Journey

The Truth is Pale Blue and its Apparent Size is Equal to a Dot

Short Coverage

**Pale Blue Dot by Voyager 1 Space Probe.**
**[Source – Wikimedia Commons]**

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet

Whose hands can strike with such abandon

That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living

Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness

That the haughty neck is happy to bow

And the proud back is glad to bend

Out of such chaos, of such contradiction

We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

This excerpt is from a refined piece of poem by Maya Angelou which shared then and is sharing still the truth.

We all call a pale blue dot in this magnanimous universe our home, and then we forget. For what else can it be if not weak memory that we repeat the same blunders and invite catastrophes?

We are full of contradictions, we are the chaos, we are neither devils nor divines… and yet we are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world. Why?

Because we can think, we can create, we can sing and dance, we can understand the science behind everything, and we can write a poem to share with everyone A Brave and Startling Truth.

Because deep down all each one of us want is peace. Yes, but only if we remember… if we remember to think.

When we come to it

We, this people, on this wayward, floating body

Created on this earth, of this earth

Have the power to fashion for this earth

A climate where every man and every woman

Can live freely without sanctimonious piety

Without crippling fear

When we come to it

We must confess that we are the possible

We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world

That is when, and only when

We come to it.

**Earth from the surface of moon.**
[Image by WikiImages from Pixabay]

Read Maya Angelou’s beautiful poem, A Brave and Startling Truth here.

Know more about our planet, the Pale Blue Dot.

My inspiration for this post – A Brave and Startling Truth: Maya Angelou’s Stunning Humanist Poem That Flew to Space, Inspired by Carl Sagan and Read by Astrophysicist Janna Levin (a fabulous article written by the fabulous Maria Popova).

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Let Go

Posted on February 4, 2020 by Jagriti Rumi Destination Dream Catcher Let Go New Dreams Old Dreams Recipe

Poem

**Fly, fly, fly!**
**Image by Oberholster Venita from Pixabay.**

Let go please

This is noise

You are holding to

Getting moulded too

Remember you were hit by

A typhoon, in monsoon, oh my

Oh my, you’re carrying the broken

Dream catcher like a token

Of a promise you made to yourself

Forgotten the recipe? Oh well, just melt

The mind and heart together, then clap twice

Look in the mirror, smile, yours is the choice

Colour the dream catcher in deep green

Of your eyes, in the rainbows you have seen

As a child. Voila, it is ready, a new dream

Catcher that’ll carry your old dreams

To its destination, so… let go.

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Violets

Posted on December 31, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Basho Charming Conversation Haiku Journey Lovely Mountain Path Violets Warmth

Conversation

**Walking and observing.**
[Source – Pixabay]

Violets—

how precious on

a mountain path.

– Haiku by Matsuo Basho

The violets, the lovely peaceful charming quiet perfect violets, helped me see the path that I had covered, the mountainous journey suddenly filled me with warmth and glow and I blushed.

I know not what lies ahead, but I am sure to see some violets.

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Another Moment

Posted on September 6, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Another Moment Memories Puzzling The Puzzle Riddling The Riddle Time Travel Truth Visions

Spirituality

**What this moment has to say is the truth…**
**Image from Pixabay.**

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.

Riddling the riddle, puzzling the puzzle, I walk ahead.

The memories made, the dreams fulfilled and the forgotten ones merge to make me smile, to make me cry. The voices locked in the chamber of my heart can sing, it can make me time travel.

The visions are laced with hopes and surprises and successes and miracles… is it not magical enough?

Promises are magical too, especially if fulfilled.

And in this moment, I wonder how did it begin, how will it end, how much have I understood and how much have I measured, how to define and how to let go.

What this moment has to say is the truth… the truth that quietly then slips away into another moment.

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Dream Light

Posted on July 30, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Dream Light Enchanting Colours Forever Lonely Road Music Real World

**Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose** by **John Singer Sargent**.
**[Source – Wikipedia]**

Keep your dream light on. When bright it reveals the Narnia world, takes you to Alice’s Wonderland, and introduces you to Peter Pan and the Wizard of Oz. When dim it shows you the path that no one can see in the, hah, real world…

The real world of oh so beautiful Earth, the real world of oh so enchanting colours, the real world of oh so troubled minds, the real world of oh so trapped hearts.

So keep the lantern ready and walk towards the dream light. Tip toeing the wooden floor, tap dancing on the way, gliding on the sea, swirling high in the sky, however twisted maybe your turn, the lantern will keep on glowing, it will never betray you, even when you go blind.

How to select a lantern for such a trip? Always, write it down if you want, always choose the lantern that chimes, hums and whistles, after all music fuels dream lights.

On the lonely road towards your dream you will see things that you have never seen, meet djinns and dragons, flying carpets and cars, funny friends and foes and your doppelganger for sure.

And when you fall down, when your heart breaks, close your eyes, breathe and believe, you’ll then remember to follow your dream light.

So keep your dream light on forever.

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Flowers Are Made Of Stories

Posted on May 1, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Flowers Are Made Of Stories Heart Remembers Journey Life Love Sang And Danced Yellow Flower

Mixed Fiction

Flowers are made of stories, every colour a different genre, every form a different journey.

A yellow flower lived high on a tree; it sang and danced along with the wind. One day the yellow flower fell on a passerby who looked up at the tree, then down at the flower, smiled and left. The passerby loved its story.

Flowers are the best storytellers, just a glance and the job is done, allowing the story to unfold, to bloom within the seeker slowly.

A lotus once told me an epic and a night jasmine a love story and a marigold a fairy-tale saga.

Flowers are made of stories which the mind forgets but the heart remembers.

Cassia Fistula, golden shower

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Calling the Ocean

Posted on April 28, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Calling The Ocean Flew Away Giant Wave Glint In Her Eyes Grocery Bags

Flash Fiction

Georgina was walking towards her home, by the same old path. With grocery bags in both her hands she could not straighten her hat or pull her hair back. She blew her hair when it tickled her nose.

It was a hot summer day, everything around her glistened in heat. Then she heard something, she could feel a vibration and as she turned her head right, she saw a wave, higher than the surrounding trees and the sweet hillocks. Georgina, dumbstruck, could not move, she kept on gazing at the giant wave devouring the trees, the hillocks and rushing towards her. ‘This can’t be true’, exclaimed Georgina. The wave hit her.

She twisted and swirled, the grocery bags somehow managed the wet blow and so did her hat. Georgina could breathe; she was not hurt rather she could swim without any effort. She looked all around with bewilderment, a school of Goldband forage fish crossed her; each one greeted her with a quick ‘hello’. Beaming, Georgina nodded and said ‘hello’; she tried to wave, but she could not, because of the grocery bags in her hands.

Georgina swam happily and was joined by two dolphins. They whistled a tune and said something that Georgina did not understand. Both the dolphins then nudged her hands and made her let go off the grocery bags. She felt light as she saw the bags sinking and touching the ‘sea bed’. Joyfully then she danced along with the dolphins. She threw her hat away and opened her hair; she swam, she swayed, she stretched her arms and flew away.

Late in the day she reached home soaking wet; grocery bags in her hands made a puddle in the kitchen and her hat added a tiny stream to it. Aghast, her mother finally managed to say ‘where in the world have you been?’ Georgina looked at her mom and with a glint in her eyes, smile on her face she said ‘the ocean’.

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Ambitious? Yes.

Posted on February 10, 2019 by Jagriti Rumi Ambitious Epic Faith Grand Life Mountains Night Jasmine Passionate Silence Path Storytellers

Flash Fiction

The flowers are ambitious by nature.
Image by Marisa04 from Pixabay

Gori knows not where the path leads to, the wet air, the dusky flora, and the mysterious tunes do not guide either.

Soaking in the newness she walks forward.

And why is it that we always choose to walk ahead, why does not the uncertainty collapse us?

If we stop to rest, if we feel defeated, if we turn back embarrassed and ashamed, we still reach, in some time, at the glorious hour of a beginning.

The tired, wounded, and sullen eyes once again look up, once again fathom the depth, once again find the path.

Taking the rope bridge, climbing the echoing mountains, crossing the glassy rainbows, Gori saw that valley where her loved one awaited her.

The gush of wind cheered her, the dew heavy leaves blessed her, the clouds played the drums for her.

And why does it seem that the whole world dances when we dance and the whole world moans when we moan?

How come we hear the call when there is a concrete silence around us, when facts dispel hope and when dejection raises a toast?

In anger the head is alone, when rejoicing the heart holds it all.

The illusion rudely reveals the reality and Gori faces the brazen cold marshland.

What happened to the beautiful valley, to the lover’s promise, to the perfect dream? Hush! The monster rises, its shadow darkens Gori’s faith.

Thundering sky strikes with lightening that Gori catches with her bare hands. Heaving, she runs towards the monster.

Why is life so epic, so grand, so ambitious? Why do the storytellers talk about ‘once upon a time’?

If the legends appear amused by the mundane, then how many of us are at folly for it is the ordinary that becomes extraordinary?

The tales have never ceased to be melodious, we live perpetually enchanted.

Gori starts walking, leaving behind the triumphant air, gravity shining on her forehead.

She resumes the journey as a narrow track becomes visible to her now, a solo night jasmine tree on the way, showers her with its flowers, Gori takes its fragrance along.

Gori knows not where the path leads to, soaking in the passionate silence she walks forward.

Are the night jasmines very ambitious to wait for and shower a victorious warrior and not anyone else? Yes, they are.

**Shine-shine, you two!**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

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That Flower, Dark Coloured

Posted on December 22, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Amma Cold Night Colours Dark Coloured Dusty Feet Embracing The Darkness Eyes Journey Old Lady That Flower Time Toothless Smile

**Bloomed in darkness.**
**[Image by Michael Gaida from Pixabay]**

The dark old lady walks like lightening devouring the night sky, she is swift, she is fast. Her dusty feet, darker than the broken black slippers, know exactly where it is to lead and where it is to stop. Draped in a saree lungi style, her slender figure boasts of agility and strength.

Amma, it is a cold tonight, and she covers her head, her ears with a towel. Does she look funny? Not at all, she looks as beautiful as that flower kept in that book. That flower, dark coloured, tells a story, pressed and noted neatly in that book, stored for a chance meeting.

**Waiting for a chance meeting.**
**[Image by Petra Šolajová from Pixabay]**

Amma what time is it, nine thirty she says and at ten she has to go to a flat and clean the dishes, clear the kitchen counter, set the culinary world in order; often Amma plays music and her dear plates, cups and spoons dance on her tune. Amma beams then like she is beaming now – Amma’s toothless smile.

On her way back home, at night, embracing the darkness Amma moves briskly, but stops in front of a small house and asks Sunita bahin if she can get a water-can and take some fresh water; yes, at Amma’s place you won’t see a water-tap rather there are colourful canisters lined up – yellow, blue, faded red and dirty white.

**Risen in style.**
**[Image by dendoktoor from Pixabay]**

Amma is stylish, her dark self knows what colours to wear – white and orange and green, mixture of all these and add some flowery designs, this completes her look. Do you also wear the colours of the road, the trees, the dark sky Amma? For you look as quiet and great as them.

And your eyes, that glance, killer! Amma your eyes are sharp, your eyes smile – your eyes are familiar with Time and that’s why you don’t mind, you don’t curse it, you don’t cherish it; you know how to live it. Whatever it may be, a raging tempest or a happy carnival or a visit to the temple, you get up the next day and leave for work on time.

I wonder if you have not spoken with everyone until now. Because you are alive, you know Time, you know the society, you know poverty and you smile with your eyes.

Amma cheers to your journey. The dark old lady waved a goodbye.

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The Little Prince

Posted on September 15, 2018 by Jagriti Rumi Desert Foretelling Heart Journey Narrator's Voice Stars The Little Prince

Dedication

**Prince with his friend, Fox.**
**Image from Pixabay.**

After crossing the vast desert, sailing through the green ocean, the Little Prince reached another desert. Golden sand waves welcomed him or so he thought.

The Little Prince walked alone. And the narrator’s voice followed him, sometimes foretelling and sometimes sharing.

“But this is not possible, for I cannot hear this voice”, says the Little Prince.

“Still, you can feel it”, replies the narrator.

The Little Prince inquires, “Feel the voice?”

“Yes, you can feel what the voice says, the emotions, the connections, the ideas, the realisations… this, you can surely feel”, says the narrator.

The Little Prince sat on the sand cross-legged and pondered over this thought. The desert wind tried to disturb him, but he stayed still, allowing the wind to settle in his golden hair.

“Yes, I surely feel… and I am glad I do… then what you speak is true”, says the Little Prince as if reciting a haiku.

“True for you and true for me… true for those who can hear me”, replies the narrator in a cheerful tone.

This made the Little Prince laugh loudly. The narrator and the desert wind joined him.

“Hey voice, yours is a pleasant sound… keep following me, keep foretelling and sharing, for I am on a long journey”, standing up says the Little Prince.

“I will, I will… for every journey needs a narrator”, says the narrator.

The Little Prince nodded and started walking, allowing his feet to sink a little and then rise, allowing the wind to tease him, holding his gaze up at the sky, waiting for the stars to show up.

For he knew a star that would lead him to his destination, he felt it deep in his heart. He felt it!