Innerdialects

had a lovely day- my sisters were home after a longgg stretch-

travelled back in time, up stairwell of lighthouse. We flew down to our village beach and surfed lanes, then ran up to the sky, where a seagull swooped on Thandala, the fisher girl we knew – swooped on her basket of mackerel, her father’s ivory teeth flashing in black velvet dimples; my sisters Thel & Li are combos of Dad & Ma, and I’m some pieces of all.

“Happy birthday sweetheart,” they said, (their hugs are called squashes); just back from Sri Lanka, Holy land before that, Odisha in between, how they do it, is always awesome for me a hermit, under my particular patch of sky. I will be 63, next week, it feels extreme peace. How d’you pack in a Post, what’s tooken:) years and DNA, soil, sweat, change, separation, heart ache, healing, storms of comfort, loss, spoons in pickle jars, peace, pieces, nephews, sons, daughters, nieces, birth, death, moonlit dinners, prayers, tears, uh 😅 travel…

interstate trains, bogeys reeking of tea, oh mangoes, Ma’s favourite thing. We grew like Dad. We grew settled, in change. We boxed, unboxed, boxed, unboxed our trunks. Then you notice that people are essentially alike, just that we fear differently.

Red moon last night over our city, she was there till past 3 am, so we missed that. Kissed her g’nite and wished her the best. Sept. this year, has another red moon, I’ll wait till then. Local robin bird, outside our window is still at it, furious at his reflection for taking his place. Look at us all-

scrambling around the sun, held by The Math of Him Who made us,

y-ya, I know some of us disbelieve Creation, never mind. I’m responsible for both my legs of Journey. We are stars wrapt in skin- the poet Rumi says, only I think we are more than that :

we are hopelessly hopeful travelers of this Universe : we all want Peace, Fulfillment, Solutions: Now & Quick, no?!

“Pl pray for son’s job and for his 4th child’s school admission,” a friend says. The total shock of them thinking we can bend the will of heaven at crook of pinkie finger,

Us – fragile earth, hugged by that old rugged Cross;

or maybe we can bend the will of heaven too! Maybe we have powers, the powers, oh the powers to melt His heart, if we’d ask for each other, if we’d travel deep in the broken eyes of each other and see enough to see what hurts, what cries, what has forgotten to pray/ believe we are made of the dust of Holy Fingers; we are little cells of that Sacred Heart, we own wings in the scapula of our backs, they’re shy of our fear of heights;

that’s not all, we are tall, tall, inside self -inflicted insignificance, and yeah, broken maybe, but in all the right places; wounded, so we can heal, we are the Unforgotten, Unforsaken Beloved of the Soul of Heaven..

Praying is that kind of job. It draws attention to the ones we are, in this journey, 3rd Rock from the sun, our Orb, orbing in sheer Grace.

WordPress asks how one copes with Negatives. My response:

"We are negatives, waiting for the Light," Excerpt from my upcoming Book, POLISHED ARROW.

Have a beautiful day,

R.