Tag: Covid

It is time

To hold on to the good in us. To remember mercies and love. And faithfulness. It’s that time to practice peace. And pray like we believe prayer works. It does. Everytime we healed, someone prayed. Everytime our heart of stone melted, it was someone praying. Someone changing the stone of us into a pleasant pasture. What a tragedy that we believe drug- related elation, rather than what made us. It is time

Net pic.

***

..to rest, lean on the magnitude of true Love. I have lived a while now. I’ve seen good and bad and ugly. In you and me. I have eaten nice days that melted down to garbage. And I’ve been kissed by green pasture still waters, my soul has tasted of the Lords goodness and old fashioned as it may seem to someone’s intelligence, darling all our intellect cannot even begin to explain the goings on of mortal breath.

Yep. It’s time to pray. To know God is there here within the arms of our screaming need; Lord heal our lands, our diseased core. Why we fear death is because we know there is more beyond these days, & all our material ways. ‘Neath clothes and head and shoulders & knees & toes, we are creations made. We are more than bags of bones descended from ape and tapes of theories. We are more than doctrines and philosophies. In the core of your pillow you know, you know… in the stark of night, you look out your window asking the meaning of it all, and you know there is more. There is your beautiful mind and it will not die in a box. It leaves into territories we must seek now before late cannot get later.

It is time beloved, to not just pray for life but that also in death we will be safe. We are more than corpuscles and conditional peace. What are we, what is man, his woman, her child: do we know?

In the core of the night with stars, we wonder twinkling star shining bright, what you are…? Just dust. We are more. We write and deduce, we think and celebrate. We justify and keel. We are storms and wars, deciders of things we negate, but this:

a little piece of virus has us running like rabbits into our holes where we beg grace. Our theories and kings, all our horses and men, cannot put us together again.

In our distress we become murderers. Killers of decency. Not just now but thru’ history we read that when we are pushed beyond limits we are limited in our morality. Then we know there is good and bad. If there is good there is a Source. And it’s not us. There’s evil and there’s a source and its not us.

Something made a nice man a demon.

Something made a terrible man an angel.

Get a little closer, listen to my breath. Tell me the source of that and I’ll tell you the source of what draws humans together in the presence of a crisis. There is a Power wider than the girth of the earth spinning on an axis at her tummy. There are polarities geographically, spiritually. We have tasted the bitter dregs of evil and we have sniffed a sniff at some good. We have accepted the powers of Ugh but we are suspicious of God because He wouldn’t like us nestling with Him with all our horns and tails on.

We hate the idea of a Christ that upset the grave. “Bah humbug!”

We suspect His love that spurns evil. We would believe every other, not Him. Though we thoroughly blame Him for all the evil we invited in our living rooms. I’ve done it too.

But it’s time. Time to wipe our glasses and shed embarrassment at being created. The grave has no shame. That last word belongs only in this fleeting land of human existence.

..

Raylarn

Pitch perfect Prayer for July

I tried to pray today, it was like going to a store and not wanting anything any more except a counter that could take requests for giving. Giving thanks.

RNoel

*

In all the recent Mayhem and Jittery June Viral chaos, the centre of me sat down to stare at another month for all of us. Suddenly the things that used to scare me don’t anymore. How come? The people that used to taunt, seem to have lost fang and fuss. Now how?! I don’t know. The rabid need for money seems to have bitten off it’s own head. Sure we all still need the MO but something’s changed and we’re a little less orthodox about our own goodness. We’re all a little more orthodox about our own littleness. We are maybe more crazy and yelly ๐Ÿ˜… if that’s a word. We are kinder, if that’s possible. Those who never spoke now speak. The insanely noisy have become quiet. Me, I begin to pray and end up speechless. I remember my Prayer List last year this time. How I’ve changed, haven’t we all?

July, how’re you going to be? Will I be pretty, will I be rich… here’s what he said to me.. que sera sera… if you remember that song.

Meanwhile our 19 year old heals in new ways. The hyperaction you see in below video has decreased way more than we thought possible. He’s still pitch perfect, and a crazy guy for calender memory. And a whole host of things.

Am grateful for the tremendous healing he’s had over the past month. We’re able to play like we used to, chat .. .

He actively hates Covid for the restrictions its imposed on our outdoor lives but home has become a more beautiful place with its quiet surroundings and green. Our lil gardens grow with the rains this monsoon; trees fill with new kinds of birds. Yeah I am speechless this July, with deep need for better days yes, but also gratitude for the million gifts we may not even know we were born with.

This July I’m praying we will know and use our gifts well. What a tragedy to not notice the stash within us.

This July what’s my personal Pitch

Compromise

He took it and took it, then he didn’t. The last time we met he showed us his telescope with Saturn rings and Jupiter all in his panelled rooms with fresh flowers sometimes, and a dog named Bin. He ate sunflower seeds and loved the colour yellow. S.J was your regular above average looking superman that fixed bicycle tyres and switches. He baby sat your kids and took out your trash. He was handsome and brilliant, he talked to you as if you were gorgeous; he wasn’t a flirt, he was nice, dependable. When SJ walked out his terrace and died of depression they said, he was not compromising anything anymore, he just couldn’t take it nor fake it. We’ll never know, but as more and more people get nooses and poison concoctions, more people fall to depression and even heart attacks, I’m wondering that we cover our sadness with the laughter we ache for. I wish we could talk out loud, ask for help. I wish. I wish.

FMF WRITERS

Supersonic Ka-Boom!

Unsplash pic
***

I’m with ears pinned back,

my high frequency senses free-falling:

yesterday this time it* went through parts of Bangalore city, it rattled panes, shook houses; 10+ hours earlier they heard it in Canberra….

a ‘*Supersonic Boom that our Ground & Air forces here in India are puzzled at. It felt like an earthquake in the air around and deep within…. it’s bass explosive rumble was not like any Jet, not like anything I’ve ever heard, “….no it is Cyclone Amphan air pressure impact; no no we do not know...”

My ‘Shalom’
(Peace) for Shil.W.
***

As a Race all of a sudden, we do not know much except mutual questions. The life we knew will not return, but things that offended do not seem to offend now. We as Humans are looking deeper; Prayers are welcomed. Safe is where? Peace is an Essential Commodity like never before. Kabooms are even neighbourly. Tonight if some of us see Clouds throbbing in Neon (actually have seen these from our terrace 5years ago; thought it was local Rock Concert laser beams going hyper high) we may shrug it off as yet another 2020 event. As a Cluster of Survivors we are gaining immunity to bad news, Shock absorbers all kicking in.

What’d Hitler have done; or any of those big boys of war? This is the Grandma of War, and she is Villain non parallel and yet Kah-boom!- she has changed us into Hermits for Peace like never before in the History of the human race.

Neighbours begin to nod at each others neighbours; old ‘enemies’ send you WhatsApp forwards, they appreciate your potted plants seen in Instagram Story. Songs are sung by people with no vocal gifting, it’s even beautiful, meaningful. We are losing our Shy. We do not mind being photographed without our glasses. We still care about appearances though, we give us new haircuts. We yearn to not hesitate to shake hands, hug. That’ll be rare. That’ll be rare. But we will go on. We will wash our hands and feet and face relentlessly-relentlessly wash veggies, sanitize phones and c.cards …. but we will go on. We will look up at the sky and expect comets meteors and flares. If there are more Boom booms we will just not panic like we used to about exams and traffic jams. We are tougher than we are shocked, we are now closer to the Unknown than we’ve ever been. No, no. We are not caterpillars nor monkeys. We live we die we experience positivity, patient endurance and peace mid chaos. We work it. We tell our kids & friends on phone and in market places or between days of the week… be strong we say. We mean it. We wake up early to stare at the sky…. how its’ Light kills Virus. Our babies ask Existential Questions we no longer shush. We wonder too. Where are we from? Where do we go next…

There are no alternative activities to these Askings. We ask on. We understand each others’ questions better. We go quiet- no one thinks that odd. Not if we wear a wrinkly scarf, uncombed hair. You’re friendlier if.

All these things. We’ve changed so hard we can not go back. We are freer than we’ve ever been as a mass of individuals. Yes we die, we are afraid, we cry. But we are sweeter, nicer, kinder, tenderer. We share the Highest Common Factor- Human Frailty. This mutes Snobs. We are all Untouchables. How that looks if you draw us all is we are these Masked Breathers. We are changed into Changelings in the Twinkling of an Eye; it arrived like a Thief in the night. It took our Breathe-Easy days and Ka-Boom! Its turned our 7 billion into 2 alpabets: Us, however divided, in the face of Existence. We are Unstoppable Seekers of the Peace of God.

Dr. RAVI ZACHARIAS

Shalom: Peace, nothing missing, nothing broken.

I lost this … ‘Capiophobia’

We had to go out, we got our permit complete with ID card. This was going to be alright I said. Jeff isnt the worrying kind so he says nothing. I hate this mask, it feels like I’m dying in it. Never mind. Once inside car, who’s going to be harmed just in case we are Carriers? And who is going to infect us anyway? Raise glass, seat belt on. Jeff grins hard. He knows how terrified I am of this… not Covid but the fact that we’re driving across the city, and will meet Blockades and Security Officers. In any case we weren’t ‘willing carriers of Illness‘; we had no recent record of foreign travel, we hadn’t harvested forest animals, there wasn’t even a hint of sniffle between us, not a purr in lung…. nothing. We would not willingly trip into Containment Red Zones. What’s to worry. Though, there’s been incidents of incurring Security ill will…

We take a turn we shouldn’t have taken, we see the back of a Cop, oh no.

We take a detour, another, and get in a lane where we’re now driving straight at the Cop whose back we fled from. He’s waiting for us with ATTITUDE, with Traffic Offender- Catcher- Sass… Aha. There you are the two of you!

I sit straight, fix mask, reach for ID and Papers. Jeff casually drives closer, the Cop is not moving, his gaze steady. Closer. Please God, not in a mood for this? My heart whams in my ears. Closer still. The Cop isnt wearing mask? His glassy stare looks through us. Jeff lets out a contained roar of laughter. You don’t say! It’s not a real Cop, it’s a Dummy.

We laughed so hard that evening, when we were finally stopped two hours later on our way back, and another Cop asked me to please go in the back seat ma’am we need a certain distance between two….. that was so funny too. I gave him my best smile, mask and all. He glared at my cheer: what’s with her? We’re in a Pandemic. Silly woman wants to be happy.

This season I’ve lost my fear of Cops.

Wish we’d taken a real pic,
this ones from Bangalore Net
***

Capiophobia.. fear of Cops. Whyyyyyy even have it ๐Ÿ˜…

When God Prays

Come on over, the sands are ripe for your heart. Yes it’s hard. But I Am with you. In every grain of sand, I AM for you. Watch this:

Thankful.
Unsplash.
***

there is a season turn turn, a time for every purpose under heaven. Come on over, the times are ripe for your tears that smile- they rinse the earth and grow your fields, watch how it needs you:

how I need you turn turn come on, winter & summer rain – nothing goes away, ‘except in My Hand. Permit a healing, beloved. My darling, in every grain of sand, all that you are, I AM.

***

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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 ๐Ÿ˜…, 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…

Now.

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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Perspective

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

The Window turns about looking at Us. ๐Ÿ‘‡
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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Elixir

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

Unsplash
***

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.

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?

***

P.S.

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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 best๐Ÿ˜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
https://youtu.be/KH3hSVK4_UQ

P.S.

You are seeing Ads. here? No, they are not endorsed by me nor am paid for, for them in any way ๐Ÿ™‚. My apologies for inconvenience and I pray for the day Essentials will be truly free. I know, that’s asking a bit much. I love WordPress and the ability to Blog no matter what; also that through this medium, to have the ability to read your presence.

Have a great week!

@raylarn

‘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! ๐Ÿฅฐ 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 lyrics๐Ÿ˜ณ;

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.

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.

FMF WRITERS
Patient: Accept or
tolerate delay,
problems,
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!

Love,

Innerdialects.

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 ๐Ÿ˜‡

Beauty for Ashes

Quenched by thirst for True Love.

Did this ๐Ÿ‘‡painting last year, after seeing Souza’s Christ( see below 2nd painting for also, his grand son’s Street graffiti of Goan woman praying?)

Painting ‘BEAUTY FOR ASHES’
Raylarn l, Acrylic
Solomon Souza grandson of Souza:
STREET GRAFFITI, Goa.

Art is a language all it’s own. When I’m silenced from society and ask myself what I’m at, is when Painting kicks in. It’s like dancing for me, or cooking a designer meal. It’s my dialect. There’s grace, disgrace, pain, hopeless hope.

Today, Palm Sunday and India and everywhere potentially exploding with Covid, or not…. it’s that kind of day again I’m looking within. Some call it prayer,

you can label it, morph it, strip it down, it’s still the fact of reaching out to the One that made me: the Act of Love that consummates my presence here, the Fact of His Life…. when I think of that, there is little else that overcomes. And I need some overcoming, Now.

Am grateful for the Gifts we are given at this time. Gifts that say it better than we might. These are the Journals of our Times. These are the trails we leave behind, our blood prints that might be a new kind of beautiful for generations to follow. What we are at.. in the Now, matters. These emotions, questions, they capture human responses, and sometimes responses are all we’ve got to secure our eternities.

Souza captures Christ with that Palm Leaf; you might call it grotesque almost, but this is how pain looks in any given century.

His grandson’s Graffiti details the folded palms of a Goan woman. What’s she asking? What are we asking. globally, individually: are there immediate answers, is there Beauty in the Ashes of hopes, prayers and dreams,

what’s Christ got to do with contemporary existence, does God care I may ask. What do we do now:

what is this that causes peace when I pause, lean, go still…. my emotional palms folding in,

is Humanity beautiful when we are most vulnerable,

do we ask questions of immortality, here, like this, now,

when else?

Life wasn’t ever permanent. Now maybe is all we’ve got.

Photo FMF Writers

Intoxicating loneliness

Your ways are Mystery and Wonder. I stand as a miracle myself, we are all miracles in this hour- little footprints of You, in a desert of oceans of nothings: here we are…on the threshold of an intoxicating loneliness.

Trees outside one of our windows

Every move of leaf, bird, human voice, a kiss from the heaven we seek.

You are more suddenly more audible, more watchful in Your distance. We are weaning from other mothers, we are closest to the stars.

You are like the silence of the sun, the wind I cannot see, fire I cannot touch. Against my will, I glow in the glow of This.

For you, this April

Inspired by the beautiful LADYSAG77#Momentsofjoy, & every one of you who inspires me to write everyday.

May you be strong, and breathe and need little else but wealth of soul~

be persuaded that you are loved by the Father ~ no matter what.

Thankyou Yomargey, UK
for your Stilling Photography

***

May you, may I never stop, nor stoop to believe we were conceived to just live normally,

for ‘neath our feet are the footsteps of God~how easy it is to believe only what we see;

we may be cut, we may be being grafted: blossoms into a Vineyard too large to know just yet

This day I pray, for strength to hold on~no matter what, to the One that held us this far,

for when things were good, and we soared high, we felt secure in goodness,

now when Shutters dawn, there is still the Light, if we open our blinds ….

this April each day, read those Letters He writes for our days & our nights, writ in His blood~

this day I pray, you and I never forget who we are, & how we are~ of the Beloved..

Surprise Visitors @April

Images from yesterday’s news refused to leave but this morning a tree full of thumb- sized black birds, white chested (what are they?) they greet with rowdy song… what are they saying?

Last week we saw a family of Peacock. I thought it was a whacky dream….

Net pic

….glistening blue preening in the few meters between our home and Gulmohar trees….. all lounging around like that? Was too much to take a close pic but brief video below.

Can say with some confidence- we’re all a little more than numb; even beautiful things take time to process. My heads jumbling …..

startled by visuals in a world gasping with disbelief at its single cruel global event. Along with unavoidable casualties, will geographic justice prevail?

Yet these Beauties arrive: random signs of a Normal still here, after centuries of war & peace- while one is still gagging over lakhs of us hurting in ways we shouldn’t.

Lilies, Lent, April,
Home

Last night our son wasn’t too calm: aggression surfaces its head with random punctuality…

this morning he comes to where I am with my empty diary. Joh, 19, used to be the gentlest creature…. but the past 2 years were a dark valley. Now he reaches for my hair, and starts playing… his fingers gentle gentle….I remember an old song Ma and Dad used to sing ….He touched me… it feels selfish to be this Touched, not just in my skin by suddenly gentle-d son, which is a miracle in itself, but deep within raggedy heart, mine;

haunting images of migrant workers scrambling for a way back home to their villages follow me as I turn away from those tiny black birds I’ve not noticed before in trees we never planted… all yelling a song I wish I understood. My thoughts scramble ….

as our Govt. does it’s best, please let everyone stay in, help each other stay in, not go helter -skelter, not arrange a public meet like a very irresponsible group just did in lue capital city endangering an entire nation/earth.

A day ago, India
Net pic.
***

Joh’s fingers now so gentle in my skin, what can I say. Words halt…

He Touched me….

when I was just starting out in life, 25…. newly married, a spinal defect that had been developing suddenly worsened. Spinal cortisone injections (a 2 year nightmare) only helped short term.

From our balcony.
….

One day a stranger prayed for me, and in 24 hours I was totally healed. This isn’t easy to talk about because few would believe but I’ll never forget that fire in my bones and the touch of healing. Who Touched me….?

I never forget that day, and today after our 19 year old touched my heart like that, like an angel…in a time when hands must stay 2 meters away, and distancing is a new kind of love…. yes we are getting Touch- hungry and will look for Soul – Touches more than we guess now.

It is April already, the sky is a startling blue, yes I am startled by life;

am persuaded to believe against all odds that today will be nothing like yesterday, no matter the news. Woke up today feeling numb, but there were these chirpy tiny white chest- black birds outside; how must I stay negative? (As I wrapped this post, we saw Peacock again, this time a lone one…distancing? Kitsy our daughter yelled ‘Penguin!!!!’ How isnt that funny? She was mad at me for laughing that hard).

It’s a strange time, an unusual life: the whole world on the same page. It is harsh and unreal, and yet any little/ large blessing looks/is larger than life.

My sky.
….

Outside white cottony clouds go busily away. April feels beautiful in my Indian window: it is getting warm, gold light filling green leaves. I want to cry but the colours are too many. Want to pray but there are no words. Joh’s fingers still gentle in my temples: I treasure, store them away along with little black- musical- yelling birds & other kinder action.

Sometimes in the dark, you’re startled by angels.

……….@raylarn.

Do check GLOVE QUEEN , a truly informative post for our days :

https://insanitybytes2.wordpress.com/2020/04/01/the-glove-queen/

Last night we watched this little guy…

…and had the feeling we’d seen him over and over in places around. Take a look.

A million things go through the mind as Eye receives images of this tiny creature’s liquid bones in the confines of that tube…. playing solitaire, ๐Ÿ˜ƒ but more! He’s hoarding……! Think we’re the only ones who think so? Nah its there in comments already, and how I LOVE this Personality..

he’s playing Humans, in the winter of their spirit. He knows the weather forecast, he knows he will get hungry, and he knows the ways of his kindred creature, he is aware of exactly how to stash, scramble, and twirl around in a tight corner. He races time. He does not give up or stop. When he cant take anymore, he adapts! He’s built for duress, is creative and quick no matter the route/ the confines, he stays cute. Notice he is in the presence of a mightier force than himself (the Lab!), does he know? Maybe, but he’s intent on fulfilling basic instinct.

There is a major difference between him and us though, many.

He doesn’t have a human mind, for one.

I’m guessing we can fare better than a Hamster, you think…? ๐Ÿ˜…

***

If you’re looking for some music, this also happening @ my home, “Good good Father,” do listen …HERE

You are your own brand!

This Post is for anyone celebrating their birthday today, (and everyone else) I have this urge to celebrate you, and offer a tiny prayer too from my son who’s incredible gift is prayer. If you’ve been following posts you’ll know he’s not just blind but recovering from a series of disturbing issues, but this isn’t about him;

whichever part of the world you’re in: what a ride this is, and yet we are still the same people we were born as…

Was my birthday couple of days ago: “..no fuss,” I warned them, but there they were @ midnight, cake and candles, hushed whispers: in the morning among mysteriously bought gifts, was a Heart full of blue crystal stars from Kitsy, and Perfume from our eldest, my first name ‘Diella‘ hand- crafted in with scores of words like “Light”. (I got that name in a dream, after a long crazy illness. While I healed, there was a dream: it had my name written on a white stone. Diella means Worshipper);

mid- birthday joy, now there was announcement of national 21 day curfew; our entire street & surrounding areas went quiet, no bustle of traffic or twitter from Myna in trees running between our home and army acres across.

Within our walls, my family had strung out little lights, there was music and the smells of great cooking,

(I have officially surrendered cooking baton to second daughter Kitsy, who is master chef! (On left is how she used to be), now ๐Ÿ‘‡….sigh, they grow so fast.

Kitsy in our last visit out in a park…. why’d that seem so long ago?






D’you sometimes feel guilty to feel happy? You know it’s a mess out here with virus and anxiety attacks, but now and then there’s a celebration,

so here’s the thing: we were going thru’ all our pics, and my Jeff he rounded off everyone’s words with, “Ray, you are … you are… unique….” ….words that make me stare at everyone else now…..

that, there is no one like you either!

No matter the news, nothing changes who you are, your essence is unique, novel! Yes they say ‘novel‘ for all kinds of things, but here we are, citizens and strangers and basic people born to mothers and families and lives that can change in the twinkling of an eye. We been warned of all that, but when it arrives it’s a thief in the night, it’s a touch between life and death…

We got two bone chilling letters from people we love, one from our precious nephew in a hospital in Germany, he’s a doctor; and the other from a very dear friend in the U.S. They wrote loving notes, asking family to pay attention to how deadly this Covid thing is, the pace at which it mutates, its silent stealth. These precious ones lives are at risk because of their professions: I can’t tell you enough what it felt like, to be gazing at/ celebrating life in all its hues: to hug across the miles, and cry tears of love and pain;

to know that we 7 billion are strong and yet we are this vulnerable. We are beloved and fragile, our life is like grass, and yet we are one-of-a- kind- each, Designer made, no matter that our breath can be whisked away; we are phenomenal, a Force to reckon with. The day we were born, people paused or clapped, kissed? …. wept.

We can die, and even that occasion is phenomenal. It causes chaos / maddening grief, because humans as a race cannot be ignored. If one of us is attacked in any unusual ordeal it is News. The entire planet of us under siege is another thing altogether, nothing competes with the vastness of that: the fact that we are under this kind of common indefinable, insurmountable distress is totally New.

If we survive this, and many will, there will be the aftermath of it and it may be unlike anything recorded in the history of mankind: I don’t want to go much there: this one is about birthdays and how it feels to celebrate humans, mid- international crisis; it feels strange and provocative -beautiful and Quiet.

This morning I woke up feeling different, younger and older, like I had more in my 206 bones. It’s an awareness… of what? The immortality of life, or its brevity? I’m staring at books we used to read, it’s like from another life: movies, talks. Some Quotes feel more right than before. Oh, bouquets and birds, they don’t change, they are like paintings and classical music; they have Eternity in them. But our conversation…. it is halved in a new way.

Birthday hugs: they are tighter.

Gazes and strummed guitar, candle lights and the clink of glasses… they say new things. I can’t say what, just new. And old. And somethings we never knew before. We thought we knew it all. Our parents and grandparents taught us how to say Grace and say please, thankyou and sorry. As we grew we thought we understood things a little more than yesterday. It felt sweet, sometimes sour.

Now, I don’t know… and that is a New Thing. It reminds me of how little we all truly know about each other as humans. You are a person with feelings and heart and we must care deeply for each others’ well being, must pray for one another’s lives/ souls…

this is more than birthdays: you can see this Post hovers around that word and how I want to wish you a beautiful life without sounding patronizing, even if it’s not birthday zone. Even if life’s not short and we’ll survive this and other wars.

Our daughter Vi does these Videos and I’d love for you to listen to this one. She’s a lot like me and feels deeply about things;

then our son walks in on her recording (he cannot bear closed doors), but the moment turns around, he prays and brings you right into our room facing palm trees on it’s right, with my large painting in the back drop. It is called DaySpring, and I wish you that Inner Spring of Light and Life.

Vi does her own take on Michael W. Smith’s Agnus Dei; we looked up those words and it means “Emblem: a Lamb bearing the Cross of Christ.”

All sounds so serious. D’you get the feeling life is way more than mortal detail? That there’s more besides thinking on Cures and everyday bread/ rice/ health… that oneday we might all be someplace else besides this planet?

And that we matter incredibly more than we suspect

This is another one I’ve no clue how to wrap. Do have a blessed day.

@raylarn

Touched

by what held us all these years: I’m touched, by the power within us that is greater than fear,

touched by how new leaf and bud appear, relentless of germs & sickness, they pout at my quick disbelief of personal endurance,

Touched, where I am rinsed by storms of cleansing…. I believe you and I and us are more than these days,

dumb founded by my own capacity to be afraid, I’m touched by the power of prayer, gratitude & praise:

This morning it went on and on in my head: the astounding fact, the act of prayer…. its healing ways, no matter how we used to think it didnt work, this morning It touched me, like a Glove, a Mask…. It held us in the secret place of Its hiding, not just me and mine, but you and yours: locked doors, sealed yards, borders, nations, hearts and minds….

May we wash our spirits, with the cleansing power of leaning on the most High. Man is wired to lean, on meds and safety measures: and that’s a sign a good one too…that by ourselves we are not enough. Together with the Leanable-On, we are stronger.

Choose Stronger, dear one, we aren’t alone. There is a Power beyond this,

I was touched by It this morning. Grace, Strength...call it a big word, let’s be touched by the One thing that can save us: The Hands of God that made us and flowers new every morning, I send you these, as Reminders,

stay at ease, peace..

Walk Tall into Tomorrow

This one is for the loved ones and those who have succumbed, or might, to Covid & other reasons humans and nations do not always thrive,

& too, for those of us who die a thousand deaths in lives that could be be lived out strong,

those for whom Love loses Its Light with eye dulled for fears they neednโ€™t weep: we are freer than we imagine;

for all of us: Tomorrow is that gift we cannot see yet: we do not walk Its fields of harvest, we do not yet inhale Its aroma of rest, we do not hold It in our fingers, but we believe It too will arrive like yesterday,

we know in the hours before dawn that when we peer thruโ€™ grey satin whispers of sunrise, we will walk into Its rays of hope,

Some said it well... ‘weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning‘; so walk, walk on. Brave Heart, walk on, till tomorrow comes…

….

I simply must add here, my friend Alastair Duncan’s extraordinary Sunrise.

STILL WALKS.

Sunrise in Carmarthenshire, South Wales’s bird & sheep… a horse towards Troserch/ footbridge/ river wild flowers, footsteps; head towards a kissing gate into the open…
Alastair Duncan
Thankyou for this beauty of a share.

….

@raylarn

Related Post:

A walk in the neighbourhood
Bruce Stambaugh.com

Friends contribute.

I just received from the Netherlands, a poem ‘Written v.appropriately; like to share it with youโ€ฆ’,

forwarded by my dearest friend and cousin sis. We were The Twins when we were little, as in school- little girls. I wore pig tails, she wore a mop. She was fun and gorgeous, a Beauty with brains, she still is. We connect now and then, as she did just now. Thankyou darling person for the Intercontinental hug & verse.

When we thought we were all powerful
and did exactly as we pleased,
when we treated the earth with contempt
a virus brought us to our knees.

When we prided ourselves on social media
with photos of places we roamed
a microscopic virus decided
to bind our feet and keep us home.

When the whole world seemed divided
and no one could see eye to eye
We needed a tiny virus
to show where our connection lies

We need to wash not just our hands
we need to cleanse our thoughts
we need to elevate humanity
before the virus is fought.”

Author unknown.

***

Also sent in by our dear friend in London, one we haven’t physically met in 20 years but who makes an effort to catch up:

thankyou P.A, for being kind and eternal in this changing world, too for this BBC Video clip with refreshing skies.. clearing in the wake of Covid, even in Wuhan. The best is yet to come!

Yes, it is a good time to connect, even remember we are fragile creatures of a Life that can go faster than It arrives every morning: Its’ breath- the sheer will of God.

Do share anything you might like to, in pics, or a thought, a sketch, photograph, a clip: would love to hear from you in comments or Idialects@gmail.com.

These days will not be here again:

Stay blest.

Corona-Whisperer

We need a Corona- Whisperer, and we need one now:

Net pic.
Whisperer:
One who tames
animals by talking
to them in
certain tones.

….

like the fierce Santur Pills our soft voiced aunt had in thumb-sized steel box: bitter herb that scared whooping cough, sneezes, hiccups

tiny round terrors that could cure malingering children of tummy ache before school. Ma just whispering, ‘Sant,’ could bring instant relief…

our Santur dear relative lived alone in Mangalore where I was born. Her laughing tiny frame & white cotton sari all in stark contrast to her pill box! I thought of her this morning after a local silence at 8 am; there’s a School next door but today its all shut up. Our apartment kids aren’t at any school either these past few days after a health care warning. Streets are not falling over with wheelie- bikers, dog- walkers, joggers. Where do you go when they ask you not to go out too much?

You watch more movies at home, read, work new recipes, search out cobweb/ stars @ night, monitor each others’ sniffles, text/ do letters, check news…for nice news … like sports, but they’re cancelling tours? We even had breakfast together this morning.

“Don’t touch elevator surfaces,” Rish next door says, “…not staircase railing..

His wife Jaruna is not as worried, “This will leave like it arrived, suddenly. Summer will burn it up; be happy and it boosts immunity, releases endorphins, kills stress..”

I feel a sneeze begin and run to the safety of our front door. We’ve had a morning of putting away older paintings for few more in theme with the Season.

Check

It is Lent. Some of our friends are on a veg. fast (which for some reason includes fish).

Our Chinese neighbour Pinna had 2 days of “velli ba’ cough y’know,“. Gingko cured the thing. Pinna was born and raised in Kolko’a, “but people are ‘ellified of me. I don’ like go ou’ more much!” she grins, her darling eyes dissolving into wrinkling skin.

Sigh.

While I enjoy local kids not playing cricket in available car parking lot and we drink up lemon- ringed water,

I scour the news for mice cured of Covid, and this photograph shows up in Google search along with an Edvard Munch bio. possibly after yesterday’s Post.


Job mocked by his wife :

Georges_de_La_Tour

For anyone unfamiliar with long suffering Job and his infamous wife who said, “Curse God and die!”,

this was a good man, so good, it made Satan do a strange bargain with God:

You put a hedge of protection around Job, won’t he sing happy the whole 24×7, why won’t he be your star disciple?!

So. Hedge & favour withdrawn now, Satan gets God’s consent to try Job by fire, in Epic test of faith.

One by one, Job loses everything: children, wealth, health. His few friends taunt him, as he sits in the market square in proverbial “ashes & sackcloth”, but nothing shakes his trust in a God he calls his Redeemer.

Oneday I know I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living,” Job tells his friends who insist there must be hidden sin for him to be sitting in the dust, running sores like that. Is when his wife asks him to curse God and die,…

is when Job does the ultimate antidote to dis- Ease:

He asks God to not let his ‘friends’ perish. This shocks any further Satanic mutation. Sigh. What can succeed like that kind of Immunity against evil: absolute Love. It is death to destructive forces.

A Contagion deadlier than the vilest Pandemic, is my mind mutating with Things opposed to your wellbeing.

Fearless Job believes he will see Goodness in the land of the living, and he does. There follows a time of Restoration in which he takes back all his friends. Check here, for more on the ‘Patience of Job’ if you like.

What’s it got to do with Corona- care: maybe it does have a lot more to do with us than we know.

  • Maybe Fear invites things we do not know yet, to know:
  • maybe when faced with mortality, humans get Perspectives right.
  • Maybe I’m bargaining a bargain with my Maker: that we will ask good lives for each other. That you and I will not walk away from this experience, indifferent.

Maybe it is that time to ask in the open, ask redemption of lost time, lost life, lost peace. Maybe I believe we the human race aren’t as gone as we think we are, maybe we can still be shocked into restoration:

if we would whisper a prayer.

…..