love life

The Gentle Art of Living the Mystery

I wanted to witness a lotus bloom at sunrise.

So, for several days, I had been returning to the same quiet lake—sitting in still anticipation, just before dawn, wrapped in silence and a bit of childlike hope. There was something about the idea—a flower opening itself to light, not with force, but with grace—that called to me. On one of those mornings, as mist curled over the surface of the water like a secret unfolding, I saw it happen—not in an explosion, but in a gentle yielding. And in that hushed moment, something inside me softened.

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The Space Between The Words

I used to believe I was a good listener.

In meetings, at home, with friends—I gave people time, maintained eye contact, responded with thoughtful nods. But over the years, I came to understand something quietly humbling: listening is not about hearing words. It’s about receiving presence. And that, I was still learning.

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Where the Sky Listens

She leans from sky to fragile thread,
Not to be seen, but to keep them fed.
No hymns are sung, now vows are said –
Yet time bows low where her wings tread.

In a cradle of breath, on bamboo sway,
She brings the dawn in her own way.
Not with thunder, not with flame,
But with a hush that has no name.

Who says the sacred lies in stone?
Here, in silence, love has flown.
And if you pause, the wind might say—
She’s held the world in beak and clay.

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