A steaming mug of chai / tea, to be enjoyed right here right now.
…my steaming cuppa!
Tastes the best once off the kettle / saucepan. The lingering flavor lasts until after, reminding you of a pleasant morning you’d had. And you could not recreate the same flavor again with your microwave or stove. The slow rising steam dancing to the tune of time passing.
Life’s moments are best enjoyed in the moment. In the now. Never could you re-create the same moment ever again,
A particularly dull day that was. And within a few minutes the sky opened up and the blue kept getting bluer, and the day brighter. The flowers in my garden were in full bloom. The flowers speak how delighted I was. Life was good in that moment.
This moment…
(In response to the Weekly Photo Challenge by WordPress: moment, and works for transient as well)
Happy Summer Solstice my dear visitors 🙂
In the (Asian) Indian culture, green bangles are adorned by the bride at the sacred marriage ceremony- a blessing symbolizing prosperity and fertility. And she continues to wear green her entire married life. The gentle striking of glass produces a sound that is delightful, soft and feminine.
My maiden home would be filled with the cheerful sound from my mother’s or grandmother’s bangles. It seems to always be there in the background, the predictability gave us kids a strange sense of security, and you could tell those toiling hands were working somewhere in or around the house.
This jingle-jangle of the green bangles were sounds of love and care and motherly warmth.
Green glass bangles with a pair of pearl-gold ones, set on traditional green Indian fabric.OF SANDALWOOD ‘n freshmehendi hands
Mixed scents, like feelings; lonesome she stands
Dressed in silk, her gold jewelry dangles
Amidst the jingle-jangle o’ the green-bangles
SHE MAKES the house into a home
Cooking n’ cleaning n’ loving she roams
Making peace after any wrangles
Along the jingle-jangle o’ her green-bangles
HOLDING the little chin, combing hair
On fevered forehead, her hands of care
In a soft mulmul* embrace, their tears she lulls
All in the jingle-jangle o’ her green-bangles!
*Mulmul (pronounced muh-l muh-l as in mulberry) is a fine, soft cotton muslin from India. There are beautiful mulmulsarees for women in India.
For The Daily Post Photo Challenges theme for the week “It IS Easy Being Green!” and (Michelle said if the post is related to Ireland, the better it is. So, while taking this picture, I thought of Ireland. So related it in such an unrelated way 😬 )
Works for another theme for this week “Security” as well!
An evening in Rancho Viejo, Texas. The ambience– so dramatic and beautiful. None can beat Nature’s own filter! Just like being in a 3 dimensional painting … #nofilter (Skyscape # 007)
The Little Story: To meditate alone with no interruptions, a monk decided to go to a nearby lake. He took a boat and moored it in the middle of the lake, closed his eyes and began meditating. After a few hours of uninterrupted solitude passed and he was in a deep meditative state, when suddenly, he felt the bump of another boat colliding with his own. His eyes were closed still, but he was agitated, and felt his anger rising. By the time he opened his eyes, he was about to scream at the boatman who had so carelessly disturbed his meditation. On opening his eyes, however, he was startled to find that it was just another empty boat that probably got untethered and floated to the middle of the lake.
That moment the monk had a profound realization: all the anger was within him; it merely needed the bump of an external object to provoke it out of him. And that moment on, whenever he came across someone who irritated or provoked him to anger, he reminded himself that the other person was merely an empty boat; it is he who has the choice to react independent of the whatever the other person did.
There have been times when I would feel frustrated and hopeless about things and myself, and it gave way to so much anger I didn’t know I was capable of. It is easy when you think you have a wrongdoer in your life to blame. But in absence any villains, one confronts the stark reality of one’s own nature. After the fact, realizing how it was making others feel would kill me. I felt powerless and at mercy of this intensity of the emotion I had no explanation for. Thats when I stumbled upon this story.
It hit me in the head like a brick. Past the cleverness of the story and the intellectual stimulation such stories might give, a space needs to be created for a lot of work to be done on self: take it in, assimilate the knowledge, contemplate on it until it shines back out as wisdom, becoming a part of one’s nature.
THE waning sun The sky blue still The night to come The heart athrill
THE tree so bare Looks up to the sky The sunset’s glare The darkness nigh
IT’S arms outspread It’s soul inviting A tree beckons With love abiding
BOUNDnotwithstanding Its Spirit free All over, burning The Twilight Tree..
Twilights are one of my favorite times of the day. It is a short time when two worlds merge, creating a third, evanescent one. This poem is dedicated to twilight and the witnessing tree.
"What do we ever know that is higher than that power which, from time to time, seizes our lives, and reveals us startlingly to ourselves as creatures set down here bewildered?" -- Annie Dillard
Life according to one of life’s truly gifted naturally born wafflers… an open diary of a Saffer in a different land... life in the greater Dublin & Leinster area. (Blogging since 2011) My quests fuel my dreams… my dreams fuel my quests!!