Short Story Archive for Contemplative:

leaves on fire

I look at the variegated autumn leaves congregated on our back deck scintillating in bright earthy colors in final sunbursts prior to quietly bleeding away colors pawed by weakened rays of winter sun and intermittent rains fading to mere shadows of what they once were ..and realize
this journey from spring’s greening to autumnal preening to wilting is similar to my own precarious perch on life’s sill …….

Journaling…mulling over certain words…

August 16, 2017
Lillian Hellman : Julia
“Old paint on a canvas, as it ages, sometimes becomes transparent. When that happens it is possible, in some pictures, to see the original lines: a tree will show through a woman’s dress, a child makes way for a dog, a large boat is no longer on an open sea. That is called pentimento because the painter “repented,” changed his mind. Perhaps it would be as well to say that the old conception, replaced by a later choice, is a way of seeing and then seeing again. That is all I mean about the people in this book. The paint has aged and I wanted to see what was there for me once, what is there for me now.”
these words quietly resonated as I rolled word Pentimento on my mind’s tongue while enjoying the sound of it … upon retrospection correlating events “as is” when they occurred and my reaction then and now after countless years… and underlying reason’s big “why” for my reactions at that point in time being in the very heat of the moment … Pentimento I wonder about the underlying reasons now and my resultant state of bewilderment admixed with anger and my unforgiving state despite my inner serenity ….have there been subtle changes in my views as I’ve weathered and juiced life to the nth degree enjoying it’s rollercoaster ups downs accepting all for what’s it’s face value and/or intrinsic worth..
have I changed my perspective in retrospect?
… some words simply grab mind’s throat and make you confront your pet peeves…
Let yourself be drawn by the strange pull of what you love. It will not lead you astray
~ Rumi
he’d said : I feel the sea in you and I rather liked it
color blue being my favorite color as my adored Blue Krishna is my soul’s sky with it’s delightfully pervasive blueness leaches into the sea spread that is my being
I further mulled over this thought “my being a sea”
rolled it on my tongue…
took tiny sips of it with my morning chai…
bit into it with my dunking tea biscuits …
a daily ritual
and then I remembered sea glass
shiny iridescent pieces of glass thrown by passing ships and beachgoers and as these manmade bottles smash into pieces …nature takes over in shaping and crafting them…
the waves sometimes angrily and other times gently nudge and heave over these pieces smoothening out the sharp rough edges and in conjunction with time gradually soften and round them into things of beauty …
tis a role reversal in a way … bottles to sea glass
At first.. bottles are crafted by man and in their second avatar it’s glass pieces are crafted by nature … unlike fully nature made wonders…often undone by man….as in environmental catastrophes..
now am wondering about the kelp and seaweed and the shimmering awe inspiring life in sea’s belly and it fills me with the wonder of it all…
I quite like being called a sea… thank you …
I’d even be happy being just a piece of sea glass found by simpatico beachcombers and lovingly cherished in their home on the mantel as one of their many personal favorite objets d’art
images : google


Intense joy, grief no longer etch inroads in a heart that stays a mere pump as at this point in life
I stand dead centre of emotional highway’s crossroads –
untouched in my core –
is this detached state a leg up to the final turnstile of this life’s fold?
know not, this subterranean river serenely babbles other notes-
I stay engaged, detached player, spectator, sport



Waterfall by Henri Rousseau
have experienced with awe many Falls cascading from great heights
from Niagara Falls to others in Hawaii and various countries around the world including India.
Since I love playing with words in different contexts –
Have had close acquaintance with a fall when I had to hug the ground
and messed up my right leg badly during heavy snow in winter.
This mishap is acceptable.
What will never be acceptable is if I fall in my own eyes –
that would be worse than croaking …
as long as I am in my right mind …it will not happen….



mage is via Kolory Indii
” she does not know how to give back what she has taken “. – Caitlyn Siehl
Some words burn a trail, make you fall into reveries replete with remorse and guilt.
Speaking for myself, I’ve hurled hurtful salvoes containing choice epithets in childhood mostly in self defense. Other times, as a grown up, perhaps out of thoughtlessness due to an overly impulsive nature. 97% of the time it would’ve been unintentional. 3% honestly speaking must’ve been with intent to shrivel my victims with self perceived brilliant, biting repartee.
Context is important and generally speaking I am not hurtful by nature unless goaded with back to wall.
Circumstances being what they are – just as ocean waves are constantly eroding rocks but hugging beaches without giving up – its a dichotomy of emotions, in this case of the ocean.
Us humans are like this too. Those we love, we often take for granted, perhaps hurt without meaning to, all the while loving too
Question is how to make reparation, heal what got scarred ? Firmly believing in reincarnation – when old scars haunt dreams I often wonder about those culprits who’ve since crossed over – who must now be in turbulent teen years – do they toss and turn in their sleep, cluelessly?
Do they visit psychotherapists – hypnotherapists ? Do they ever repair damage done in previous birth and become whole again. More importantly, when will old hurts cease haunting my dreams?

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