Tag: Grass

Heal

when we do, we will be changed,

These days there are no words enough. We will heal when we heal;

we will die and birth either hate or more love:

the kind that is conceived in days like these when our children kill our children. What state is that?

Words fail. We sit in the grass that bears our babies – these are days of a state we never knew; days we blame God not hell; days we turn away from the Forgiver, to the Taunter of humans.

Father forgive us. Father, heal.

FMF

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Takeaways from a Cloud forest

I tried to pray out loud but there were no words, just clouds, walking loud into my eyes, like Tears of Heaven 

Yes I love mountains, hills: but this trip was clouds. From where we were at Tipu Sultan’s Sunrise Point,

Dawn was faster than our fingers could capture…
We’d slept in late. The suite was a surprise, unlisted in Bookings; 22 hours at Nandi hills, nestling in rain clouds. Feeling blest was a miracle all by itself.
All God’s creatures. Thanks Vi for this one, wish you were in it though. The monkas made us run. Lil terrors grabbed my bag twice (monkeys)
Wild nameless beauties

Sunset, innerdialects.

City lights

For one who is scared of heights, maybe I’m cured? 4600 ft felt good

In the stillness, you hear His Still small voice.
Pitch black night; blanked by cloud.
Moth wouldn’t move much. Was either pregnant or lazy.šŸ˜² And we are all Co- habitants of the same planet.

Vi & I sat staring into dawn after everyone else bundled back to bed. “Its not raining- like the forecast …?”

She replied, “Ma, will it feel like rain inside a cloud?”

A Gandhi man, in metal paint, green bowl. Foothills, Nandidurg.
Takeaways from a Cloud forest.

Stay warm, safe, blest! Pray.

FMF writers.

It is that time …

The rain last night left puddles and a ‘Bird of Paradise’ bud! Life goes on as we scramble for Oxygen, literally. India hurts, prays, vaccinates. Every Breath is a miracle no one’s taking for granted. Nor food, shelter, job. The Earth continues to deliver her grass, bird and foliage. It is that Time of Life. We crawl into our insides, we gaze out at the stars. Aye, this too shall pass. Till then we wait. And watch. And pray.

This is that time of Life, when strong men and weak pray.

Bouquet from the King

The room gasps: outside our window beneath a hunch of trees, it’s there. In a rush of light & stillness … a Bouquet from the King, in a fuss of forest early evening mist. “For you.” He whispers;

I fling my mind down and lunge to where we get a closer angle: this pic doesn’t do justice to what real-time iris sees in 360 panoramic degrees of an October going to November, in the wake of ..

PiCourtesy Vihan

***

.. of Year 2020 tip toeing on all our nerves. I’m certain 2020 feels bad by now, and we aren’t breathing easy yet, not me. Woke up this morning feeling like I’m on Mt.Everest and scared to look down….

then He sends us a Bouquet among 295+ shades of green tender/ savage noon light.

Heart slamming our ribs we stare at His bouquet staring at us in equal devotion: every curl, petal and sepal, a startling testament of Him, His unshakeable Kingdom around our little planet.

I look up at Light filtering through nearby trees and see another Bouquet closer: its orange blossom flushed with rain. These trees were always here, now they are no longer just trees,

they are Messengers from the Creator: His voice in startling tones I never really thought were specific convo with me, in this here tiny moment no one else might even notice. Vihan, my daughter grins and says, “Yeah Ma, you’d catch this! Now pl Blog post it? “

The picture we managed here, barely captures what really was, pulsing with His 7D Presence! I needed to share it with you this eve of November: a Bouquet for you from the King.

Photograph : Vihan

***

May you too be startled by wild insane Events in corners just waiting for you to notice Him-

notice His Messages of Unblinking Love, no matter the forecast. Nothing mortal compares with His presence- NOTHING.

Sing, Soul

…shout leave, unhinge your dis- ease,

this body is a gift wrap, a heartbeat, a wrist full of pulse, a human cage

for all we donā€™t know.

Oh soul soul, I have done Life, done Time, cultured all my viral bacteria, my bones and salt tears,

my human gardens of hate, oh I wasted wealth praying for tinsel stars and plates of grass;

forgive me, I once merely asked for grave -deep health, never knelt at what we couldnā€™t touch; Coward, I

acknowledged only-  touchables.

..

So, Nah, how could there be duet with soul-

we are 7 billion+ none not oneextinguishable, for soul.

Ah, look with unhinged eyes, knowthe indefatigableĀ invisible Mind

singĀ thisĀ Thing, I could not before, tell, yell of Its Depth, Itā€™s width, Itā€™s infinite Shore

bailing out our thirsty planet-puddles, look, sing of how It sews our fracture

of how It buries our dark, oh how Itā€™s Light walks through all our distortions of Glass, my soul Sing,

like We are each otherā€™s song, like We are all weā€™ve got! Here: where no sting no death no letting go

no creation of waste nor Playhouse of hate ā€“ like-have-no-soul?! Here even here Sing, before hell hangs Debate.

I once was a child but now I know my soul, my mind, my life,

leave, shut that cage.

Sing.

ā€¦.

innerdialects