Life

The Same

“What I meant was that if we are talking about the universe and how it works, then shouldn’t we first at least be aware of the micro-universes… the micro-universe of every living being which may throw some light on the macro-universe?”

“Hm-hm, I said the same.”

“How life evolves… its route from birth to death… simple cycles, complex cycles… such details can reveal a map of which we are also a part.”

“My words mean the same.”

“And finally, where are we headed to… is there any sense in this flow of energy that we see everywhere… waves that have risen will soon fall and merge with the rest, will it be the end or a new beginning…? Maybe these questions if answered can change the meaning, the essence of our lives.”

“Same… same.”

“Hey, what is with you? Same… same? Don’t you know anything else? Being quiet doesn’t make you a good listener, being honest about your response makes you. I don’t know why I began talking to you… who are you anyway?”

SILENCE RULES A LONG MINUTE

“I am you and you are me… we are both the same.”

**Understanding the life, the mind, the duality within we walk ahead, questioning & asking for an answer from the same being… our inner self.** **[Source – Pixabay]**

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Reflection

Posted on August 29, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Golden Rain Tree Myself Quiet Reflection Smiled Steps Weather Wind Window

Flash Fiction

The window was closed and I stood staring, the reflection looked better, I thought.

I took a step forward and could still see myself, but also the wind blowing outside. The flying leaves passed right through me and the golden rain tree caressed me gently.

**The wonderful golden rain tree.**
**Image by Suanpa from Pixabay**

Few more steps towards the window and I got closer to myself. The reflection was quiet… unlike the weather outside. I could even hear the wind, the music it played was resonant.

I forgot the reflection and saw through it as I stood by the window. The live drama outside and the rhythms playing caught me and I hummed along. I smiled.

Just then like a flash I again noticed my reflection on the window, it was also smiling this time. Immediately I changed my focus and tuned to watching the wind’s performance, smiling the whole while.

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“Only a few arrive at nothing, because the way is long.” – Antonio Porchia

Posted on August 25, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Brain Everything Heart Journey Keep Walking Life Long Nothing Sound Stories

Spirituality

**A long journey!**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

To keep walking is hard. Repeatedly dying on the way is a normal occurrence, but no less significant.

What breaks the heart often is not the crude world or a passer-by, but the heart itself. It allows itself to be crushed.

And as funny as it may sound, the truth doesn’t change that the heart also heals itself.

Let us keep aside the magical part for it blindfolds the ones with sightless minds and talks about reason and logic.

Oh! But that is already done – heart breaks itself and heals itself… very straightforward indeed. Brain, heart, brain, heart… and this is the journey.

Carrying on kills, but so does not-carrying on; carrying on also gives you a chance to live and to experience the universe. It is a long, long, long journey and then you reach nothing.

At nothing, you become everything.

Read about Antonio Porchia, the Argentinian poet here.

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MUSIC In A Silent Way

Posted on August 19, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Double Bass Drums Electric Guitar Miles Davis MUSIC In A Silent Way Organ Soprano Saxophone Time Trumpet

A Dedication

**Sweet *sneakin’* melody!**
[Image by Lucas from Pixabay]

Trumpet

The room was dimly lit, the colours were all crayon textured and old… they all easily submerged in it. More footsteps could be heard and voices… voices were telling each other tales only known as a secret before by some selected few. Voices were joking, but just for a while. Soon they were talking MUSIC.

Soprano saxophone and electric guitars

Rhythms were played verbally and details were given through gestures. People gathered around knew it was time… time to create. Like a charm, everyone flowed, everyone flowed and synced to reach the MUSIC.

Organ, double bass and drums

Time stopped to bask in the musical waves… the musical waves were powerful enough to capture time. It danced, yes, it did. The room stayed dimly-lit, crayon shades also didn’t change… the room and the colours were in awe like little children looking through a wire fence… even the floor swayed… in a silent way, everyone did.

Trumpet, soprano saxophone, electric guitars, organ, double bass and drums later reminded Time to move.

This post is dedicated to the studio album In A Silent Way by Miles Davis, listen to it now –

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In A Rush/ Not In A Rush

Posted on August 15, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Happily In A Rush/ Not In A Rush Life Lights Mandatory Moonless Poem Thoughts Timely

Poem

**Look what I found… a heart shaped stone.**
[Source – Pixabay]

Life seems to be in a rush…

And thoughts blurry,

Like passing an array of lights

On moonless nights.

Timely, untimely one hears

What is not said,

But is felt vaguely

And declared mandatory suddenly.

One click, one blink, one tick-tock

And life is not the same,

And I will happily testify to it

For I, unlike life, am not in a rush.

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What Made The Monk Smile?

Posted on August 14, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Loving People Mountain Valley Tiny Little Flower Beaming What Made The Monk Smile

Flash Fiction

**The mountain valley.**
[Image by Milena M from Pixabay]

The monk was tired, he drank the water from the rivulet, still felt the same. Like the dark heavy clouds that take over the sky so often, the monk had almost surrendered to such heaviness. If only he could just sit there forever and listen what stories the wind brought to him.

Thinking this he got up and moved ahead. One step at a time. The seamless pattern, the embroidery cross, squares, diamonds, chevrons on his sweater soaked in the sun; it was a parting gift, the monk couldn’t refuse the loving people of that small village.

Strong wind currents and his rough hard shoes made music together; often the pebbles added to it.

Lines on his forehead made him look tense. Just then he reached a fork in the road; the monk stood still and saw two things – the rough path ahead and a tiny little flower beaming at him, growing out of the rocky mountain. The monk walked towards the flower and stared at it.

He smiled and resumed walking ahead. His smile echoed in the mountain valley.

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LINES WRITTEN

Posted on August 12, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Awaits Lines Written Meaning Moment Seeking Life Time Transformed Unimaginable

Observation

**What you seek is seeking you. – Rumi**
**[Image by Michael Treu from Pixabay.]**

Lines, full of an era’s touch, were written. Some read and understood. Some followed. They tried. And then, lines were drawn.

Lines drawn were stone-solid, iron-hard. But time can always seep through and can rust till it is dust. Thus, lines started to fade.

Lines started to change. Change bloomed. They so rightly say, whatever is unimaginable is imaginable.

Lines are narrowed down to a box. A box in the head. The head awaits to breakaway, not realising that because it awaits, it awaits.

Lines are pruned to look similar, to look contemporary, to look right.

Lines are shredded. Words crippled, meaning transformed.

Lines like a guide help a seeker. The one who is seeking life meets the mid-way end. The end is the beginning.

Are you seeking life? In this very moment?

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Cid Corman’s Blue Aerogrammes

Posted on August 9, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Amidst Blue Aerogrammes Couple Direct Poetry Leaf Mask Origin Rain Drops Remember Root Sky Wind Words

Coverage

**Blue mail-call.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

In a thin air-light piece of blue paper words were written, no space wasted, legibly shinning, beautifully written. It was for everyone, Cid Corman called it direct poetry.

A Selection –

If these words

don’t remember you—

forget them.

The leaf at last gets

the drift of wind and so

settles for the ground.

I wear the mask of

myself and very nearly

get away with it.

There is no end and

never was a beginning – so

here we are – amidst.

Rain-drops. Each

makes a point

of silence.

You are here – just as

I had imagined –

imagining me.

Nothing ends with you —

every leaf on the ground

remembers the root.

We wear out

but the sky

looks as new

as ever.

A COUPLE

She keeps coming home

to me – of all things – and I

remain home for her.

Has it ever

occurred to you

you’re what is oc-

curring to you?

Dear aerogrammes fly!
[Source – goodreads]

Cid Corman wrote for and ran the magazine Origin. He followed a lovely rule, he replied to each and every letter that the magazine received within 24 hours, if he couldn’t, he didn’t do it at all.

Lucky must be the ones who got his answer, that too in the form of direct poetry. The book, Famous Blue Aerogrammes, is about these replies.

I have just read a few of these, still I can say that it continues to create magic… blue feathery magic that makes you smile.

Li Bo

Posted on August 8, 2017 by Jagriti Rumi Chinese Poet Drinking Alone Li Bo Moon Shadow Three Friends

Short Coverage

Li Bo/ Li Po/ Li Bai strolling.
[Source – Wikipedia]

“Drinking Alone under the Moon,” by Li Bo

Translation by Paul Rouzer

Among the flowers, a single jug of wine;

I drink alone. No one close to me.

I raise my cup, invite the bright moon;

facing my shadow, together we make three.

The moon doesn’t know how to drink;

and my shadow can only follow my body.

But for a time I make moon and shadow my companions;

taking one’s pleasure must last until spring.

I sing — the moon wavers back and forth.

I dance — my shadow flickers and scatters.

When I’m sober we take pleasure together.

When I’m drunk, we each go our own ways.

I make an oath to journey forever free of feelings,

making an appointment with them to meet in the Milky Way afar.

Li Bo overwhelms one with the powerful yet simple use of imagery in this particular poem. You’ll see him walking alone, with a pot of wine, the moon shining above and his shadow dancing along. Loneliness is what drives him, hope is what is hidden. Maybe he laments for the dead past or he cries to see the uncertain future, but he is definitely, truly in the present. The moon, his shadow, his two close friends, vouch for it.

Read more about the poem and the translator’s take on it here. For the poem’s literal translation, click here.

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