Playing the Raga Pranayama in my heart and soul I am sitting inside this quiet room for so many days now and slowly this world has stopped reeling.
The shrivelled old self shed off its glories and achievements and regrets all at once, it was painful and I did die a little. Then all I did was to look up and breathe, close my eyes and breathe again.
Now brighter, with no desire to compete with light or a sharper mind or the maestro musician, I sit simply playing the Raga Pranayama.
Yes, often my memory makes me feel overwhelmed, and yet something allows me to accept it all that too with a smile.
And softly the wind brings a message from the meadows that the dandelions are gushing with joy and beaming for one and all; that the butterflies are coming carrying colours for you and me; that the stream is singing, sparkling sibilantly, shy at first, vibrant then. Oh it is lovely!
It is a new beginning, I am sitting in my room and everything has changed as I play the Raga Pranayama.
Dispelling the emaciated fears that had spread and frolicked in my mind, dispelling with the truth of this life force running lightly within and without… the fears just succumbed in the end and this I will remember, always, so that I too can share and struck a happy peaceful note.
Voices together, singing this happy note, playing the Raga Pranayama will eventually rise above the gloomy cry of this malady.
Together we will rise and break that wall which was once built greedily by us. Hold on, hold on for it will pass.
Play with me the Raga Pranayama in your heart and soul and let the life energy guide you.
That hazy glow you see when you close your eyes and breathe, that dot, it is the one that surmounts, it has and it will, sometimes with and sometimes without the shell.
Raga (Sanskrit for “colour” or “passion”) is a melodic framework for improvisation and composition in Indian classical music. Read more here.
Pranayama (prana, Sanskrit for “life force” or “vital energy” and yama, Sanskrit for “restraint” or “control”), is a set of meditative practices designed to control pranawithin the human body by means of various breathing techniques. Read more here.
Also, listen to the magnificent Ragas that inspired me to write this post – Raga Rasia by Pandit Ravi Shankar
Raga Brindabani Sarang by Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia
Learn more about Data Art by the fantastic Dr. Kirell Benzi, click here.
Running lines, zigzag running lines fuel the mind often. Like lost in a busy city, burning with shiny lights, where no one knows whether it is day or night, I am lost walking, running, gliding on a zigzag path.
Neither snow white wintry nor swoony soft summery winds can be heard here, who knows why.
All I can hear is the hub-dub of my heart.
Trapped in this maze, facing dead ends and memory monsters, I solemnly walk ahead. And after an endless time passes by, I walk out of the maze. Exhausted, yes, but hopeful, why, for I kept walking.
Looking back from the mountain top I can see a cloud of zigzag lines, an imprint of time, a link between battles and victories, between a structured confusion and a messy exuberance. Ah! It goes on and on.
My heart is eager and my mind alert for the future to reveal itself.
I am not afraid anymore for the zigzag lines are transparent and always in a rush.
Happy dandelions with yellow friends in the sun. [Source – Pixabay]
This bright light that surrounds, that has soaked, that is soothing is one with me. This cottony soft memory is a truth. I breathe, I hear it.
A melodious tune played on the lyre flows in the air. We are all dancing to it.
A sea of dandelions… Running as if I have wings, golden wings, I cross the sea. When did I start swirling? A gush of harmonious wind surprises me and I fall down, laughing loudly.
The dream continues every time I quietly see this bright light.
Just then, when the wheel turned, the rose fell on the grass and I fell along, the music within me found a new rhythm. I quietly listened to it, resisting the magic at first as I was hurt, but then tears always dry in the end. I got up and walked in suspense, unknown to me before. Bathed in the new rhythm, I paced up and ahead. Trying to catch the music in the air, I ran and reached near a green pond. I had a smile on my face by then. Curious! I tried to fathom the quietness that permeated the air. With a queer yet happy faith in things around me, I started to dance, round the pond… hmm… laa-la-laa-laa. The pond somewhere was hiding a piano, the branches a violin and the beetles, drums. It started to drizzle and I stopped dancing. Sitting by the side of the pond, cross legged, playing with a twig unconsciously, my mind went silent or maybe it was thinking something of its own.
*
She met the swans! Don’t remember if I did too. [Source – Pixabay]
Like it happens in life, the image and the music fades away, leaving a consolation named ‘it is just the past’. But luckily, I still relish that experience sometimes. Let the memory play tricks I say. What fades within, stays within forever and often takes you beyond… that’s enough, isn’t it? If you happen to turn the wheel and fall on the ground along with a rose, you’ll know that it is.
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.
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Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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