A sad story of life lived with frugality and hope. Eviction , a devastating word that brought everything crashing down. The wooden floor cracked and the marks of despair clearly seen. the smell of burning ashes is still in the air. A bonfire of hope setting aflame and after a calm down the fire was put out , showing the remains of coffee mugs of everyday use lying unclaimed in the heap of rubble. A multipurpose table standing in the middle has two glasses filled half with water now carrying the memory of the owner who picked it up for the last time only to put it down with a heavy heart the memory of the owner who picked it up for the last time only to put it down with a heavy heart.

Here in this room lies the wedding gown of the bride and a photo album of the wedding ruefully thrown on the broken bed, stained tattered, still retaining its old world charm of laces and frills, the couple, once upon a time a picture of hope now belongs to the pages of the old album.

And now lastly in this room, an elegant lampshade ganging from the ceiling, bidding farewell to the dwellers who are leaving.

A room that speaks intimately. Cobwebs swaying from the back of the chair sadly looking at the table covered with floral print table cloth, bearing lovingly the mementos, a pair of scissors for craft an elegant crystal glass a blue leather covered diary with some fat book mark, and lastly two spectacles lying as if deliberately left behind,

The same story repeated, a beer bottle , a beer glass, and a crystal mug, a sepia photo inside a frame with the glass gone, holding the image of a beautiful girl, and drawer opened in the last hectic attempt to find some last memory of by gone days.

Out there you get a glimpse of the green world beckoning the inmates into the open world breathing a whiff of fresh air. You see it from the open roof and broken window.

Before we go , an art work, corners frayed, an aged look but magnificent, portraits of sunflowers, a watch tower in golden light ancient brass articles...

And they left; burnt utensils which served to cook. They left in a rage, left in sorrow, not bothering to look back at the things they left. Once beautifully crafted, now thrown away under the table with a layer of carbon and dust.

A sad story of life lived with frugality and hope. Eviction , a devastating word that brought everything crashing down. The wooden floor cracked and the marks of despair clearly seen. the smell of burning ashes is still in the air. A bonfire of hope setting aflame and after a calm down the fire was put out , showing the remains of coffee mugs of everyday use lying unclaimed in the heap of rubble. A multipurpose table standing in the middle has two glasses filled half with water now carrying the memory of the owner who picked it up for the last time only to put it down with a heavy heart.

Sushama Karnik

Gyorgy, I am looking at this stuff after nearly a decade trying to find some clues about the circumstances which forced the couple to abandon the home. Did you by any chance come to know who they were?

Unfortunately, their story is sad. Poor large families lived here. Some people looked at the property because they saw money in it. Municipal property. They were evicted and in their helplessness they set fire to the house. Since then, the area has been renovated by the new tenants.

György Fülöp I suspected as much. There are traces of ash and signs of fire at some points.

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György Fülöp

Sushama Karnik The good eye sees everything, it cannot be deceived.

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Gyorgy and Erika Vees

 And they left; burnt utensils which served to cook. They left in a rage, left in sorrow, not bothering to look back at the things they left. Once beautifully crafted, now thrown away under the table with a layer of carbon and dust.

A kettle with the lid gone and the handle broken...

Sunlight pours in. Brightens the edges of things which once had a relevance, the drawers of the table, pulled open, and shut outrageously before the sad departure, carrying grief. Paint has peeled off the walls, and the picture frames staring down helplessly like orphans left in dark corners of a sunlit room.

Sunlight pours in. Brightens the edges of things which once had a relevance, the drawers of the table, pulled open, and shut outrageously before the sad departure, carrying grief. Paint has peeled off the walls, and the picture frames staring down helplessly like orphans left in dark corners of a sunlit room. Odd things befriending one another as never before. A ladder they used to scour the attic is standing against wall and close by a dusty sofa chair letting some clutter lie in its lap, and a garbage bin close by, feeling embarrassed to be so near the living room sofa.

Here the sunbeams stand. Speechless and shocked. The revolving chair and a pile of clothes thrown recklessly in its arms, a teddy bear lying in dust.

Sunlight, footloose, wanders and lingers in another room, an assortment of unmatched things, an oven fallen into disuse, stacked neatly though on a high platform and a discarded tyre of a car lying below.

Now the sunbeams have learnt the art of painting the scene with the deft strokes of art. Like a painting of Rembrandt's canvas coming to life a chair lights up the dark and throws in relief the clothes lying in its lap, the olive green colour of the shirt has not faded a bit, proudly carrying the memories of its boss.

A sad story of life lived with frugality and hope. Eviction , a devastating word that brought everything crashing down. The wooden floor cracked and the marks of despair clearly seen. the smell of burning ashes is still in the air. A bonfire of hope setting aflame and after a calm down the fire was put out , showing the remains of coffee mugs of everyday use lying unclaimed in the heap of rubble. A multipurpose table standing in the middle has two glasses filled half with water now carrying the memory of the owner who picked it up for the last time only to put it down with a heavy heart.

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Here, however, the room reveals the story of an outrage and fury, broken cutlery lying in a heap of ash, signs that the owner set the things on fire lest they fall into alien hands.

Here the heartache of leaving. A drawer that holds with care cans of food, unopened, and illustrated stories of a child's book read to him/her by a loving mother. The sunbeam is caressing it with

And suddenly you breathe a whiff of air. Enter softly. Soft toys, a family of teddy bears greets you here. Emblems of the purity of souls who lived here and left a farewell gift on the window-sill. Out there the sunshine rules in the lush green season of spring but the teddy bears have turned their back upon the forest out there. They are here to guard a child's world from the ravages of time.

 Dark silhouettes hiding, pausing

under a dark arch,

It's raining out there,

and it's not going to stop.

A step ahead, and despite their umbrellas

they will be drenched, cold to their bones.

Like everyone in the rain

they will be subjected to shivering, trembling.

Rain spares none.

Watch those walking ahead in rain.

The downpour is swelling,

swaying all in the grip of fate,

inevitable once you step into the rain,

like the rising tide of passion,

the ocean, the river, the forces of Nature!

How long can you evade them

pausing under the arch?

A temporary pause. The rain may or may not stop.

Join those who have joined the rain.

There is joy in being with the rain

while the rain lasts.

Sushama Karnik.

Thanks to Ivan Ivanov for the image

03/05/2024.

 The sky, a dazzling space for the naked eye,

the earth, a burning pit of sand for feet unshod.

 Little spots of cool shadows

under sparse population of trees.

And yet how lovable

is the clarity and the charity of the land.

Dec. 2020

The likes:

Larry Marr,Georgy, Tony Langmach, Sanjay Panchal, Ruchika Karnik, Andrea Beres, Suma Ro, Tighe O'Donoghue Ross Jay Jay, Prem Sharma, Dipak Varu, Rozina Taranekar Dighe, Sonali Dalal

 ACCEPTING DEATH

A 23-year-old woman from Austria explained that her grandmother was old and sick. She asked how to help her grandmother as she came closer and closer to dying.

“The most important thing,” the Karmapa said, “is to accept death. As human beings, we are unrealistically selfish and want to defy nature. We want never to grow old and die. But once we are born, it is natural that we will die one day. If you do not accept this, it just brings more suffering. And anyway it will happen. It is much less troublesome if you accept it.

But we need training or exercise to help us accept death. There are lots of ways, and one is to consider one day as one whole life. When you wake up you can think that getting up from bed is like being born, and at the end of the day when you go to sleep is like dying. If you develop a habit of doing this, then you will naturally accept your final death, since you will know that it has been happening in a sense every day and you will know that it is not a final end. This is a way of training so that you do not have fear or worry about death. You can learn to see that it is just like going to sleep, and waking up to another life.”

~ 17th Gyalwang Karmapa

Source: http://kagyuoffice.org/encounter-with-europes-youth-conclu…/

Photo: Germany, Sept 2015 – via Kamalashila Institut

Shared by Tarana Wesley

 The 7 valleys of the spiritual traveler

A little before the end of your divine reading

I broke down in tears

By so much truth and beauty

I recognized this trip

I met some of these valleys

….............

For you Julie

Who write in the ink of Love your poems

Who read with the voice of the ineffable

Sufi writings and others

For you Julie

Receive these flowers

Scented with Gratitude

…................................

The Lord has sent you

On my way

Like a divine angel

At the right time

A door opens

On a new clearing

With infinite sweetness

I take my first step

On the ground of the unknown

I feel the hand of love

who invites me to walk

Further

Always further

Even further

Towards the horizon of infinity

GRATITUDE

 My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree

Toward heaven still,

And there's a barrel that I didn't fill

Beside it, and there may be two or three

Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.

But I am done with apple-picking now.

Essence of winter sleep is on the night,

The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight

I got from looking through a pane of glass

I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough

And held against the world of hoary grass.

It melted, and I let it fall and break.

But I was well

Upon my way to sleep before it fell,

And I could tell

What form my dreaming was about to take.

Magnified apples appear and disappear,

Stem end and blossom end,

And every fleck of russet showing clear.

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,

It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.

I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin

The rumbling sound

Of load on load of apples coming in.

For I have had too much

Of apple-picking: I am overtired

Of the great harvest I myself desired.

There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,

Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all

That struck the earth,

No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,

Went surely to the cider-apple heap

As of no worth.

One can see what will trouble

This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.

Were he not gone,

The woodchuck could say whether it's like his

Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,

Or just some human sleep.

Robert Frost.

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