ChirpyQuill

A friend of mine penned a beautiful obituary for his late mother. He described his deep bond with his "ma," but what has stayed with me since was a heartfelt account of the love story between his late parents. Love Story…just these words invoke great emotion in us all. For me, there was no greater or more impossible love than the one between Catherine and Heathcliff – the protagonists of the novel by Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights -one of the great works of literature.  It also marked how I went through life, imagining what love was like. It seemed like it should be all-consuming, sometimes selfish, felt and given with wild and occasionally erotic abandon, curls flying, eyes flashing in love and anger in equal parts. Love was, in every possible way, this massive mound of explosive dynamite which, once lit, was supposed to consume, obliterate, and elevate or destroy or perhaps both. But what is love  actually supposed to be? Why do we idolize love that comes with unfulfil...

  We see it all the time. It’s all backwards. More often than not, what is evident is the exact opposite of reality. The most violent traditions ever, scream their lungs out about being the vanguards of peace. The biggest empty suit and loudest opining person at a social gathering is the one who makes the least sense. The most vigorously virtue signaling social or political entity, is often the most un-empathetic, self-serving, intolerant of divergent opinions. The most “God fearing” men often cause the harshest violence in their homes, in nature and to other beings. It is hard to miss. Pretty much anything worn on the sleeve including kindness, politeness, empathy, goodness, confidence, intelligence often turns out to be a facade. A well worn cloak to hide the the true identity, which is exact opposite of the pretend one. It is a method to drive an ulterior motive, of the religious, social, political or profiting kind. In case of our understanding of the nature of reality, similar...

A piece of eternity, is eternity still like love is, I suppose can a part of anything, ever be less than the whole is a drop of water not wet or a singular ray, not light is a patch of sky, less than itself can infinity be, little or more? is the piece of Divinity in us not The Divine Mother herself through the entire Existence who projects herself forth? can something that wasn’t ever be? can something that is not be anymore? or, do we drift on a raft on the river of time and what is and isn’t are just our shifting gaze upon the shore maybe everything that ever will be, always was and nothing really  comes or goes maybe our senses play tricks upon us walking us through a maze they themselves put forth can something that wasn’t ever be can something that is  not  exist anymore? can anything quite, ever be less than the whole Atul Singh