A gentle, love filled spotlight! [Source – Pixabay]
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That which is now is old and gold, golden, oldie, yet lively, burning energy, fire, light, warmth and love, shining always like a flower in spring.
It is the sun we are talking about. It is the sun we see, it is the sun we breathe, it is the sun we eat and drink.
The sun, that which is now, always now, carves in nature its most delicate presence – from a tiny leaf to a magnanimous mountain, from a roaring river to a dancing dew drop. Dance it does, the sun, rhythmic and magnetic, carving along, letting the rhythm seep within all, making magnets of us all.
That is all, a beautiful movement, matched by nature, calmly, ferociously, fearlessly.
The rise and the fall of all follows this powerful rhythm. And every morning the sun touches and takes us along.
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Nature’s ready, the sun’s shining… and action! [Source – Pixabay]
Oyster mushroom mycelium growing in a petri dish on coffee grounds. [Source – Wikimedia Commons]
Fungi marched onto land more than a billion years ago. Many fungi partnered with plants, which largely lacked these digestive juices. Mycologists believe that this alliance allowed plants to inhabit land around 700 million years ago. Many millions of years later, one evolutionary branch of fungi led to the development of animals.
A group of elongated cells (hyphae) from the filamentous fungus Podospora anserina. [Source – Wikimedia Commons]
I see the mycelium as the Earth’s natural Internet, a consciousness with which we might be able to communicate. Through cross-species interfacing, we may one day exchange information with these sentient cellular networks. Because these externalized neurological nets sense any impression upon them, from footsteps to falling tree branches, they could relay enormous amounts of data regarding the movements of all organisms through the landscape.
Old, gold cobbled stone lanes, Vienna! [Source – Pixabay]
*
June 30, 2023
An old cobbled stone lane, old-old and narrow, lined with – old and famous – medieval structures, Mozart playing in the backdrop, timeless, captivating, deep and probably the reason that keeps the old charming and new, through this old cobbled stone lane passes old Mr Thomas, every day, pipe on, no smoke, with a copy of Wiener Zeitung folded, under his arm, thoroughly read, re-read.
The folded copy of Wiener Zeitung – one of the oldest newspapers in the world, 320 years old, whose first copy got published in 1703, a newspaper that Mozart must have read, that covered (in 1768) 12-year-old Mozart’s magical concert, that got shut down in 1939 on Hitler’s orders (started printing again in 1945) – isn’t heavy at all, even though historically a giant.
*
“Mm-mm, I did read it.” – Mozart’s busts said in unison. [Source – Pixabay]
*
Direct, also echoing, echoes arriving/leaving, Wiener Zeitung spoke what it saw, observed, analysed freely.
Old, Mr. Thomas’s favourite, this newspaper has friends too, you know, same like it, old and gold – the Italian Gazzetta di Mantova (1664), the English London Gazette (1665) and Berrow’s Worecester Journal (1690), also Haarlems Dagblad (1883) from Netherlands and the very many, thousands and thousands, of readers and the humble employees.
Old Mr. Thomas is walking fast, caught in a thought of uncertainty and the past and future, that he almost tumbled in the present. But, hey, he is fine because he is doubtful and so will explore.
July 1, 2023
Weiner Zeitung won’t get published today. Yesterday was its last day, the print version’s that is, for an online version will be out soon.
Saying tata-bye-bye to many employees means tata-bye-bye to many readers too? Will old Mr. Thomas now, with his pipe on, no smoke, surf the internet for Weiner Zeitung?
The old cobbled stone lane, old-old and narrow, lit by medieval lamps and Mozart’s songs, will see Mr. Thomas sometime soon, him and many oldies that it had befriended and many youngsters too, with a smart-smarty phone, listening/reading as they walk, to news bulletin, probably one published online on Weiner Zeitung.
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“Where’s my copy of the Zeitung?” “Not there, check the website bro.” [Image by Margit Wallner from Pixabay]
“We are old friends.” “Hai-hai!” [Japanese vintage candlestick; source – ebay]
Our blacksmith picked up the mould and studied it. His expressions were not discernible, but the sweat on his forehead highlighted his precision as he poured the molten metal into the mould.
Whilst he worked, many frames, metal shapes – some contorted, some flamboyant – stared at him, acknowledging and appreciating in utter silence.
Our blacksmith, on his way back home, saw a little kid who was standing against a wall along with his friend, wasting time, living.
That little kid whispered something to his friend and they both started following our blacksmith, copying his gait.
A silly game, a random thought, a reason to smile.
Dear reader what does time say?
Time says it is next day.
Every frame, every metal shape was eagerly waiting for our blacksmith. Roller shutter made its habitual noise and our blacksmith entered his workshop, and along with him came his two buddies, those two kids we saw earlier.
Quickly they went and stood next to his grand table, jumping with excitement.
Our blacksmith finally showed them what was now ready in the mould – it was a crane on turtle candlestick holder.
The two kids laughed and so did our blacksmith. He said the crane and the turtle were friends and the kids inquired if he had seen something like that in real.
Our blacksmith nodded and said that when he was their age he went with his father to a lake side and saw a crane standing on a turtle’s back.
Roger: I love this coffee house. It’s the same as old days.
Perry: Yeah! But the coffee is different.
Roger: Things change Perry.
Perry: Yeah! Back then it was better. It was real coffee.
Both the friends didn’t say a word for other four or five minutes. They were dreaming about the past.
Roger: Do you remember Carl? The old waiter who worked here? We owe him a lot.
Perry: Oh yeah! ‘Mr Beetle’ we use to call him. (Reflective) I wonder if it was his Beetle. He was a tolerant man I must say. I bet I owe him more than anyone from our group. Poor Carl!
Presently they were in his shoes. They were old.
Roger: What about Andy? I thought he was coming too…this get-together. He loves such ideas.
Perry: Yeah! His doctor didn’t allow him to take a journey after the transplant. He thought he would sneak out but his wife…you know.
They shared a laugh and then again went silent. Suddenly there was a lot of noise and a group of boys entered the coffee house. They were cheering about their victory in a local football game. They shook hands with the coffee house owner, giving him details about their match. Such was the beauty of this small town. Everyone shared happiness and love. One of the young boys came and shook hands with both Roger and Perry, and told them, ‘we won 3-0!’
Both of them were simultaneously arrested in what was now their history. They couldn’t help but think about the days when their life also was all about playing football.
Perry: Ah! Yeah! We know the feeling too!
Roger: The feeling! (Sigh)
Perry: We have played some good football Roger. Do you remember our 5-0 victory?
Roger: Come on Perry, the rival team played like a bunch of idiots.
Perry: Ha ha! Yeah! But you can’t take the credit away from us. We played well.
Roger: Sure! Sure! (More like a whisper) I can’t take anything away. It’s Time that takes away all.
Perry: Yeah!
They turned to notice the group of boys. They couldn’t resist smiling.
I am not dead. I am dying as I am living. I am old and shabby like a living scarecrow. I go unnoticed by the passersby. I have two friends – my wooden stick and my shadow.
With my wooden stick I have crossed many lands. Whose are those lands? I don’t know. It’s the warmth of the earth that I feel unlike the invisible boundaries and so I walk ahead.
I work few hours few days and earn enough to continue. I have a dream I always dream but i can’t remember it when I wake up. This is because of the running crowd I see every time I wake up. I like standing in rows, long ones, standing and waiting with my wooden stick, weird it may sound but I get time to waste.
I am poor, I am uneducated. I always stop to see a leaf fall and a butterfly fly. I can’t understand right and wrong. Once when I was in a city, a man left his dog at me. I ran while my wooden stick scared the dog away. I left the place swearing never to return in the dogs’ land.
I always accept and I never expect. I have heard of the government, it makes me laugh. I don’t know much about the laws but I am fearful to break one. Is there a law about a wooden stick? Someone said that the government is slow still I pray not to get caught. This is how I live.
You must have seen me. Some say I am the real India and some call me the common man. I own nothing. I feel free in this land though I know I am not. Heard a priest once saying something about Karma and reincarnation, I hope I die to become me in the next life. I feel comfortable the way I am. Change is strange for me.
My second friend, my shadow, never leaves me alone. I am alive, I am a common man and you must have seen me.
Haiku
Endless footprints following footprints/
When suddenly a few of them rise/
To bloom like a flower.
Greetings!
A storyteller, following the ancient tradition of cave chroniclers, standing in vrikshasana (the tree pose) on a hill top (it is sunny, but windy), breathing in and out stories (relishing it all, but at times overwhelmed), declares animatedly that she will continue to – tell stories, share rare story gems, and connect with the pacy universe while also keeping the website ad-free.
Big thanks to my readers. Stay tuned!
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Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Ranked as one of the greatest British films of all time, The Lavender Hill Mob confides in the audience, letting them see, feel, laugh and think without tickling persuasively with a joke here and a punch-line there.
Godard… Breathless and Alive
A Tribute to Jean-Luc Godard, the Film Philologist who Reinvented Cinema.
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.
Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
Meredith and the Green Lake
Illimitable Splendour
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
