Meeting an old friend A kindered spirit Or a loved one …
The joy of uniting After being afar Speaks of interconnections… Where time and space Evaporates without a trace In the moments together.
Its often said Absence makes the heart Grow fonder… So is it the distance That makes reunion sweeter? Gibran wisely said… Let there be spaces In your togetherness
So whatever the relationship With another or with the self , the very act of reconnecting with an old hobby, that you were once passionate about, makes it truly memorable. For what is truly meaningful, is never lost … it’s simply awaiting a return.
Savvy
PS: The word Retourvaille (often spelled Retrouvailles in French) is a beautiful, untranslatable French word that perfectly captures a specific, deeply felt human experience. Literally translated, it means “rediscovery” or “the finding of something again.”
It’s a conscious choice to write more, yet streamline my work.
So you may find me posting erratically every once in a while. Although I continue to write every day as I have for the past couple of years .
I simply started to switch to writing on paper, and I shall post one here regularly, but perhaps not every day. I sense great joy in picking up a pen and writing. It connects me up wires my hand brain coordination a little more than tapping on digital keys.
I already find myself relaxing into it as now I can write anywhere anytime with or without internet . This is simplifying as much as satisfying to me.
To talk about the day I first picked up the pen to write, I wrote a few words and found how strange it felt to be actually inking on paper after so long . It was a missing action piece in my work. Typing is not the same thing. It takes away the flow of continuous touch of the pen on paper.
Although I have written every day digitally over these years. I realise how important it is to never lose touch with writing by hand.
Writing digitally may be faster but fine muscle coordination and postural stability improve when you write with a pen.Something I want to work on again…
The simple joys of flowing with a pen and looking at your work right before you, a tangible piece that connects you with yourself in the touch. It’s hard to replace.
My writing, which seemed erratic at first due to lack of practice, has seen much improvement. Hope this art is not forgotten by other writers.
A point of reflection:
When was the last time you took time to write with a pen on a page ?
Crossing over Bridges of time Beginning to end Ending to begin again In body spirit & souls Infinite forms of expressions Between betwixt & beyond Bonding new & old In part & whole Tuning into the sounds Of harmony & rhythm Inexplicable joys Of moments in movements As paths are splayed Across time to tide over In every moment The choice is yours to take.
Whenever you feel overwhelmed And stalled in your efforts When you feel you are lost In too many things And that whatever you are doing does not serve you at all…
Do care to ask yourself this simple question for a conscious reset: What is noise & what matters?
Wished a very enterprising friend On his birthday today Umpteen solar cycles wise He has weathered the storms of life And yet through it all is a joy to connect
I paused a moment when I read his reply beyond the thank-you. In his words…
“My days are long and boring, but at this stage of my life, boring is a desired quality. May life give you what you desire the most at every stage of your life”.
His words touched my heart
It speaks much of a spirit wanting to do much more A recognition of boredom, Is the desire to unravel life some more.
Boredom creates a space Between the steps In realization and acknowledgement Of the preciousness of time
And that is in itself, valuable For it is allowing you to tap into potential possibilities. And discover something more, awaiting your creativity on the other side of boredom. In finding the good in boredom Life isn’t so boring after all!
I thank my friend for his kind blesses & I wish my dear friend a fascinating birthday that lights up his day and brings joy to his heart.
Today am happy to share an introspective piece of poetry by my mother Anjana.
Mind The strange , invisible me Playing me like a puppet In its hands.
All of a sudden When in a group of happy hearts The neurons in my grey cells suddenly switch some remote thoughts Buried deep in my memory folds . And lo, amidst the laughter and gaiety I shrink to my own self, Away from this Now n Joy.
Amidst a mourning group, Or sad events, It strings the tune of Blessed moments Making me smile within myself.
How powerful are The seeds of thoughts Arising from the depth of mind Controlling my moods, words and actions.
It makes me dance to its tunes. I become a slave to its Whims and fancies Losing control of my own self And repenting later.
All happens in spite of learning about awareness and detachment. When I will learn to tame The wild horse, And become the master from slave.?
Savvy Raj 
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