Ambassadors of peace ~ Reena Saxena #writephoto

sending out goodwill

to the universe

with aching shoulders

hiding pain of being

overlooked, ignored

in a sea of insanity

Continue reading at Reena Saxena

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Contrary Appearances…

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Most traditional mythologies, the world over,

treat of a ‘Divine Brew’ or intoxicant.

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The Greek Gods and Godesses had their ‘Ambrosia’,

The Vedic Indian Divinities their ‘Soma’, and so on…

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In many instances this liquid,

for such it invariably is,

was also, in part, responsible

for maintaining the divinity of the Gods,

or, looked at another way, for conferring

that divinity in the first place!

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Continue reading at France and Vincent

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The Angel Speaks ~ Sitharaam Jayakumar #writephoto

I tossed and turned in the bed unable to sleep. Tomorrow would be my wife Debbie’s first death anniversary. I was a carpenter by profession. I still remember the day I had carried Debbie as a fresh bride thirty years back into the wooden shack I had built with my own hands. She had been a beautiful lass of twenty and I was proud of her.

It had simply been a misunderstanding over the breakfast she had cooked for me the day of her death that had caused us to fight. I had always wanted fried pork for my breakfast but six month before Debbie’s death the doctor had advised me to stop eating pork as it was having a deleterious effect on my health and making me put on weight. The doctor had also advised me to exercise regularly. He warned me of heart attacks if I did not go slow on fat content in my diet.

The result was that for six months Debbie had completely cut off pork and other meat with fatty content from my menu. In addition she made me walk regularly for an hour every day. Slowly my resentment towards Debbie built up to mammoth proportions. Initially it began with a mild dislike but steadily built into massive hatred. Everyday I begged her to feed me pork and to give me a break from the walks.

Continue reading at  Jai’s Jottings

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Whitby Weekend: St Hilda’s Well

I dropped my companions at the next stop, the tiny, hidden hamlet of Part Mulgrave. They were to walk along the clifftops for a couple of miles… a walk I would have loved under normal circumstances… but once again, I was obliged to take the sensible option and the car. At least it wouldn’t hurt to have a vehicle poised at the other end of the trek.

Which left me with about an hour to kill, I thought, before meeting them all at the Cod and Lobster in Staithes. So, when I noticed the little church on my way back to the main road, it seemed a good idea to stop, especially as the nominal said it was dedicated to St Hilda, the erstwhile Abbess of Whitby.

The first recorded church in Hinderwell, a village named for the Saint, dates back to the twelfth century. The church that now stands on the site is a mere baby, dating from 1773. It was also locked, which was a disappointment… until I caught sight of an information board and followed its lead to an unexpected gift.

The story goes that, fourteen hundred years ago, the area was suffering the effects of drought, so the villagers petitioned St Hilda and asked her to intercede through prayer. Or else, that she was passing through the village and called forth the spring. Either way, the spring was born in answer to her intercession and has flowed ever since, rising through the churchyard to become the main water source for the village for many years. It became a place of pilgrimage and its waters were credited with healing properties, especially for those with complaints of the eyes.

On Ascension Day every year, local children would bring a stoppered bottle with a stick of liquorice root inside, filling the bottle from the spring and shaking it to make a sweet drink. I remember chewing liquorice sticks as a child too, so smiled at the old custom. The event was called ‘Shaking Bottle Sunday’ and is still remembered with an al fresco service every year.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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Angel ~ Anita Dawes #writephoto

Blue glass bowls of light

Illuminate the tiny donkey

Asking the angel to grant him life

Send him back in time

To help Mary reach Bethlehem

Listening to donkey’s plea, life was granted

With dove for companionship

As Mary made her way, Joseph by her side

Continue reading at Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

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Dawn #midnighthaiku

 

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Another dawn blooms

Possibilities offered

Adventures begin

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(Playtime starts early

Ignoring any protest

The ball is in play 😉 )

 

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The Hardest Thing On Earth ~ Widdershins

Reblogged from Widdershins World:

I have a quote by Katharine Mansfield up on my wall above my computer desk where I write all this stuff. It goes like this …

‘Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face the truth.’

It’s a pretty wild quote don’t you think?

Every time I get freaked out about this whole Wunder-Lusters thing,(and believe me it happens a lot, sometimes they’re small freak-outs and sometimes they’re, not) I read that line I’ve used as the title of this post.

You wanna know what the hardest thing for me is? What the hardest thing has been for me for my whole goddamn life? Doing the hardest thing.

Continue reading at Widdershins World

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Angels and Demons ~ Neel Anil Panicker #writephoto

“Momma, what’s an angel? Is Santa Claus an angel?”

Manisha turned around and looked at her five year old.

There she lay, on the bed, her head slightly raised to reveal black button kitten eyes; frilly curls falling all over her almond shaped face. And then Aalya, her bundle of joy___smiled____a toothless grin, a little curve that sprang almost unnoticed from her pinky lips.

Watching her butter can melt baby smile, Manisha stopped what she was doing___baking cake for Christmas eve___ and half sprinted towards the bed.

Continue reading at Neel Anil Panicker

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Whitby Weekend: Within the Abbey

We did not visit the Church of St Mary, perched on the edge of the cliffs. I have to wonder for how much longer it will stand and was glad to have spent some time there on our previous visit to Whitby… even if it is one of the strangest and most claustrophobic churches I expect to see. With that cliff edge coming ever nearer as the land erodes, it has been suggested that the Whitby headland, along with its archaeology, could fall into the sea by 2030 and there is a lot of history to explore before it disappears.

There was an Iron Age settlement at the site that seems to have been used for metalwork and glassmaking. Before that, archaeologists have found carved stones that may be either boundary markers or ritual stones, dating the human use of the headland back to a thousand years before the birth of Jesus.

However, neither the church nor the headland was on the itinerary for this visit. Instead, we entered the converted seventeenth-century manor house of the Cholmleys, passing through the unusual pebble garden graced by a replica of the Borghese Gladiator.

The manor now houses a small museum, tracing the Abbey’s history back to its founding and beyond. Oddly, there was a greater press of people packed into the shop selling gifts and replicas than we saw at any other time over the weekend and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

The Abbey itself is a beautiful but empty shell. We have visited so many ancient sites and churches over the past few years that I have lost count, but I have never felt a place as empty as this one, as if it had been scoured of all life and sanctity. I loved the place as a child and was especially drawn to the well… I do not remember it feeling so skeletal and lifeless, as if even its ghosts had gone, erased by the sea winds and the passage of many feet. But even as a child it was never the grand ship of stone that attracted me, so much as the older ghost of the first Abbey and beyond.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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A bridge he never crossed back… ~ Ashwini Nawathe #writephoto

Did you know that, a staggering number of over one million of Indian troops served overseas during World War I, of whom 62,000 died and another 67,000 were wounded. In total at least 74,187 Indian soldiers died during the war. The India Gate at New Delhi was built to commemorate the Indian soldiers who lost their lives fighting in World War I. Field-Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck, Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army from 1942 asserted that the British “couldn’t have come through both wars [World War I and II] if they hadn’t had the Indian Army.”

The Indian contribution to victory in the First World War is worth noting. Indian soldiers and their involvement in the conflicts in France and Belgium, East Africa, Gallipolli and in Mesopotamia set the emphasis on just how significant the role of Indian forces was in bringing victory to the British in their fight with The German Empire and its allies.

This time the Photo Prompt by Sue has inspired me to write a short story. The story revolves around the unsung and the vastly unknown Indian heroes who fought in the World Wars. This story is merely a fiction and any similarities to any events, characters, actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

This was not the first time that Radha had burst out in tears at breakfast. It had become a daily chore for her since her father had announced that he was to go off to war the next month. At first, she thought that it was just a hollow threat. Her father would often say that when she misbehaved. But he never actually went anywhere. Of course, why would he? They owned a small textile shop in the nearby town and shopkeepers never go to fight wars. It was a soldier who did that. She was old enough to understand occupations now; her father had to be only joking.

Continue reading at Kaleidoscope of my Life

 

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