Tag: Hope

Co-incidence?

Taken by Guide at Banerghatta:

Uncanny: last year we were at this 👆 place like at this👇 photograph, courtesy Rochelle Wisoff- Fields, Friday Fictioneers. Thankyou! I needed a Reminder…

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
…..

Coincidence?

2019, early summer.

The bio-dome hosted hundreds of butterfly …our 18 year old blind Joh was at peace, no aggression. We weren’t worrying about the things he couldn’t see, just grateful that his beautiful smile was back in this quiet place lush with flora. Post seizure meds’ aggression had reared its ugly head the past months, holding our gentle perfect son hostage.

Today life is getting better: piecing back together under a Force that held us. Negativity fades like long shadows of dusk as I look at Rochelle’s Prompt and the gentle Reminder that we are all still being held together …

….

@innerdialects

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Angel unawares

She found us on a railway platform, Bangalore East; was fascinated by our daughter’s phone and finger ring. Then she wouldn’t leave us; half hour later I was curious to see her family, was she alone? Were there more pretty eyes like hers, gold amber, dark with long lashes….

Photograph Vihan

You could get trapped between tears and soft rage. The child was not hungry for food, she was hungry for things she couldn’t have, not with her lifestyle on the pavement. I looked away hurt that I felt irritation, hurt that I could be repulsed. Somewhere in all that, there was (is) horror that 23%? (according to 2012 census) live below our poverty line. Somewhere in all that is the voice of Sakshi Malik a Facebook friend who said Poverty exists more in the human spirit than anywhere else.

So I follow Amber girl, past a glass bangle seller who also sells heart shaped balloons. He wears kohl in his eyes and one earring. Any other day I may have returned his smile but today the mother in me wasn’t amused. What has happened with us all, that children like this child, must stay in railway platforms? She’s speaking my local Kannada, she is chatty, street smart. If she went to school she’d be in front row full of pep and silver/gold paper stars in her project work.

She points me to her Ma with five other sibling, all their amber eyes on fire. The mother has infant at breast under thin cotton sari and green blouse with safety pins all down opened neck line. Words still fail me, what does one say?

Amber, she grinned at me, her face turning into one big heart. This was ten years ago? She was some kind of angel in that transit zone: we were shifting cities, just about getting used to our third child’s blindness, we were between jobs, it felt insecure, tiring.

I remember Amber today, not as representing the invisible population of a country unable to tackle its vast tribes, but as a bright faced young one who could be beautiful in her spirit and gift us a smile like that, no matter what her circumstance.

Stepping into these last few days of 2019

I’m excited, like in moments before you unwrap a gift. It is easier now to remember the good things not the bad. Hope is poised like buds waiting, tiny perked blossom. Promise cards/calendars read,”From this day I will bless you...” it started with Thanksgiving month. Every day feels closer to dawn, I want to lean back a bit, and rest on blessed assurance.

Photo credit: Yomargey,UK.


But first I’m stepping back from some territory: letting go of circumstantial evidence to the badness of human existence & self.

Photo Credit: Yomargey, UK.

Not good?

I do think it’s good to be like that, like a child with no bitterness attached to the way we accept life all over again; accept our own capacity to be good, yeah that – forgive ourselves too, in the eyes of God alone who is perfect.

If you’re thinking I’m sitting in a cleopatra tub of milk floating with rose petals, no I’m not. I’ve at least 2 good reasons to give someone a tongue lashing…I have my own personal hate list that God keeps (yes God, dyou mind:) …keeps reminding me to shred.

But as these last days of 2019 narrow down over the weekend and we plan a candle lit midnight with a few friends, I’m truly looking forward to shredding to ash some emotions I’ve picked up along the way not on the 31st, but right now. Looking forward to stepping into new ness, not merely on the eve of 2020 but deep in the crevices of my ME where an Unshakable Kingdom exists. We choose life, we choose death, we choose in-between states of grey:

Hey, choose Life.

Be that Star

A Christmas Prayer:

“Let me be that Star,

Let Your Life blaze through my inadequacy,

Gaze thru’ my shadows with Compassion, with forgiveness and the kind of tender mercy You’ve stood for,

Oh Gentle Saviour, arrest my blindness with Your freedom to be who I was made to be, in the Light of your power. Free me from what blurs my vision

Beautiful One be born this day in my ash, my ashes of dreams, for a star is that; may I reflect You, reaching out to me via Light years of Love.

Teach me Love, Your Love Oh Sacred Head once Wounded for me, Your Story stuns me o’er and o’er….

past the frills and fluster of seasonal cheer, I want to know the real You more and more, Gentle Jesus of the Cross, as You go about Your Day do not pass me by,

may our planet shine with You, with the Life of Your Light.

Alchemy!

The Alchemists Studio hosts this Beauty in blue –

blue, the colour of our global roof, the essence of emotion, a Jar of heaven that turns tears to the Dew it returns, every morning. I’d call it ‘Tears of heaven…?’

The Alchemist :”From our tears spring the life giving dew that nourishes life!I hope you have a beautiful week ahead!

https://rakupottery.ca/ The Alchemists Studio
The meaning of Alchemy: chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve the transmutation of the base metals into gold, the discovery of cure for disease, and discovery of a means of prolonging life

Yesterday on our way to another part of Bangalore city, we got stuck in a crowd of 1 lakh protesters with banners, national flag, slogans being quietly yelled, all in simmering polite refusal to accept a recent political statement regarding Citizenship in our country. There were armed cops lining the entire route, khaki and guns at rest but ready. Section 144 is not a pretty section to be found in a march of that number, however accidentally. My husband would be calm in the Red Sea. Not me. An hour of that, and a detour home, I was thinking, dearest God, it is that time to pray for each other, I mean real prayers. For wisdom, peace, love, respect, safety, protection,harmony.

https://www.thenewsminute.com/article/call-civil-disobedience-massive-protest-bengaluru-demanding-rollback-caa-nrc-114640

Dont ask me how we got detoured somewhere along this surge. It’s a miracle when you can safely get safe, though it’s also a beautiful thing to watch hundreds come together with love for each other, in a time of need.

Where are we headed this 2020, I’m scared to ask, think,imagine. What’s it going to be like for all our children? Will the world they inherit be kind to them; will they have space and time and support to pursue their dreams, will they be able to live, forgive, love? All our pretty poetry and wishes can sound like beautiful broken things. Yeah, it’s not an appropriate post for a season of cheer, but this is also a season of comfort. I choose to believe in that Comfort.

The Psalmist talks of tears collected in a bottle, poetic imagery/ real

all of which and more is graphically depicted in a must-see Movie THE SHACK.

Do not watch this one if you’re in the mood for sweet-nothings under mistletoe and fests in joyful carol. The Shack is 2 hours of one man’s acquired mistrust of God, having lost his little girl to a murder that leaves no closure; his own past a mesh of abuse/ disaster parenting. It is constructed in a way that can be controversial (depictions of God as ‘Comfort’ took me 2 viewings to understand. Wonder & awe at what divine reality is really like!)

Thankyou Alchemist Studio for your beautiful expressions of alchemy.

Every Vase Has A Story

https://rakupottery.ca/

Every one of us a Story:

Recently I did a few paintings for a book on humans in bondage to abuse. In the process of that, one of the editors asked if I could work the Cover painting on the famous Japanese art Kintsugi, (also known as Kintsukuroi- the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique. Wikipedia)

What I finally did for that Book cover ofcourse was not a human face melded together with gold, though I would have loved to, (haven’t worked with gold leaf paintings yet).

Yet, fascinating that the very things we discard, as the breaking points in our day, could be our turning points.

Is this post flowing all over the place… perhaps yes. It’s a busy morning, we slept late last night(3 am?), theres a fair amount of action today, there are people who will be in tomorrow, cooking, serving, laughter and joy. Woven in the weave of all that theres the quiet of answers waiting, questions unasked, healing, scars, memories of loved one lost, a photograph on the wall, a melody that lingers from childhood, a recipe from Ma’s kitchen, a hug I wish I could receive all over again. This time around there’s the sense of new beginnings, a letting go, a new holding on. Even a new respect for the wounds that got us here. Healed by a wound. Sigh, but happily.

Hey, let the Alchemy of heaven seal us with new beginnings. For me it’s the story of that first Christmas that is an awakening. It’s a prayer in the stars. “Dearest Lord Jesus, let the blood that flowed from the Cross kiss my scars, let the breath of God breathe into me, I cant do this on my own, hold me with life anew, I’m hurting alone, I’m leaning on You. You. You. ”

I love that everyone has a Story. What’s yours…

Much love this season & always

That’s us.

When Healing comes

No alarm bell, no burst of glory. It tiptoed in ‘neath my gate. It wouldn’t hold my hand, It couldn’t. I was cold cold cold, every leaf in my garden shrivelled, ashed; Ivy & dust layered the ground and walls of my address.

When Healing came It bled into me. It Crossed boundaries I had built. It broke Itself like Bread over my hunger and poured Itself out like Water over my drought. New metaphors crowd my space. This had been desert with no oasis. Now, this Healing-

growing me into things I do not want to recognize:

a Garden of Shadows where a Lone One prays. Prays as if for me. What’s this. He breaks on two planks where He hangs, I hate this like a personal wound. I’m screaming words with no decibel: He’s saying it for me. Two words, three- I will never forget. “IT IS FINISHED.” He said, smiling stars in His eyes as if we were in Paradise being made over again.

Wait,

wait. He takes my buried memoirs of habits of pain.

No, wait!

But I can’t have them back, He says. Healing takes it all away. I’m blinded by an emotion with no name, Its a Light falling careful in my blind eyes. It grabs my poison ivy with new strong Vine: It inhales me, slamming my dying dead inside, don’t ask how. I have no Theory, no Words wise or pretty. All I know, when Healing came to me I was dead blind, now I see:

I see Scars, Its Body broken. Healing has scars, you get this? I don’t and maybe never will, not till we go Face to Face past that proverbial Glass darkly in the way. Now I peer through Reason, Logic, Theories, Rule. Oneday when we have crossed our rules, we will see the host of things that see us now. Oneday we will break through gravity bound toes: on that day we will see what we question these days. Oh when Healing came It broke Its news gentle to me. It knew I’d be suspicious,afraid,disbelieving…

When Healing walked into me, It spoke things I believed I couldn’t know…..

that gain came in via loss, true I knew, but what else could a human fight for? We needed this. This War for Survival was our one socially acceptable behaviour; it united man and woman and child and nations and bazaars and gangsters and priests, it fed global talks and need. If I didn’t do Survival what tell aunty Maya I was doing ? Or Pastor Sahil. Or neighbour Bishhy. Or Karu Harben my brilliant corporate cousin. What tell Didi Grey my mentor..or art collaborators… that I didn’t care anymore how I’m being received;

who could I be, what of my ‘me‘?

When Healing came It talked into me – sacred syllables of the Father Son and Holy spirit, groans not uttered by the carnal 5 senses: we are heart and mind and spirit soul, beyond flesh and sensor. I had territory within that must heal first*, my Healer said, it began in the acres acres acres (deep in my core where we live or die, there we heal, there we host our virus, our sickle cells, our warrants of life, our predictions of peace. If we die there, how could we survive in the peripheries?) ..

Healing took me to an impossibly narrow dizzy path. When I began to heal- one tiny step at a time, It unleashed me to run my feet like a deer’s in cliff edge sheer mountain. Fear rose bitter gall in my throat and I killed it like a beast is killed with bare hands: something I’d tried an entire lifetime, now it happened with one rapid wish;

here was this desire to thank every mean thing that had ever come my way, hey yes those nasties I’d crumpled over? Them. They were my helpmate, they now proved my brick and mortar needed to build foundation of this impossible route. “Forgive. Go on higher,” The Healer pled with eyes of deathless Love, and the Light of that gaze scorched my last defense, over and over like with birth pangs. How could I have known this detail if I hadn’t needed healing ?

Why haven’t You been here earlier- how much went in wasteland of my nothing. My Healer replied as if I had spoken, He said,”You are more than all this. In these deserts more Gardens could grow, if you go. “

Say what, why? There’s more folk like me, why would I care, but now I did.

When Healing came to me It rained and Its Tear whetted my thirst for Its fact. I used to think with Healing I would be strong again to return to old strengths, I’d be a pillar of fortune, a wheel of Change. Oh look- see how nice healing is, but that is not Its way. It told me things I couldn’t know.

When Healing began I leaned my core on Its Strength. No more great burden of goodness to bear! I was still a torn leaf garden but with new shoot- as if I had wing, the Healer said,”Never mind your Self. Rise..”

When Healing came It did not give me wings, that’d have scared us all.

It is much more than we show and tell, it’s in the way grass grows o’er and o’er and wise men die and babies born will oneday grow to know more than you or I confess. When Healing can, It will come to you and the Light you see will be outside of our incapacities, then perhaps you too will say to another, “…how else could I have known…?*”

..

Inspired by our son(& little brother Joh) as he heals.

@innerdialects.