Feathers In the Wind

This is an old folk-tale, attributed to various people. I love it because of the message. As a first hand sufferer in the hands of gossip-mongers, and having seen others suffer as well, I have often wished that people be taught this is schools, rather than calculus. If only it were so easy.


Once there was a foolish woman in a small village, who went about spreading gossip about another
woman. Before long the foolish woman began to feel remorse about what she had
done, so she went to the wise man of the village to ask him what she could do to make things
right.

The wise man listened carefully to her story, thought for a moment, and then told her to
go to the market and buy a chicken. On the way home from the market she was to pluck that
chicken letting the feathers fall along the path. The next day she was to come back and see the
wise man again.

The woman did as the wise man suggested. She bought a chicken and plucked it on the
way home. When she came to him the next day she told him that she had done what he asked
her to do.
The wise man said to her, “Now, I want you to go home today by the same road you
took yesterday, and pick up every single feather you dropped along the path.” The woman was
distraught, and protested that there was absolutely no way she could find and pick up all those
feathers. The wind would have surely blown them everywhere!

The wise man quietly responded, “You are correct...and you see, just as you can never retrieve
all those feathers, there is no way you can ever restore the reputation of the people whom you
harmed with your words.”

The woman was ordinary, and so was the offence, but the remorse is much less so.
The next time you say something about someone that you do not know for yourself to be hundred per cent correct, hold yourself for a second, and remember.

On Turning Twenty

So I turn twenty. Is it a big deal? Is it not? I don’t know. I don’t feel twenty. But then, I probably have no clue how twenty feels, so maybe that statement is redundant.There are times I feel ten (already been there, so this I know). And there are days I feel forty (this is a guess; I hope the real one is less scary than I think it to be).

I talk to kids and find out I have no clue about the cartoons they watch on TV, and feel old. Then I listen to people and wish I could go back to being four so that I could give them a hug and say everything will be fine.

Memories are funny things. One huge, shimmering pot of good and bad, bitter and sweet. Black and white and every shade in between.

I have learnt to keep my plans open-ended.  And accepted that a lot of them aren’t gonna work out, many times just for the heck of it. And it will still be fine. More importantly, I will still be fine. I’ll plan again.

I have seen how quickly masks fall from faces. And found out how badly it hurts to be betrayed (that’s less than when you end up betraying, whether intentionally or otherwise. we’ve all been there). But also that a lot of things heal with time. Whether they do or do not often depend on us, too. There is always a choice. Always.

I have had fun when it was least expected. And realised true friends are not just people who stick together, but who dream together, and snigger together, and sing together, and have tiffs and make up, thousand times over, thousand miles apart. People who are there to welcome you back, no matter how far you go.

I have heard stories that defy logic. And believed them all. Everyone has a story. Many get lost in the cacophony of the world, because they do not know this. But there are some who do know, and treasure the knowledge, even if they don’t show it. If you sit down and let them talk, they might just surprise you, for a few among them don’t just come with stories, they are whole novels (and I personally know two who are regular epics, God bless them).

I have laughed over silly things. And cried over sillier ones. But both felt better when shared. Like the old time school tiffin. Emotions are way more shared among people than the barriers of age, race, gender or location will let us believe. Crossing those barriers can be scary, yet liberating (like going down a highway on a bike. or being in love. take your pick).

I have had my faith tested. And lost some, and gained some. The best way to regain it is to talk to someone who lost more than you (there is invariable someone around who fits the bill). Rarely, if ever, is it true that faith moves mountains. But it probably does save more souls than all the confession boxes in the world.

I have learnt how tough it is to grow up. Growing old will be tougher. I’ll go into the new year (and decade, sigh) a bit sadder, a bit wiser, still reluctantly optimistic, still incorrigibly romantic and still unfailingly inquisitive.

But these I have been since as far back I can remember.
Looks like growing up will have to wait another year.

Will you Tell me Your Story?

Stories have always been important to me. My brain recognizes people by the stories that I know of them.Some call it a typical Aquarian trait, some call it childish. Whatever it may be, I have been blessed to have been told of their stories by many folks. Lives, successes, failures, loves, encounters, fights, glories. And every time I meet someone new, and hear theirs, it only gets reconfirmed,that every person has a story, if we only care to listen. 

I came across the following poem, and it seemed perfect to express in a way how The Story People came into being. It says exactly what I say silently, every time I talk to a person, every time I talk to YOU.

The Invitation

                                                   -Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for,

And if you dare to dream of meeting

Your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool

For love, for your dream,

For the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,

If you have been opened by life's betrayals,

Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain,

Mine or your own,

Without moving

To hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy,

Mine or your own,

If you can dance with wildness

and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes

Without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,

or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty

Even when it is not pretty every day,

And if you can source your life

From its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,

Yours and mine,

And still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,

"Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,

Weary and bruised to the bone,

And do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand

In the center of the fire with me

And not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you

From the inside

When all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone

With yourself,

And if you truly like the company you keep

In the empty moments.

[photo courtesy:http://www.flickr.com/photos/chatinthehat/1190818714/

poem cortesy:Oriah Mountain Dreamer:http://www.oriahmountaindreamer.com/.By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,
from the book The Invitation published by HarperONE, San Francisco,1999 All rights reserved. I do not own this poem or any parts of it.This is posted only with the purpose of sharing.]

What do you see

What do you see when you see a person?

Do you see the lined face? Or how the eyes crinkle with a smile?

Do you see beautiful eyes? Or the tears let fall at night?

Do you see the smile? Or how it brightens others’ lives?

Do you see the upheld head? Or the battles fought to keep it that way?

Do you see the faded jeans? Or the memories of a romance long over?

Do you see the awkward shoulders? Or the workload of ten people?

Do you see chapped hands? Or how quickly they are extended to others?

Do you see the upraised fist? Or the feisty spirit?

Do you see the ready laughter? Or the warmth that comes of it?

Do you see that the nice shoes? Or the steps taken willingly for others?

Do you see the composed air? Or the personal demons defeated?

Do you see the rolling gait? Or the ease with which it adjusts to yours?

Do you see the folded hands? Or the prayers whispered in solitude?

What do you see when you see a person?

Do you see a person? Or do you see their stories?



feel free to leave a comment, what do you see?
photo courtesy:http://wootpix.blogspot.com/2011/01/eye-photo-manipulation.html