#BHAG

[azus-reyan]

"BHAGs are bold, falling in the gray area where reason and prudence might say ‘This is unreasonable,’ but the drive for progress says, ‘We believe we can do it nonetheless.

Again, these aren’t just 'goals'; these are Big Hairy Audacious Goals."-Jim Collins.

This is an interesting variant of the "if you must aim, aim for the stars" advice. My BHAG, this year, is to place first in a writing competition. Depending on the competition, that could very well be close to impossible, but I'm willing to aim for it. Work towards it, and maybe, just maybe, reach it.

If not, at least I would've stretched and pushed myself to the limits, found my ceiling of skill, and smashed right through it. That would make it worth the effort. what will your BHAG be?

[chaitanyavijnanam]

శ్రీమద్భగవద్గీత - 588: 16వ అధ్., శ్లో 17 / Bhagavad-Gita - 588: Chap. 16, Ver. 17

🌹. శ్రీమద్భగవద్గీత - 588 / Bhagavad-Gita - 588 🌹 ✍️. శ్రీ ప్రభుపాద, 📚. ప్రసాద్ భరద్వాజ 🌴. 16వ అధ్యాయము - దైవాసుర స్వభావములు - 17 🌴 17. ఆత్మసమ్భావితా: స్తబ్ధా ధనమాన మదాన్వితా: | యజన్తే నామయఙ్ఞైస్తే దమ్భేనా విధిపూర్వకమ్ ||

🌷. తాత్పర్యం : ధనము మరియు మిథ్యాహంకారములచే మోహితులై కృతార్థులమని భావించుచు, సదా గర్వితులై వారు కొన్నిమార్లు విధి, నియమములను పాటింపకనే దంభముతో నామకార్థము యజ్ఞముల నొనరింతురు.

🌷. భాష్యము :

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

🌹 Bhagavad-Gita as It is - 588 🌹 ✍️ Sri Prabhupada, 📚 Prasad Bharadwaj 🌴 Chapter 16 - The Divine and Demoniac Natures - 17 🌴 17. ātma-sambhāvitāḥ stabdhā dhana-māna-madānvitāḥ yajante nāma-yajñais te dambhenāvidhi-pūrvakam

🌷 Translation : Self-complacent and always impudent, deluded by wealth and false prestige, they sometimes proudly perform sacrifices in name only, without following any rules or regulations.

🌹 Purport :

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

[pastorkempcom-blog]

Don't Stop With COW Living

And he called to her and said, “Please bring me a little water in a cup, that I may drink.” And as she was going to get it, he called to her and said, “Please bring me a morsel of bread in your hand.” _I Kings 17:10-11 (NKJV) First Elijah asked for a cup of water, next he asked for the virtually impossible – a morsel of bread.  To you and me, a morsel of bread seems so simple, so easy, so…

[careweb-blog]

What Are Your Top Goals for the Year Ahead?

“Double Up on the BHAGS — Big, Hairy, Audacious, Goals.” This is true in business and in life. Because if you set a low bar right from the get-go, you may not end up with enough, let alone much. Several individuals and the business entities they head set small goals. If you deal with goals on the back burner, that’s all you will aspire to be — an afterthought for potential clients, colleagues,…

[timothy-kang]

Road to Rich—7 Keys of Starting Business from Ryan Serhant (vol.4)

1. Give your customers what they need. 2. Present great service. 3. Build an audience. 4. Find somebody who is the absolute smartest with the greatest energy. 5. You don’t have to go to the office every day if you want to make money via your small business. 6. Think about your BHAG. 7. Be aligned on major goals.

[zinda-hun-bas-kafi-hai]

Mein na class chhod ke bhag gayi.

[eugenephosgene]

Pharmaye?

BHAI SAB MERA LAPTOP CHARGING PE LAGA HAI AUR IS ROOM MEIN AC HAI LEKIN BC MERA MAN KAR RAHA CHALI JAUN YAHAN SE ITNE TOXIC HAI MERE EXTENDED PARIVAR KA STREE SIDE

[fluttershyybaby]

I'm tired of myself

[nemenalya]

Beast; Day 1 of @tes-summer-fest In the wooded heart of Skyrim, it is ill-advised for a lone child to travel too far, for the devious and the divine lurk inseparably entwined, waiting to cast their snares. 

In Atmora of old, there were no children left by the end. By the end of the end, neither were the woods. 

Year by year, season by season, the world got smaller; the storms surrendering a little less land from howling snow and lashing branches. Those who had neither foresight nor good fortune to be taken by the woodsman soon found themselves staring down the endless ocean, herded by creeping glacial giants. The fey ones, the woodwalkers, the spirits‘ playthings and companions, all penned in on the piers their mellower counterparts had long since set forth from. Ushered onto boats jauntily bobbing on the torrential currents, the last woods of Atmora creaking underfoot.

With ice nipping at their heels they were forced onto the vast expanse, unwell and seething under the hands of the oarsmen. Unwashed bodies smelling putrid in and under furs, meat rancid where there was any to be had. The crisp smell of the shore a distant memory before the tang fermenting slickly on the planks. 

Skyrim is stuffy, claustrophobic with its many peoples dispersed through the land, inhabitants old and new and newer still the silent raving sentinels of Atmora. Sweltering coasts and swamps and woods all carved up in a fever, parcelled out and jealously guarded. Tumorous sproutings of towns and villages all over, people domesticating themselves in one last betrayal of their frozen home. 

A veritable cacophony to senses weaned on glacial waters; honed on ritual hunts. People talking incessantly and clamouring and shouting the very earth into submission. Cages within cages. There’s a lord over them all now, by his own admission and ambition. He summons the mighty, the furious insane. Even among the last feral hermits his invitation is passed, there’s talk of accepting. 

The eastern lands sound cruder still than this drab shadow of mighty Atmora, heaps of foreign novelty. Many slink away from the fires, the settlements, called back out by blood. The wolf pelted earth breaker is among them– they won‘t be some scrawny king‘s lap dog.

Skyrim is divvied up, and yet there is enough wilderness to swallow them whole. Where there isn’t, the less reclusive Atmorans take it back, boasting and clamouring. Little farms and homesteads, almost Nord themselves now. The fey and the woodwalkers return to their pacing, territories vast like feral beasts. Not even time will make them band together. 

The wolf roams the lands deep south beyond the pearlescent lake that even with the spring thaws does not gleam quite as bright as their glacial home. They run from the clamour and cloying until harsh mountains cut their path. For a while it is peaceful, and ever restless they endeavour to keep it thus with claws and teeth.

They have no word of their people who with conquering swords and shouts never returned from the east, but the Nords spread like a disease. One year people settle on the lake, then further deep where snaking mountain passes meet a pleasant rushing stream. The last children of Atmora wish more to run than to fight, and the wolf sheds not their pelt to scream their protests unto land and sky. Wordless, out of sight, they surrender the ground. 

The ever receding depths of the forest –crushed now by sullen hands not gleaming sheets of ice– remain a sanctuary not intruded upon, warnings of one too far line crossed written in blood and pain. Atmora’s lost children live long lives, but even they might not outlast the torrential unbroken tide of just a few trees more below the axe. 

Instead they live long enough to be found. The dun pup, hapless and toothless, anointing them with blackberry sup alike enough to blood.They let the boy name them 'Mara'. They let the boy call them 'she'. The boy speaks with hands more than words, and she learns fast like remembering a hazy half-dream, teaching him the language of beasts in trade.

The seasons slow for them, curled up on a bed of rust coloured needles in a yew grove, sharing jam and pies as rain platters overhead and the trees weep red blood. Warm summer storms pass over them unminded, turning the stone slippery and the loamy hillsides navigable, until they run cold and sleety, mist rolling down the forested mountain slopes. 

They sing at the stars and moons overhead, drifting lazily together in snow or mellowing summer heat. Around them the birds sing and the streams gurgle, and she hears the earth itself hum a contented lullaby. They roam between the village and the lake, smelling and tasting and running. He gets overwhelmed, and sometimes so does she, seeing this land through fresh eyes. 

She hunts them game, the boy perched silently on her shoulders. With him, she never hunts down the woodcutters and mushroom gatherers and intruders into her woods. She doubts he‘d mind, but her pup has to grow his own fangs before they can truly feast. He picks berries from between the brambles, staring silently as hands dart cleverly between the thorns that would cut her muzzle. They catch fish in nimble claws and marvel at the gleam of sun on scales. 

The townsfolk grow weary of them, their urge to roam a distant memory. Even she can bury her bitter longing for home now. For a while. 

One crisp spring, the boy leaves. She follows him to the edge of the mountains eternally draped in ice, where her woods break on sheer rocks. She knows he knows she’s there, an unspoken offer like all between them. Still, she dislikes the mountain, the dragon, and she will not abandon the wilderness she has carved herself in this overflowing land. He looks back once, hesitates too long, places a precious sweet before the steep incline of the mountain pass.  

He leaves. She stays. The seasons stumble on. 

Time is a vague notion, when not measured by the inexorable creep of ice. She tastes the change in the air, startled over a bloody meal. The earth sings of their approach, humming in delight at the dizzy of one and one, coarse crude notes intertwined into a simple haunting harmony. Soft vibrations of the forest floor, crunching of mud and leaf, the smell of furs and foreign lands and ferns snapping underfoot. Yet in her heart she knows. 

It is inadvisable for a child to travel alone in the deepest woods of Skyrim. But the pups have travelled far further and stranger, never alone. And they have grown up.

[barfok]

nobody ever tags me in wip games but here's some bhagtent

[lagaans]

problem w watching even minorly non blockbuster movies is there are NO GIFS!!!! and i don't have time to learn that!!!!!!!!!

[girlivealwaysbean]

you would think i am the bad influence but no sir it's all her all saumya convincing me to give up meri 70% done degree to open a maggi point with her

[vellhighbandi]

ab to roz ka hai hai

@lilacwitch011019

[athetos]

I am once again proud to say that the Callous Daoboys continue to have the greatest merch of all time

[dailysonakshi]

"Mera naam chin chin chu... hello mundiya, how do you do?"

[orgasming-caterpillar]

WHERE'S AKI LMAO IDHAR AA MERI FIRST CRUSH KE DMS DIKHAU