Even your madness will seem incomplete in front of it. You can judge it as much as you want, resent it, even hate it, but it will not react.

    It’s most profound aspect.

    Hurl more ugly words at it, it can take it. You can’t tear it or burn it. It will seem the same as when before the storm and it will be so after its passing.

    You can stab it with words and noise but it will never respond with violence, even though it might provoke that in you, but not from an intent of manipulation, but to empty you out of it, so you can have space…to feel…to breath.

    Hate doesn’t dilute itself but the life it’s expressed through. You can throw all that into it and it’ll channel it.


    you will be reminded of this loss in you. A lullaby will come to surface. losses of love, stories unheard, breeze locked up.

    You’d exhale…maybe a tear drop will become part of the rain.

    The tyranny of ego will be breached because you purged all anger.

    In that moment you will become part of this being. words will be relieved of their work, broken one’s being healed.

    The temporal is the instrument but what is an instrument without a Song.

    But then what is a song, without the Silence.


    “ Fourteen Sounds, One Outcast”

    Shiva would dance to his joy everyday and sage Brihaspati( Jupiter) would keep rhythm.

    At times shiva would pick up such speed and trance making it very difficult for Brihaspati to keep beat.

    The sage would lag and drag with his best effort, Shiva would still keep dancing though.

    That surprised the sage how is he still dancing without any beat?

    So he asked.

    Shiva, what are you dancing to ? there is no beat ? he was beyond curious to know the answer.

    Shiva said: I’m dancing to a beat coming from afar.

    Shiva had not cared thus far as who was playing so prodigiously but now even his curiosity was piqued.

    He looked far and saw a tall gaunt man who was dressed in simple attire but had a demeanor of someone celestial. sitting amidst a Sham-shaan (graveyard) he played the percussion so fervently, as his yearning to meet his father, who had long passed away.

    Shiva said: Ravana my child, come close to me and play in the abode of the Gods.

    Ravana: I’m not welcomed there I’m a demon. Brihaspati and the other Gods have prohibited me to play there so I make music here, amongst the dead. As they become music itself, bodies becoming energy, through them I had hoped, that my music reached you.

    Shiva hearing this loving call, embraced Ravana and out of joy danced with all the creatures of the world in his palms. - Fourteen times he played his Maha damaroo ( percussion) as Ravan played the most intense rhythms. Fourteen sounds came out of Shiva’s damaroo and were born as fourteen texts of music, and the fourteen notes. other sounds which came could only be audible to animals and sea creatures.

    Ravan has found his father in the music, and Shiva by welcoming Ravana had dissipated all bias towards who can and who cannot create music.

    When you play for yourself, you are truly playing it to me…he said to all looking at the miraculous Ravana, the outcast.
    Story: Abhishek
    ( from the book “Namaha” Amazon link in Bio. Thank you ☀️)

    You’ll stagger, lose your way, we all do, but remember son to never give up. Embrace the storms, as they shall whisper a lesson far greater then the trial itself. Be always kind son, for the way I hold you today, humility will when i’m gone.
    #fathersday -

    “The Great Dark One”

    Indra heart anchored in retribution now yearned to understand, what it meant to be a God of Rain ? What was this realm ? untainted by light, Interlocked Celestial sounds, like heavy cosmic storms drummed inside Indra’s heart.

    To contain so much weather inside one’s body was not easy, he could feel his veins bursting but he was tempted, what power such energy may wield, Indra thought. He wanted to Mark this world by slashes of light, enslave it, even though he was nothing but a mere visitor here. So he crafted the most extraordinary thunderbolt and launched it over the innocent sounds which were silently humming. …but nothing happened, the weapon dissipated and was rendered useless.

    As if a greater power drank it and saved the sounds. "Something so cataclysmic didn’t work in this realm, what is this place ?” Then he saw the great dark one appear, the magnitude of the vision was so great that Indra exploded into a thousand pieces. “What you want to inflict on others, gets inflicted onto you in this realm. Indra, chose to remain as mist, dark flecks floating around in the peaceful oblivion.

    He saw the sounds, like great beings of this realm, coming towards him.

    What he wanted to destroy for no reason was now healing him, bringing him back.

    Oh, empathetic darkness, he said. ” I don’t want this power” Then in the mind’s eye of the great mother, he saw a glimpse of a world which was beautiful like no other.

    He saw himself become rain and enveloping the entirety of this resplendent planet.

    He had become rain, finally.

    Each rain drop, carrying the yearning Indra.

    From nothingness we emerge and into nothingness we may merge.

    Love over power.

    Rain over discord.

    Equanimity over self. With that Indra’s being disappeared, and woke into a new realm…

    Story : Abhi -


    Indra hovered like a speck of fire, lonely, burning against the veneer of the great red sky. Underneath him stretched for miles, lay the dessert of the bones of ancient Gods & Demons. Was he the one dreaming or being dreamt by the dream ? A voice radiated from the red sky. How will you separate these Indra ? Can you perceive which grain belongs to a God and which to a Demon ? The power emanated from the voice shuddered Indra’s heart. “Can you Separate who’s who from this mangled mess ? mould them back into an army ? Crush the demons again ?

    Indra was burning, even though he was fire, his entire being was blistered, but he kept his heart still on the voice. “I can’t separate them” his remorse spoke. We were brothers once, the beings of light and darkness. The wars divided us away from each other. We tore the balance, Mother, we shredded the bond mercilessly. Why did we fight ? I don’t even know anymore ? We inflicted an eternal war over the realms. If the Gods cannot stop the wars then how can humans ? Hate has devoured all remembrance of love.

    He looked up at the furious fire closing on him. “ I give myself to you Oh ! great fire.” From fire comes heat, from heat comes water, from water comes Earth, from her comes love. Indra wept and it rained on the grated and restless bones of the ancient beings.

    The water rushing down heaved with the desert, an ocean was formed, the spirits revoked but not as Gods & Demons, but as the children of Medhini. Earth of the old.

    Her words rose again, “Indra my son, be the healer over a parched heart burning from the fire of malice and hate” Be the Rain my son.

    In which the seeds will thrive, and in whose torrents the seekers will be tested.

    Then with his own hands he plucked his heart, the flame and like a flower offered it to the great red sky.

    He saw her, the one beyond time. The Great dark one, in whom each rain drop was an entire galaxy, he saw her glimpse. He could feel the rain now on his blisters.

    He could feel loved. That which, he was… …Becoming.

    Story : Abhi
    #kali#purna#love#ancientstories#reimagined#i stadaily#instaart#abhiart


    Travel Sketches - 01 👉 swipe -
    Whatever way life decides to trickle in through lines, in passing, on the spot, in this regard, even extremely cold, I take it as a gift. These sketches were made on the move, there’s never enough time, but always a learning, a story, a hidden message unraveling. A great way to talk with everything around and not just for artists, rather for anyone actually, who’s “looking” “searching” “ pondering” which invariably we all are.
    This creative unison brings the necessary balance to one’s thoughts, makes observing more meaningful, even fun, meditative, therapeutic, it takes you away from repairing the world through fleeting conversations to actually spending an emphatic moment with life.
    I don’t make drawings to get better at drawing anymore, that’s happening incidentally ( I hope) but to relive the same moments which I didn’t understand first but by diving again I perhaps may understand them a little better, I do it to try and get closer to the world we’re conditioned to despise and hate, to get rid of my biases and confront my challenges, I do it to be amazed by the sillyness of life, which later seems profound, I do it because I get to stare at the clouds for much longer, or at people, gauging their stories and pondering if we truly are connected, I do it because I feel beautifully insignificant in that expanse, blissfully existing, because when I come back from there, i uphold my pain more gracefully.
    It’s not mine, it’s a gift, till it’ll flow through me, I’ll flow with it, noticing the world in all it’s imperfection and still loving the heck out of it.
    Go draw, not to get a job or be great at it, but so you can live a moment with “life” together.


    God bless bro. ... 🙌