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]
A storyteller appeared… and cross-legged, excited, whispering, wondering, quiet, blank yet touched by warmth, we sat in a circle around him.
As if the giant tree with creepers, fungi, lichens and company, stepped back humbly, only to create a space for us listeners and the storyteller.
As if the wind played softly, swaying, singing a chorus in the background, only to live the tale being told, only to collect and pass it on.
As if the quiet birds stopped chirping or playing Chinese-whispers, only to let the melodious melody of the storyteller resonate.
As if the fragrant river turned into a dancing rivulet, only to water the story.
As if the blessed earth, steadied the spinning sky for a bit, only to partake in the narration.
As if the jungle beasts, big and small, furry and feathered, befriended the now and stopped the time, only to witness the storyteller’s old and endless Gatha.
As if the words, rhymed and bold, simple and gold, measured well and sold, performed in unison, only to let the storyteller’s story by all be known.
Glory to the known that welcomes the unknown.
Photo by Jagriti Rumi; Courtesy – KP
Photo by Jagriti Rumi; Courtesy – KP
First Indian edition. [Source – Wikipedia]
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The absolutely fantastically amazingly brilliant book Beastly Tales from Here & There by Vikram Seth inspired the blogger to write this piece as a tribute to the author and as a short, crisp sort-of-a-coverage of the book.
It is a must-read for anyone interested in life, stories and the art of storytelling.
Walking straight, walking on the mountain listening to ‘The Times They Are A Changin‘ I saw nothing, neither the trees nor the rocks, neither the shadow nor the light, and just kept walking ahead. Mountain spoke, I didn’t hear, until I bent a little.
It said, ‘You will reach your destination, you will, for sure’, and happily I smiled, crossed my hands behind my back and continued walking.
Swiftly I moved forward, there was no stopping me. Dashing ahead I crossed jungles after jungles, I played with the shadows and the light, I didn’t even wait for the wind.
Like a curse, definitely a curse, a disaster hit me – I started panting. It had never happened all this while, why now?
Then I remembered faintly of what the mountain told me… I pleaded it to guide me again, the mountain listened. It said, ‘Know patience and its power’, I bowed down and stopped walking. I stopped for the first time in my journey; I learned the art of deep breathing. Ages passed there; then I left in search.
In search of what I was looking for. I was looking for what I was in search of.
Familiar with the pace of the trees canopying me, stopping and listening to the rocks and their untold gathas, attuned with the shadow and the light, I kept walking when I reached near a ferociously musical river. It carried along the ocean’s depth and waves’ nimble notes… ‘Will merge with the ocean, I do not wait for anyone’, replied the river to my question – ‘can you please let me pass?’
So I changed my path and followed the river. Who said you can’t? Change… change and move ahead.
Right where the river met the ocean, where it all seemed to end, where the trees, rocks, shadow and light all disappeared, music stayed by my side and showed me a narrow, slippery way to cross the river. I stepped in, the water was cold, but shallow and so I could cross easily.
With joy and cheer I continued along, I danced on the way, I slept peacefully and then walked leisurely. I sang, the tune echoed. My mind envisioned a valley of flowers and pink clouds when suddenly I tumbled down.
I was hurt. My dream shattered and cold winds bruised me badly. It started hailing. Troubled, I shouted angrily… who knows at whom?
The weather opposed me and pinned me down, I accepted defeat.
Lying half dead, I waited for the weather to change…
When it did, I woke up and saw as the fog disappeared that there was a huge mountain standing in front of me. I couldn’t stop smiling, a new journey was going to begin.
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Majestic, towering and free! [Image by Joe from Pixabay]
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!
Also, a humble request to the new subscribers to check the spam folder after subscribing. Silly (but necessary) confirmation emails often land there instead of the bright inboxes. Merci!
Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
P.S – Supporting a storyteller is good for the world’s health (and undoubtedly, for the storyteller’s health as well). Shower some love by sharing, commenting and subscribing to the Weekly Newsletter.
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.
