Presence.

Our Kitsy used to get ‘spooked’ at prayers like that, till she began praying her own brand of little impatient prayings. Prayers to please let her older sis stop being annoying, or to please help Joh her brother just behave. Words from her young heart that were true and real; as I watch her life unfold I’m more and more convinced of a God who walks with us, and stalks our needs in His own inimitable way.

I pray everyone will get back jobs and health, but too, that we will never forget the times we prayed and were answered. I asked for a nice surprise, thankful Heavenly Father for a beautiful one at that!

Impatience is a good thing sometimes.

Ads in my blog posts, WordPress, do you see this?

Thankyou Janetsm (Historic Writer/ I love her Blog! Do visit) for writing in about ‘Ads on my posts,’ and often really irksome ones too.

I’ve uploaded 2 screen shots:

One of what appears here as I publish a post; no, there’s no control over these things for me, as I have not “UPGRADED TO A PAID PLAN TO HIDE ADS…” & the other screenshot is of Janetsm’s useful query, I hope that’s ok. Janetsm, thankyou so much for writing in.

Unfortunately I do not see any of the Ads you might be seeing, nor am I being paid for any ads that might be appearing in my posts. Apologies, but am unable to upgrade and stop this interference.

Phew! Sigh. WHAT DO?

Holy Saturday here feels quiet and a little more tense than yesterday as blockades around our city Covid hotspots appear in local news. People are panic buying again; ach! We are running out of a few supplies. Trusting this blows over soon. Praying for a whole lot of things this morning, for people all over the world and in our smaller circles to have all the resources they/ we need to survive, stay healthy and productive.

Blessed Saturday everyone, everywhere and thankyou again Janet. Wish we had the power to buy up privacy, buy safety and resources, and too, basic decency at a time when we’re going to need to most.

Pic below of our daughter Kitsy’s Japanese cuisine last night complete with sake, sauteed mushroom, and marinated eggs. Before that it was her exotic eggplant + gravy. I’ve zero clue how she unearths these mouthwatering recipes.

Added that bit to cheer up a saddish post. Feeling in-fringed on. Not a nice feeling. WordPress, sos!



Green, not a fav colour for serving dishes,
but we got two green ones in our set of five; Johann doesn’t see green, (he sees most colours in the light), and I don’t mind at all, esp when the Chef is such a sweetheart. Thankyou God for younger hands that share responsibilities.
Amen πŸ˜‡

A day that rewrote History:

Ay, take the pieces of your life, string them together like a song; orchestrate- separate rights from wrong; forgive, blesseven if you do not feel like a blessing.

A day that begins to change me: there’s more than I can fully say in this Post. As quarantines connect different cities of our world, our family reaches a time when we learn from the mouth of our babes. Unable to have ‘regular service’s with all kinds and minds, today we too were just family, face to face with God. Last year today our precious visually challenged son was at his worst with seizures, (aggression from med side effects); today he is able to live an almost(96%?) normal life. Kitsy (with glasses) and he could barely stand each other in the same room: we each have thrown tantrums of all kinds I’ll say! There’s been tears, war, fear, all types of doctors; we’ve huddled, lost it, found new ways of reaching out to each other and those outside….

(Good Friday home service Haven with our kids, do join if you are led to, 38 minutes)


Yes, there’s been anxiety, some amt of damage, ach, yes scratch-bloodshedπŸ€•πŸ˜‡ a teeny drop or two but frightening enough for a home that’s never had even raised voices…..well last night (Maundy Thursday, they both actually colour co-ordinated and did a few dance steps to Hollyn’s Alone. I’m startled at the power of prayers answered. What happens after prayers are answered, and hearts are healed? We can choose to forget. Or choose to remember, and pay tribute to the One who still intercedes for us….).

Today I know He isn’t turning away from our Planet. Maybe, the contrary! Miracles aren’t necessarily nice territory; it yells of both war, and love; of Peace in the midst of chaos, joy yes, against all odds. It’s been a year like that for our 5, but we’ve watched strangers walk in like angels and pray for us prayers that were answered. I stagger with awe at the Christ who cares that much for us in the B.C, & in the A.D.! We can’t wait to see how He’s going to touch you too. Stay blest.

Now unto Him who is able to keep you from falling…”

What did it feel like, Jesus?

detail of Communion 2
Oil, RN

Alone, all the way. No likes or approval. Not a single friend that deadly Friday. After all the miracles and love, everything died. No visitors in your cell, no long last hugs except the 40 lashes. Your last Song, a lone cry, “Father forgive them they know not what they do.”

Sometimes I feel You more than other days, days of alone. Then I thankyou for these times, here we are closest to the ‘disgrace of the Cross’. Here there is no applause, no data of glory. Just the loneliness. Here I meet You best, my Saviour, Friend. Here alone.

Our three!

Novel Contagion Love@ the Cross.

Two things here- stark contrasting Pair : a death instrument, and True Love’s pandemic Stare.

It’s a still, cool night here. Mild rain showers soften the air with the distinct scent of mingling trees outside. 2000 years ago now, Good Friday would dawn with historic consequences: there’d be a Cross with a Man on it, who whether we like it or not impacts humanity in ways we would never be able to extinguish.

And out of every wound,
a garden grew.
Oil painting, RN

I’m grateful for the Cross. It Changes me, constantly. It teaches me to never give up on each other, to never hold a hurt, to never be afraid of what can kill the body, it teaches me about the immorality of human souls, it teaches me to Love unconditionally. Teaches: present continuous tense: Learning is a long big trajectory curve, we are learning, leaning, standing tall, braving odds, wiping back tears of frustration, grief, aloneness

we are in a type of Gethesemane, we are judge and jury of the Times: how will we fare, who’s going to be crucified today? Ourself? Some of us do that; nah, we could never carry His Cross, ours’ are little baby Crosses(our sufferings) comparatively…

each time we watch our son go through a new ordeal, we also see the miles he’s done. Out there, are amazing people who’ve had losses this season and walk back out the door with a smile for the rest of their fellow survivors. I’ve seen Him in the faces of ‘ordinary folk’ who literally sacrifice time and energy for others. I do so little, I try but it’s not easy. Yet there are some very precious humans right now, braving odds, rioting against failure to support someone, people with guts of steel and hearts of pure gold. I see it in my daughters’ young faces, their strength, and ability to make us laugh again, or sing, dance, no matter the day, even pray. These are evidence for me that God is here. I believe that every moment on that Cross was God in dialogue with us. His last seven phrases ? Read here. We do not have a God who does not know what we go through:

Our daughter’s original, do listen if you’d like.

His cry to the Father: Why have you forsaken me? This one in particular holds me, holds me, holds me this season as our earth plunges into a time of the deepest hurt. Why?

Father into your hands I commit my spirit. Oh this Cry, it’s very statement calls me to a novel type of Father Love, free of humanness, of even gravity….

I must close, wrap this Post. Am sleepy like the disciples who could not wait a little longer with Him as He pled with them to, in the garden of Gethesemane where He would weep tears of blood.

I know He’s reading this, and that He reads you and me. There are very few things I really know, but this one nails home the truth of His kind of pandemic Love: No one else loves like This.

This season I’m holding on to what held me this far. As India goes into her most critical stage here of Covid, I must prepare to realise life is certified Short. There is no permanence here. We weren’t born with certificates of deathlessness; there’s more to Us than Malls and pretty parties. Pain is a sign of that. Grief is a mirror. Fear prowls but Love is the key, it turns the Lock in doors waiting to be opened. Sometimes we hear a Knock, a gentle Whisper…

Stay precious, stay blest, today, always.