#this is veRY self indulgent what can i say god gave me ability to draw so that i can draw what I WANT

[lunamothghost]

fighting summer heat while colouring pencil sketches with the trio

[osakaso5]

IDOLiSH7 6th Anniversary Special Story: Full of Heart...

Chapter 3: Eternal Memories

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Riku Nanase: Ah, I was planning to use this picture, too! Here, look.

Tenn Kujo: Good thing we set up this meeting, then.

Iori Izumi: It's all thanks to my guidance. The two of you should be grateful.

Tenn & Riku: Thank you.

Iori Izumi: Still, I can't believe you'd both choose the exact same photo, out of all the ones you have.

Iori Izumi: Was it just a coincidence? Or do you have some kind of twin superpowers?

Tenn Kujo: I wouldn't exactly call it a superpower, but we have always had a tendency to pick the same things.

Riku Nanase: Yeah! Like at a restaurant, we'd always order the same thing.

Iori Izumi: Perhaps it's not as unusual for you to have matching tastes and interests as I made it out to be, considering you were raised together.

Tenn & Riku: Right.

Iori Izumi: Which park is this? Do you remember where it is?

Tenn Kujo: Near our old house. We went there for a picnic, since Riku was feeling well that day.

Riku Nanase: We brought canteens and lunchboxes. It wasn't our first visit to that park, but eating lunch there made it feel like an adventure.

Tenn Kujo: You have a nice smile in this picture, Riku. Why don't you use this one? I can pick something else.

Riku Nanase: Are you sure? I think you look really cute here too, Tenn-nii. You've got this kind of composed look on your face.

Riku Nanase: I think your fans would be happy to see you like this.

Tenn Kujo: And your fans would like to see the way you look here, too. Hmm, this is a tough decision.

Tenn Kujo: Your thoughts, Iori Izumi?

Iori Izumi: You're asking me?

Tenn Kujo: I thought I'd leave this up to outside judgement.

Riku Nanase: Which one of us do you think should use this picture for the show?

Iori Izumi: ......... Nanase-san.

Riku Nanase: Oh! How come?

Iori Izumi: Because we might not have the time to reach out to Kujo-san a second time if you're the one who needs to reselect his picture.

Iori Izumi: I trust in his ability to choose an appropriate photo much more than I trust yours.

Tenn Kujo: Makes sense.

Riku Nanase: So it has nothing to do with the photo itself?

Iori Izumi: Although if you select something from the pictures we looked at last night, perhaps Kujo-san could also use this one.

Iori Izumi: Why not the one you showed me, where your face is covered in ketchup...

Riku Nanase: The one where I'm eating omurice?

Iori Izumi: Yes. You looked so innocent and cu... Ahem. I just thought it would make for a good conversation piece.

Riku Nanase: I guess I'll go with that one, then!

Tenn Kujo: What about your picture, Iori Izumi? Which one did you pick?

Iori Izumi: ........ Mine is... nothing unusual... Just a perfectly normal childhood picture...

Tenn Kujo: Based on your reluctance to go into any more detail, I highly doubt that.

Riku Nanase: We can show you! Apparently Mitsuki chose the picture, and Iori looks totally adorable in it!

Iori Izumi: ........ It... It really isn't anything worth showing to people...

Tenn Kujo: It's not worth showing to people, so you decided to display it on national television?

Riku Nanase: C'mon, Iori. Even Tenn-nii wants to see it!

Tenn Kujo: Pretty please.

Iori Izumi: Please stop it with the innocent act...

Iori Izumi: ...Fine. Here it is, since you insist...

Tenn Kujo: Wow, you look cute. A plushie in your arms, a happy little smile on your face...

Riku Nanase: Isn't it precious!?

Iori Izumi: That's enough. I don't need your flattery...

Riku Nanase: We're not just saying that, you know! I even wanted to pretend like I was the one that gave you that plushie.

Iori Izumi: I don't know why you feel this much of a need to usurp your twin.

Riku Nanase: I mean it! There's not a single person who wouldn't be happy if their present was received like how you received that plushie.

Riku Nanase: God, Santa Claus, whoever. I think it'd make just about anyone feel on top of the world.

Iori Izumi: You're the one who's always smiling like that, anyway.

Riku Nanase: Huh?

Iori Izumi: Nothing. I was just thinking out loud.

Iori Izumi: Still, not even I expected my younger self to smile so earnestly.

Tenn Kujo: What made you look so sour all the time?

Iori Izumi: I don't look like this all the time. Just very often, especially around your younger brother.

Tenn Kujo: I don't know. You seem to give me plenty of sour looks, too.

Iori Izumi: Only when the cameras are off and you're acting like your usual, standoffish self.

Tenn Kujo: I'm not standoffish. I just take things seriously.

Tenn Kujo: So, how old were you exactly? When you stopped sleeping with this cutesy teddy bear, I mean.

Iori Izumi: ...How do you know I used to sleep with it!? Did my brother tell you?

Tenn Kujo: Most little kids like to sleep with a stuffed toy or two. Especially one that looks this fluffy.

Iori Izumi: I did enjoy that, myself...

Tenn Kujo: Riku never could've done that, though. His selection of bedtime toys was limited, so he didn't have attacks at night.

Riku Nanase: True.

Iori Izumi: Ah... I see... And you even seem like you'd have enjoyed these kind of fluffy toys...

Riku Nanase: Are you sure you're not just talking about yourself..?

Tenn Kujo: Riku. Were you lonely without plushies to keep you company?

Riku Nanase: Of course not. I had you, Tenn-nii.

Riku Nanase: I never felt lonely, even though I never got to go to school, or pet any cats or dogs.

Riku Nanase: When you were around, I was always happy and having fun. And I'm really grateful for that.

Tenn Kujo: Riku...

Riku & Iori: Tenn-nii...

Tenn & Riku: ........!?

Riku Nanase: W-what was that!? Why did you call him Tenn-nii, too!?

Iori Izumi: Because I knew that's what you were going to say. What do you think of my ability to predict you?

Tenn Kujo: You can be very strange, for someone so smart.

Iori Izumi: I could say the same about you. Don't you think you're being unusually soft on Nanase-san today?

Tenn Kujo: I guess so... I guess nostalgia's gotten the best of me.

Tenn Kujo: That'll happen when you reminisce about your childhood.

Riku Nanase: Maybe... I should just stick one of our childhood pictures on my face all the time...

Iori Izumi: You're an idol, so please don't start trying to censor your own face.

Riku Nanase: But I want Tenn-nii to be nice to me!

Iori Izumi: Of course yo do... Ah, by the way. Are you sure that picture you showed me at the dorm wouldn't be the best pick for you?

Iori Izumi: You know, the one where you're holding a Rabitty-kun doll. I think it'd work nicely, especially from a sponsor standpoint.

Riku Nanase: Yeah, maybe!

Tenn Kujo: I'm glad Rabitty-kun made a comeback. Toi Toi Toi was on the verge of bankruptcy before then.

Riku Nanase: They were?

Tenn Kujo: Yep. They released some low quality Rabitty-kun products, and were dealing with tons of customer complaints.

Tenn Kujo: It was damaging enough to their reputation that they had to sell the main office building and the CEO's house.

Iori Izumi: I see... I think the Rabitty-kun we had might've been one of the defective ones.

Iori Izumi: It made strange noises sometimes...

Riku Nanase: Yeah, I can kind of see why people would complain about their children's toys making creepy noises. They probably made lots of kids cry.

Iori Izumi: Still, it's incredible that they were able to bounce back and resume sales six years ago.

Riku Nanase: Wow... That company's sure had some big ups and downs.

Riku Nanase: Kind of like us!

Iori Izumi: Right... I do hope we can help them have a good anniversary.

Tenn Kujo: Yeah.

Iori Izumi: What sort of games did you two play when you were little?

Tenn Kujo: We played normally enough. Drawing, card games, things like that.

Riku Nanase: I couldn't get out of bed or move around much, so Tenn-nii would sing and dance for me.

Riku Nanase: We came up with lots of games where I sat still, while he moved around.

Riku Nanase: Like the Tenn-nii Robot!

Iori Izumi: The "Tenn-nii Robot"?

Tenn Kujo: Ah, I remember that one.

Iori Izumi: What kind of game was it?

Riku Nanase: I used this controller we made out of milk cartons to order Tenn-nii around.

Riku Nanase: And he'd do as I told him to. It was a lot of fun!

Tenn Kujo: Sure was.

Riku Nanase: Tenn-nii Robot, fire missiles!

Tenn Kujo: Boom!

Riku Nanase: Tenn-nii Robot, fire your machine gun!

Tenn Kujo: Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

Riku Nanase: Tenn-nii Robot, equip your lazer sword!

Tenn Kujo: Kwishuuuu, clink!

Tenn & Riku: It was so much fun!

Iori Izumi: Kujo-san...

Tenn Kujo: What?

Iori Izumi: You taught an innocent young child the joys of having Tenn Kujo at his beck and call? That should be a criminal offense.

Tenn Kujo: What are you talking about..?

Iori Izumi: You're exactly the reason why Nanase-san grew up to be so inhumanly naive and spoiled.

Tenn Kujo: Are you spoiled, Riku?

Riku Nanase: No! Hey, Iori..! Since when am I spoiled!?

Iori Izumi: Do you really have to ask? Today, you slept in so late that I had to help you pack.

Riku Nanase: How is that spoiled!? I just asked you for help! And you agreed to help me with my clothes, too!

Iori Izumi: I was worried we'd be even more late if I let you try and fail to decide on what to wear. You have no right to complain here.

Riku Nanase: I guess not, but...

Tenn Kujo: So, Iori Izumi's your stylist for today.

Riku Nanase: Do I look good?

Tenn Kujo: Sure.

Riku Nanase: Ehehe! You hear that, Iori!?

Iori Izumi: Of course you look good, with a producer like me. You should have more self-confidence.

Tenn Kujo: You two sure are close.

Riku Nanase: Yeah, we are!

Iori Izumi: How, exactly?

Riku Nanase: There you go again. Tenn-nii Robot, attack Iori!

Tenn Kujo: Kwishuuuu, clink...  

Iori Izumi: Urgh..! ...Please, do NOT try to stab me!

Tenn Kujo: Beep beep beep. Mission complete.

Iori Izumi: You of all people should know better than to indulge him!

Riku Nanase: Ahahaha! 

To be continued...

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Honeysuckle

hi i have no self control and really really really love tattoo artist!jaskier so here we are again. this is a prequel to the nipple piercings fic wherein geralt is absolutely smitten from day one. not the same vibe but im telling myself thats to be expected bc these take place like five years apart lol

Warnings: tattoos. if they make you squeamish this is not your fic, swearing, mild anxiety, not much else

___________________

Geralt’s palms were sweating when he walked into the little tattoo shop above his favorite deli. The artist he booked was nice enough in the email, and the front desk gal was sweet on the phone, but he’d never gotten a tattoo before and his anxiety was telling him to run home and bury himself under all the blankets he owned. 

A familiar voice greeted him when he came through the door, “Hey! Sweet, you’re early! Jask is just setting up the chair!” 

The coily brown haired receptionist gestured to a black leather couch across the room and Geralt just barely caught a glimpse of tattooed vines from under her hoodie sleeve. He nodded and smiled, taking a seat and trying not to look so stiff. The receptionist called another artist over and Geralt was surprised when the taller, purple eyed woman wrapped her arms around her shoulders and placed a kiss on her cheek as they looked at the monitor. It was the good kind of surprise, Geralt decided, the kind that sets you at ease when you were gearing up for a fight. The receptionist caught his unintentional smile and winked at him before he suddenly found his nail beds fascinating.

“You Geralt?”

His eyes scanned over the man asking from bottom to top and nearly lost his ability to speak, “Hm? Thats me.”

He looked like he came straight form the Seattle grunge scene in the 90’s, but showered and with beautiful floral blackout sleeves up to the wrists on each arm. It seemed the only color over his whole body was the few yellow buttercups scattered through the pattern, ending in a bouquet of all sorts of plants and flowers and herbs at his collar bones, only slightly covered by his Heathers on Broadway tank. 

He flicked his wispy brown hair out of his unreasonably pretty blue eyes and smiled so brilliantly Geralt had to remember to breathe, “I’m Jaskier. Come on back!”

Geralt gave him a curt nod and stood to follow. 

“I hope you brought shorts, it might be a bitch to walk home in that.” Jaskier said, leading him into one of the rooms down a long hallway.

Geralt was suddenly regretting listening to Lambert. He wanted to melt into the floor when he realized he would have to say this to the beautiful tattoo artist’s face, “They uh… they zip away…”

“Oh my god.” Jaskier breathed, finally looking at Geralt’s knees, “I didn’t even know they made those anymore.”

“I swear to god, my brother wears them for work and told me to-”

Jaskier waved his hand, clearly holding back a smile, “No worries, Ron Stoppable.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep from smiling, “Do you make a habit of making fun of your clients?”

“Only when I’m sure they can handle it,” he teased, “Now off with the hideous zipper pants, I gotta shave your thigh before I start the drawing.”

Once Geralt was shaved and positioned every which way on the table/chair contraption, he finally got to see the rough sketch. The marker felt cool and tickled the back of his knee, but surprisingly to him, he kept up a relaxed conversation, almost flirting before he thought better of it. 

“Do you like where everything is? Want any more grass? Or flowers? Now’s the time for changes, don’t be shy.” 

Geralt turned his leg this way and that, looking at the little blue and purple marks in a band just above his knee in the mirror, “You’re the professional, what do you think?”

Jaskier took a step back and reached for a roll of paper towels and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, “You said this was your first tattoo right?”

Geralt nodded.

“Okay, one less flower on the back then.”

“Why?”

“It’s one of the most painful places to get tattooed.”

“Keep it. I like it.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, “Alright, Hot Shot. Face down, we’ll start there first.”

Holy fuck Jaskier was right. Geralt had a high pain tolerance, but this was a whole different kind of pain. He had his arms crossed under his forehead and was doing his best to take deep, even breaths but Jesus Christ, that little chuckle-fuck just kept going over what felt like the same spot. But hell would freeze over before Geralt tapped out, so he forced his breath out and kept going.

“Why honeysuckle?” Jaskier asked as he sat back to dip the machine in more ink.

Geralt took the opportunity to shift a bit and breathe easy before he lied, “Just picked it.”

Jaskier’s hands were back on his thigh, “You don’t have to tell me, it’s just not something I’m asked to do very often. Never for a first tattoo.”

Geralt’s smile turned into a grimace as the needles were back at his skin. Whether it was his sincerity, pretty eyes, or Geralt’s desperate need for a distraction, he bucked up and answered his question, “My- ah, someone told me to find a reminder of things I loved. My horse eats nothing but honeysuckle whenever we go on the trails.”

"That's so fucking cute," Jaskier sighed, still attacking the back of Geralt's leg, "Wouldn't have pegged you for a horse guy. What's their name?" 

The pain was easier to ignore when Geralt was rambling about Roach. Jaskier kept the conversation flowing, maybe indulging Geralt’s ramblings a little too much, but by the time he flipped Geralt over to do the inside of his knee they were joking and swapping disastrous college stories like old friends. They took a snack break where the purple eyed woman, Yennefer he'd learned, made fun of his zip shorts and Triss scolded her. It was nice, he felt oddly at home here with these people he’d just met. 

The front half of the tattoo was nothing compared to the back and Geralt was able to breathe and just chat. He did his best to convince himself that the feeling in his chest wasn’t disappointment when Jaskier finally finished and wrapped his leg in saniderm. 

Jaskier leaned on the front desk while they waited for Geralt’s card to run, "What are you doing after this?" 

Geralt's stomach turned with nervous excitement and he truly didn't know how he got his words to come out so casual, "Was just gonna get some ramen and watch reruns, why?" 

Jaskier worried at his bottom lip as he stapled the receipt to some paperwork, "There's a great ramen place around the corner and I don't have another appointment tonight…" 

Geralt positively beamed, "If you can stand to be seen with someone wearing zipper shorts in public, I'd love to."

[undertalethingies]

Self Indulgent Self Insert Fanfic, Part One

I am sitting in my room, not doing much of anything, (as per usual) when I look up and notice that my mirror has apparently transformed into a solid wall of inky darkness as I’ve been spacing out.

And well- it’s not like I can not poke it, right? There’s a high chance I’ll seriously regret it, if my life has become the isekai it appears to be, but there’s a 100% chance I’ll regret it forever if I don’t touch it, you know?

Everyone always assumes I’m risk averse, that I like to play it safe, but the truth of the matter is I’ve just never found something I really want to take a risk with.

So, I push myself out of bed with a hand and go grab my shoes, because there’s no way in hell I’m touching something that might be a portal with no shoes on. Thankfully, I’m actually dressed for once, rather than being in my bathrobe like usual. 

Once I’ve got my shoes on, I grab my coat from where it hangs by my dresser and walk straight into what used to be my mirror. I hope my parents aren’t too worried by my disappearance. Maybe I’ll be lucky and this will be the kind of isekai that retroactively erases me from existence? That would be kind of nice, to exist without tethers.

The portal (because that’s what it is, I’m pretty sure) feels cool, but not unpleasantly so. Like when you first put on a fleece sweater and it takes a moment to warm up.

If this were a stereotypical isekai story, things would quickly become very unpleasant in this dark void, and some godlike being would reach out to grant me power beyond my wildest imaginings.

I’ve never been one to cave to expectations, though. Not even my own.

The darkness remains cool and comforting, and I continue walking forward because there’s no chance I’m going to turn back now, with so much possibility awaiting me if I only continue long enough.

Eventually, I feel as if I’ve passed some threshold, and something definably changes within me. Can’t say what, though. I’ve always kinda sucked at interpreting what my body is trying to tell me, so I’ll probably have to figure it out on my own.

At some point the darkness and walking grows boring, and so I do what I often do when bored, and curl up to go to sleep. This place isn’t cold enough for me to need a blanket, and I’ve got my coat with me anyway, so I’m fine. Sleeping on hard surfaces isn’t unpleasant, in my opinion, merely a bit annoying, since if you pick the wrong position you’ll inevitably wake up sore.

As always, consciousness takes a while to fade, so I occupy myself with grand imaginings about all the wonderful (and terrible, I’ve got anxiety okay, I can’t help it) things that might await me.

==

When I wake, it’s immediately obvious that something is different. There’s light now, for one, and for two I can feel something soft and organic beneath me. Judging by smell alone… Flowers? Waking up on a bed of flowers in a lit room… Well, I’ve always wished I could live in Undertale, if only so I could chew out the characters for bottling up their feelings so damn much. Hey, maybe if I’m lucky, that one headcanon I have about Sans secretly being a teenager will be right and I’ll be able to flirt with him without it being creepy.

Oh come on, like everyone attracted to dudes and not overly hung up about species concerns doesn’t want to kiss that guy, are you kidding me? Plus, I love puns and I’m depressed, surely we’ll get along.

Oh boy, I’m definitely going to die, huh? Thank fuck for my high pain tolerance and ridiculous resistance to trauma, am I right?

Finally, I open my eyes, because I like to wake up slow and I see no reason to alter my existing routine simply because I’ve apparently been yeeted into my favorite video game. Hey, speaking of favorite video games, will I get to visit Hollow Knight next? No, wait, that would probably suck, wouldn’t it. Ah, well.

The cave is just as beautiful as I always imagined it would be. Though it looked lovely in the game art, there’s truly nothing that can compare to seeing the sight in person, those marble pillars in a half circle around me, that single spot of sunlight in the ceiling far (far, far) above. Not to mention the lovely flowers I’m laying on at this very moment and- there’s a dead body under me, isn’t there. Is Chara going to show up, or am I left to be alone in my head?

Though their narration doesn’t actually start until you meet Flowey, in the game, so I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Which human soul am I taking the place of right now? Because I read a fic once where the protagonist wasn’t the seventh, even if it was a fakeout, and I very much do not want to be saddled with the fate of those poor bastards.

Though, maybe I’d be able to talk my way out? There’s no one who’d call me diplomatic, for sure, but I’m pretty great at knowing exactly where to aim an insult to utterly break someone’s spirit. (Unusual skill, I’m aware, but in my defense I was bullied growing up)(I say “growing up” like I’m not still doing it, like I’m not fourteen and trapped in a world where it’s an accepted fact that the protagonist will die, and several times over, too)

My first order of business is Flowey, before I can take the time to freak out, to hold myself tight and weather the sheer panic that Toto, I am not in Kansas anymore.

I get up. I give a last fond look to the beautiful cave I’ve “fallen” into, and I walk to the next room, hoping all the while that I’m not signing my own death sentence.

Once I’m a few feet in, there he is, in all his fucking glory.

Flowey the flower, the soulless remnant of prince Asriel Dreemurr, former hope of the underground, possibly still holder of the ability to control time itself.

Yeah, I’m definitely going to mess with him. Self preservation is for losers.

“You’re a flower with a face,” I say before he can start with his usual greeting. I have it memorized anyway, so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.

He makes his T-T face, so I know this isn’t how he thought this would go. 

“Wow, human! What gave you that impression?” Ooh, sassy. Literally his only positive trait.

“Well I have eyes, see,” I was planning  to ask him probing questions, but honestly this is just as good. His expression doesn’t change as he says his next sentence, nor does his ever cheery tone, (and holy fuck his voice is just as vaguely creepy as I’d imagined, all that childlike innocence paired with the fact that he’s a mass murderer)

“Well howdy, human with eyes! I’m Flowey, flowey the flower!” He says. I don’t interject.

“You’re clearly new to the underground, and it looks like I’m the only one around to show you how things work around here! Are you ready?” 

…

“I’m really not, to be honest. I’ve got no idea what’s going on,” So my plan here, basically, is to stall until Toriel gets here. Mostly because I’m hoping that if he doesn’t get the chance to do his betrayal, he’ll keep pretending to be nice, which will be hilarious since I’ll know he’s faking the whole time.

Admittedly, this significantly increases the likelihood that Toriel won’t come to save me when he inevitably finds a secluded place to murder me, but if I think too hard about the long term right now I’m going to scream, so.

“Well you see, human, you’ve fallen into the underground, a land inhabited by monsters! Don’t worry though, we’re quite nice,” Oh right, conversation. I wonder how much info I can get out of him…

“What’s a monster? Like, I know what it means on the surface, but that definition is pretty vague, and I don’t want to be accidentally racist,” 

His face pops back to the usual smile. (Side note: his face looks like it was drawn on with sharpie and it’s totally messing me up)

“A monster is a being made of magic!” Ok, that’s… a bit vague, but not really inaccurate. I guess he doesn’t want to get into the science, which is a damn shame, since he probably knows it backwards and forwards due to all his reset shenanigans.

“Woah, cool. Magic is real? How does it work without breaking thermodynamics?” Finally, the question I’ve always wanted to ask. If energy can’t be created, how the fuck does Toriel shoot fireballs from her hands? What is she drawing on, what is the fire burning, how hot is it, how does it keep being on fire, etc. etc. repeat for every magical display in the game.

“Well, a lot of it isn’t super understood. Scientists have mostly been pinning it on ‘dark energy’ like they do with every other phenomenon they don’t totally understand,” I wonder why he’s so willingly entertaining my time wasting antics. I know, in game, he didn’t realize he’d lost control over the timeline until after his first talk with Frisk, so maybe he’s just waiting it out to see where it goes? And then of course he must be planning other things to do with me before he takes my soul and goes to the surface…

“God, I hate dark energy in science. I know they just call it that because not much is known about it, but I’m thirsty for knowledge, you know?” Actually ‘thirsty for knowledge’ describes my mood like 90% of the time. Huh, actually, I have that in common with Flowey, right? Even if his knowledge thirst is just due to boredom.

“Hey, human, me too! Learning new things is great!” There’s a loaded sentence if i’ve ever heard one. When was the last time he learned something new? He’s supposedly read every book in the underground, but how much information from that did he actually retain?

“Isn’t it? It’s why I love Youtube so much. Free information for anyone who cares to make a few clicks!” Wait, he probably doesn’t know what Youtube is, actually.

“What’s Youtube?” He asks, cocking his head.

“It’s a service where you can upload videos or watch videos other people have uploaded,” Not the most nuanced explanation, but it’ll do for now. Before Flowey has a chance to respond, a fireball manifests next to him. 

I don’t smile because I’m pretending to be shocked, but I’m laughing my ass off on the inside. The face he makes is even more ridiculous in person.

Enter Toriel, queen of the monsters, mother of no living children.

[scatterpatter]

An Alicorn(get it? get it???) fic because im self indulgent

I just wanted to write about Corren and @jazznet‘s Alistair(GET IT? ALISTAIR AND CORREN- ALI COR-N? pls laugh im beg) bonding and stuff, so like... I did. I lov them a lot so have nearly 4k words of them snarking at each other

Word Count: 3,853

Content warnings: swearing, off-screen character with unnamed severe illness, implied toxic familial situation, mentions of death

“Ah, well, can’t say this is the deadliest situation I’ve been in!”

“Speak for yourself, dipshit!” Corren yelled, tugging Alistair’s wrist harder as they weaved through the trees of the forest, nearly tripping over thick tree roots and dense shrubbery “Is it still tailing us?!”

Alistair glanced behind them for only a moment, and lo and behold, there was a massive dragon flying just above the treetops, eyes fixed on the two F.U.C.K.s “… You got any teleporting spells left?”

“You think I wouldn’t have cast one if I did?!” The Marelienth yelled, panic spiked way too much to bother acting nice. If he had any 4th-level spell slots left, he could easily teleport the both of them a good 800 feet away from the situation, but of course he wasted them all earlier in the fight.

“Well, at least we know everyone else is safe!” Alistair chirped, sarcasm in his tone to combat the adrenaline as they both ran for their lives.

“Yeah, good for them, let’s maybe not get killed ourselves before we celebrate!” He tugged on the human’s wrist to get them going once more. Maybe if he could get under enough tree cover, they could get out of sight and the dragon won’t notice them… Corren cast a brief look over his shoulder-

Oh.

Oh no.

The dragon was still right behind them, only rather than just chasing them down, they began to suck in the energy around them, a bright fireball forming in its mouth as it prepared a breath attack.

Oh, fuck.

His gaze quickly fell to Alistair, sizing up his wounds. Normally their leader had enough health to survive some of the heavier hits, but he was already looking roughed up from before. Oh no… he might not instantly get killed if hit, but he’ll definitely get knocked out, and leaving him half-dead with a dragon probably won’t end well.

Corren, though, knew he himself was going to die instantly if hit. And death doesn’t sound very good right now. He’ll take a hard pass. But without the ability to teleport…

Wait. He didn’t waste all of his lower-level magic yet. Maybe he could…

Oh, fuck it.

With a quick wave of his hand, he summoned a rope that seemed to come down from a blank space in the sky, almost as if leading up into nothing, and ending about 10 feet above them. He gave it a quick test tug before handing it to Alistair. “Climb.”

“What is-”

“NO TIME, JUST CLIMB.” He barked, nearly shoving the human to climb the rope, satisfied once he did so and quickly following suit, the heat of flames brushing by his ankles as they both disappeared from the area.

… Corren allowed himself to breathe as he climbed up and fully into the small wooden structure he made, quickly shutting the small trap door he came in through. “That… was way too close for comfort.”

“Uh.” Alistair still seemed panicked, though Corren took ease knowing he was safe in this space. “What-?!”

“Chillax, it’s a spell I know.” He waved a dismissive hand, taking a seat against the nearest wall to rest. With the adrenaline finally passing, all he felt was exhaustion overtaking. “It’s called ‘rope trick’. We can camp out here for a while, and hopefully when we leave again, the dragon won’t be there anymore.”

“I… oh.” Alistair blinked, his own panic seeming to now die down in their temporary safety. Alistair was a pretty competent spellcaster, so Corren knew he wouldn’t have to explain too much detail for his leader to get the gist of what he was doing.

The human looked around, fully absorbing their surroundings now that he had the time to do so. They were in a small wooden room, the “trap door” being the only exit. Two windows lined the walls, looking out into an expanse of forest. Though, unlike the warm, deciduous forest they were fleeing in moments ago, this forest seemed to be made of pine and mountainous trees, air much cooler and less humid than where they were before. Small bookshelves and chairs made most of the furniture in the room, little drawings and maps tacked to the walls, it was almost like… “Are- Are we in a treehouse?”

“Mhm! … Well, technically no.” Corren pulled a book from one of the shelves, absentmindedly flipping through its pages as he explained “We’re in a demiplane right now. We can’t leave this room, except to exit back to where we came from, so don’t bother trying to climb out a window.” He snorted a bit, remembering the time he attempted to, only to be smacked in the face by the planar equivalent of a brick wall. “I can choose how this looks, though, so I wanted it to look like this.”

Alistair cocked an eyebrow, amusement flashing over his expression beneath the shock “… You do not strike me as the treehouse type.”

“I’m not! Well, not anymore, I guess.” He shrugged, trying to wave off the embarrassed blush he felt creeping on his face at opening up about his… I guess this would be his more vulnerable side. “I uh… I had one just like this when I was a kid. It’s... I don’t know.” He cast a look down to the book in his hands, smiling fondly as he caressed his fingers over the page “It’s kind of comforting, I guess.”

Alistair stood there a minute, seeming to almost study the situation… then walked over, sitting by the Marelienth’s side. “Well, guess we have some time to kill. Got anything good in there?” He grinned, motioning to the bookshelf nearest to them.

Corren laughed a bit- surprised that he caught himself laughing, actually- and set his own book aside “I wouldn’t pick from that shelf, actually. It’s more children’s books than anything than else.”

Alistair smirked “Weren’t you just reading one from that shelf?”

“I was flipping through it for the nostalgia, dipshit.” Corren glared… though they both knew that his annoyance was completely surface level. He quickly rolled his eyes, standing up stepping over to another shelf to browse through the books he stored there. “Hang on, I’ll find something.”

What would Alistair’s tastes be? … He’d probably be more like Julian than Mila, so he’ll browse Julian’s old books. He clicked his tongue, running a finger over each book’s spine, scanning their titles. Would Al be a fiction or a non-fiction type…? … Hm. He paused on one book, hesitant for a moment, but decided it might be an interesting read for the Weathervane.

Alistair blinked in surprise when the book was dropped on his lap, taking it in his hands and reading the title out of curiosity “’History of Spellcasting in Marelienth Society’?”

Corren shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought you might find it interesting, since you’re magical, but it’s also something you probably don’t already know.”

Alistair hummed in response, flipping through a few pages to get a sense of what he was reading. “… Could use more pictures.”

“Oh my gods.” Corren pinched the bridge of his nose “I should have let you pick from the children’s shelf.”

They both laughed as Corren sat by his side once more, unable to help the smug grin as he saw Alistair’s attention quickly shift back to the book, finding a section and quickly latching onto it. He watched the human’s eye scan the page with fervor, absorbing whatever he could in the limited time they had.

Corren couldn’t help the way his smile went from smug to something softer. The way Alistair acted, how he was so passionate about all he did and all he was interested in, the way he loved what he did so effortlessly… Despite any fears and anxieties that weighed him down, he always found a way to trudge forward. It was all-to-familiar to Corren, though it was something he hadn’t witnessed in years. It was… almost uncanny how much Alistair reminded him of…

“Julian!!!” Corren yelled, slamming the door to their treehouse open and giving an angry gasp at the Marelienth inside. “I knew you were in here still!”

The older Marelienth gave a small wave, but didn’t pry his eyes away from his book “Just give me five minutes, I’m almost done this chapter!”

“You said the same thing half an hour ago!!!”

“… I started a new chapter since then.”

Corren groaned loudly, fully climbing into the treehouse and crawling over to his older brother, flopping against his side dramatically “I’m boooooored!!!”

Julian just laughed, finally defeated by the child’s antics, and set his book aside, using just one arm to scoop Corren up as he got to his feet. Julian was still somewhat young, not fully grown into adulthood yet, but still stood a good 6 feet tall. Corren, on the other hand, was still a child, and was very small compared to his brother. “Alright, alright, you drama queen. I need to pick up supplies for tomorrow’s run anyways, so you can come along.”

Corren didn’t seem to mind being carried one-handedly, just swaying his legs happily “Yay~!”

The two brothers left their treehouse, walking past their home and onto the streets of their town of Warrencrest. The forest surrounding their town left a scent of pine in the air, accompanied by a hint of frost to signify the changing of the seasons. Corren was set down at this point, and settled for keeping up a quick pace to match Julian’s longer strides. He held onto his brother’s hand, though, which made sure he didn’t get left behind or lost by chasing some distraction.

With his brother leading them along, Corren let his eyes wander over their town as they walked through it. Warrencrest was a mostly Marelienth-occupied town, and it was pretty rare to see other races around their home. Everyone seemed to keep to themselves, always focused on studying time and magic and all sorts of other things that Corren ‘wasn’t mature enough to understand yet’. He felt like he was living in a bubble sometimes- it was like his siblings were the only ones who wanted to talk to him… about anything other than academics, at least. Though, that really only bothered him so much. I mean, he had 2 best friends, and he just happened to be related to them! It only sucked when they would go on short quests for some extra gold and Corren had to stay home and wait for them to come back.

Speaking of quests… “What’s the job you’re doing this time?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, let me check.” Julian used a free hand to reach into his pocket, pulling a sheet of paper out and unfolding it. It was a help wanted ad, easy to find on job boards outside of stores or taverns. He read over the terms, eyes scanning the details before he sighed and shoved the job offer back in his pockets “Just a delivery run. Apparently the passage to get to this other town is pretty rough on the terrain, and the Client’s getting up there in years, so he figured it’d be a safer bet to pay someone else to do it.”

Corren pouted, disappointed at the terms “Awww, no fighting a big scary monster or anything?”

Julian snorted, caught off-guard by the sheer absurd innocence of such a question “No, no scary monsters. Sorry to be the one to break it to you, little buddy, but questing isn’t always this grand adventure. Sometimes it’s boring, but at least you get paid… like a job!”

“Ew.” The younger Marelienth stuck his tongue out. Adventuring being boring like a job??? Gross. Though that could probably mean… Corren suddenly perked up “Oh! So if it’s not dangerous, can I come with you?”

“Uh, I don’t know…” Julian sighed, scratching his cheek “Like I said: it’s rough terrain. The last thing I’d want is for you to trip and fall down a cliff and become a Corren-Pancake.” Despite the lighthearted joking, he cringed a bit “Uh, yeah, Dad would definitely kill me if I brought you home as a skeleton instead of a Marelienth. Besides, I’ll need you to stay home and take care of our big sis while I’m gone!”

Corren frowned, tilting his head a little “She’s not going with you either?”

“Uh… no.” The lighthearted air he had around him before quickly dissipated, and he squeezed Corren’s hand a little bit “Mila’s still sick, so I don’t think she’ll be able to go questing for a while…”

How sick was she? Usually whenever Corren got sick, he’d be fine after just a couple of days, but Mila’s been stuck at home for nearly 2 weeks now! “… She’s gonna get better, right?”

Julian hesitated, only for a moment, but if Corren were older he would’ve known exactly what that hesitation meant. Instead, he was met with a reassuring smile and a pat to the head “Of course she’s gonna get better. This is our big sis we’re talking about, it takes more than just a little cold to knock a Hartwell down!”

Corren just giggled, content with the answer he got “Yeah, you’re right, but I’m gonna be the best protector until then! I know magics now!”

“That so?” Julian quickly let the lighthearted air roll back in, grateful for his brother’s naivety. “Well, show me something, then!”

Corren just grinned, letting go of his hand to run over to the side of the street, picking up a small rock and trotting back over to him. With a small wave of his hand, the rock suddenly became illuminated, giving off light like a torch.

“That’s ‘Light’, isn’t it?” Julian smiled, impressed by that small spell he was able to cast “Well look at you, learning neat Cantrips! Next thing you know, you’re gonna be the most powerful spellcaster in all of Sekrezia!”

“You know it!” Corren ate up the praise, dropping the rock and putting his hands on his hips in a prideful pose before going back to walking by Julian’s side “You know, I’m gonna be a great adventurer one day.”

“Is that so?” He suddenly grabbed Corren, hoisting him up and over his head in order to perch him on his shoulders and carry the smaller Marelienth that way “You’re going to be a hero and explore the world?”

“Yeah!!!” Corren grinned, not even blinking to the idea of riding on Julian’s shoulders. It made him feel tall! “I’m gonna team up with a bunch of other cool adventurers, and we’re going to save the world from all sorts of eeeevil monsters! And I’ll be super cool and know all sorts of neat spells!” He pushed his glasses back into place after they slipped down his nose a bit “I’ll go down in legends, and everyone’s going to think I’m super cool! ‘Corren Hartwell, the bestest adventurer of all time’!”

“’Bestest’?” Julian parroted, unable to keep in a small fit of laughter at just how pure that was “Alright, well when you’re rich and famous, can I get some of the gold you earn?”

He huffed, bapping his brother on the forehead “No way, stink-face, that’s my hard-earned gold, you can make your own!”

“Alright, alright, can’t blame your poor feeble brother for trying.” He joked, rolling his eyes fondly as they made it to their town’s main market square. “… You’ve got that spark, Corr. I feel like if you really worked at it, you could be a really cool mage. … Almost as cool as me.”

“Almost?!” He squeaked, pouting at the way his brother got such a laugh out of that.

Well, he hasn’t exactly saved the world or gone down in legends, but…

“Corren?” Alistair snapped his fingers in front of the Marelienth to catch his attention, snapping Corren out of his daze “Hey, you still with me?”

“Huh?” He blinked once or twice, pulling himself back to present day to focus his attention on the human “What’s up?”

“It looked like you were spacing out on me, you good?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m okay.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, not realizing just how long he was getting lost in old memories for. “Sorry, just reminiscing.”

Alistair nodded, going back to his book for a few moments… then cast a gaze back at Corren. “Why’d you leave?”

Corren went stiff, not expecting such a personal question out of the blue like that. “… What do you mean?”

He cast a look around the room again, noting all of the makeshift maps of nearby areas and crude drawings that lined the walls “It just… seems like you had a pretty good childhood. And this definitely isn’t anywhere near Lilenthemar. So why’d you leave?”

Ah. Corren knew he’d have this conversation sooner or later, but he still didn’t know how to talk about… everything that happened. How could you put what happened into words? He knows that if he’s to stay with the group, he’ll probably have to come clean about everything sooner or later, but… well, he’ll put off that conversation as long as he can. “… You’re right, I did have a pretty good childhood. Things were never perfect, but… I was happy.”

Corren ran a hand along the wood that made the walls. The actual treehouse he grew up in was long gone; wood rotted and the tree toppled, but in this demiplane, it was like his old hangout was preserved in time. … If anything, that only upset him more, knowing that everything around him was just a projection of what used to be, a childhood and innocence he could never get back. “… I’m sure you’d know this better than I ever would, but good things… have a tendency not to last.” He took a deep breath, swallowing his fears and letting himself open the fuck up for once. “After some things went wrong, I wasn’t happy here anymore… and after some more things went wrong, I didn’t even feel safe here. So, I left. I wasn’t even planning on staying in Lilenthemar, but I just so happened to meet Jethro and… well. You can’t exactly say no to a job offer from a man like him.”

Alistair snorted, fond memories of how they met Corren through their shared connection with Jericho’s father… and how they practically broke the poor Marelienth with their shenanigans. That fondness quickly faded, though, in favor of the sympathetic frown he cast to his teammate “… I’m sorry, about everything that happened. You didn’t deserve to feel unsafe in your own home.”

“Yeah…” Corren sighed, folding his arms and avoiding eye contact like the plague. He still wasn’t used to weird and intimate moments like this. “You’re right, I didn’t deserve that, but… hey, sometimes bad things just… happen. And I mean… I’m not really that sorry about it.”

“You’re not?”

The Marelienth shook his head “I mean, it sucked, don’t get me wrong about that, but. If I never ran away, I never would’ve met Jethro or Raerose. And if I never worked for Jethro, I never would’ve met- or eventually teamed up with- all of you, so…” He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his expression “I’d say it wasn’t all bad.”

Alistair just returned the smile, giving Corren a light punch on the arm “So you do love us and our antics~”

He rolled his eyes, grateful to have the tense and vulnerable moment passing for their usual snark “Oh live it up, weather boy. Just be grateful I keep sending your love messages to your boyfriend free of charge.”

“We love you too, Corren.”

He snorted, punching the human back “That’s it, I’ve had enough of your bullshit feelsy mush. That dragon’s probably gone by now, and we should regroup with the rest of the F.U.C.K.s.”

“Aw, can’t we wait just five more minutes?” Alistair pouted, motioning to the book he was given earlier “I’m almost done this chapter!”

Corren blinked incredulously, not believing his ears for a minute. He really just… “Holy shit. You are the same goddamn person.”

That caught Alistair off guard as he suddenly looked at Corren like he had two heads “… Who’s the same?”

“Uh-” He shook his head, embarrassed that he actually said that out loud “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” … Maybe a quick subject change would help, “Well, we could stay here a while longer… but the group might start thinking we’re dead. I mean, unless you want Lautrek to be appointed the new leader in your absence…”

Alistair quickly shut the book, panic setting on his expression “Uh, you know what? Maybe we should head back now. Don’t want to scare the others, haha!”

Corren just smirked. It was too easy sometimes. He opened the door back to the Material Plane, letting Alistair exit before Corren followed suit.

They landed right where they left, only the forest around them was charred completely, some branches and trunks still in flames from the fiery breath attack they barely avoided. The good news, though, was that the dragon was nowhere in sight, so they were safe for the time being.

“Wow.” Alistair remarked, scuffing his boot along the dead grass beneath them “We totally would’ve died if we got hit by that.”

“Oh yes.” Corren nodded in agreement, stretching his back lazily “I would’ve died in an instant, but you? Probably would’ve been a long, agonizing death. You would’ve wished you had low health like me. Like your blood would start to-”

“Ooookay kid, I know you’re a little bit Necromancer, but I need you to dial it down on going into detail over how I would burn to death.” Alistair patted Corren on the back, putting just enough force behind his hits for the Marelienth to get the not-so-passive aggressive message… But then a swift look of fear fell over his expression “Uh, Corren?”

“Yeah?”

“So that dragon was chasing us, so we knew our teammates would be safe?”

“Uh… yes?” He raised an eyebrow, unsure of where Alistair was going with this.

“And if we chose to hide so the dragon would eventually leave…”

Oh no. Corren was starting to get an idea where he was going with this.

“… What’s to say that Dragon didn’t go back to attacking everyone else after we disappeared?” Alistair slowly turned to share that look of horrified realization with the other.

… Oh, fuck.

“I don’t think we thought this through.” Alistair quickly readied his Halberd, looking back to where they came from.

“Thought this through?! I saved our lives!” Corren huffed, pulling out the sniper that was strapped to his back. “Guess we gotta save a few more, greeaat!”

Alistair smirked a little, pulling a health potion from his pocket and quickly chugging it down. “So, starting to regret crossing paths and joining us yet~?”

He scoffed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face “Aw, cute. Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily, Stormcrown.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Hartwell.”

[sleepy-summoner]

dirsteh (summoner)/silas supports c-s

here are the dirlas summoner supports! they continue off of the FB conversations :^)

i’ve also had the a and s supports done for a while, but all the new summoner content inspired me to finish the others!

(this is also self-indulgent as hell but w/e)

C Support

S: Did you need me for something, Dirsteh?

D: Yeah! Remember how I said I was going to help you find your strengths? Well, that starts today! I was going to introduce you to the squad, and then we’re going out for a little training. While you guys get your exercise, it should give me a feel for how you are in combat. Does that sound good to you?

S: Uh, wow... Y-yeah, that sounds great.

D: ...Is something the matter?

S: No, not at all! I’m surprised you have a plan so quickly.

D: Hah! Well, I’ve done the same kinda thing with most of the Heroes here, so you could say I’ve had some practice.

D: Anyway, lemme introduce you to the crew. First, we have Ephraim! He’s the prince of Renais from the continent of Magvel.

E: Nice to meet you. *grins* Hope I can get a good sparring match out of you!

D: Eph, you just met the guy and you already want to fight him? *sighes and shakes head as Ephraim shrugs*

D: Next, this is Reinhardt! He’s a general of Friege from the continent of Jugdral. He’s equally skilled with magic and swords...but I asked him to use his sword today to add some balance to the team.

R: *nods curtly* A pleasure, Sir Silas.

D: And lastly, we have Gunnthrá, the eldest princess of Nifl. She’ll be supporting us with her really cool magic! (Heh, “cool”...)

G: *smiles gently* It is very nice to meet you, Sir Silas. I look forward to working together with you.

S: *bows* It is my honor to meet all of you. I’m very eager to work with you all, and I hope I can pull my weight.

D: *pats Silas on the back* Oh, you don’t have to worry about that! I’m sure you’ll do fine.

D: With that out of the way, let’s saddle up and head out!

—

D: So...how’d the first day go?

S: Really well! It’s interesting to see how people of other worlds fight compared to what I’ve learned as a knight of Nohr. I’m definitely learning a lot!

S: That Prince Ephraim though... He’s amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone take out so many people so quickly!

D: Yeah, Eph is pretty good! He’s one of the strongest we have in the Order, so I trust him to take care of a lot of things on the battlefield. I poked fun at him before, but I would definitely recommend that you take him up on his offer! You could absolutely learn a ton from sparring with him.

S: Will do. I’m excited to see how much I can improve from training with other Heroes!

D: I’m happy to hear that! As for me, from today’s training I think I’ve got a better idea of your abilities in combat. It might take me a bit longer to come up with a definite plan for you, but it shouldn’t take too long!

S: Sounds good to me. I can’t thank you enough for all your help, Dirsteh. At the very least, I promise to work my hardest to be a knight you can be proud to have in your service!

D: Oh, don’t sweat it too much! You’re doing a fine enough job as it is.

D: Anyway, good work today! I’ll call on you whenever I need you for some more training.

S: *salutes/bows* Of course.

[Dirsteh and Silas have reached support rank C.]

B Support

S: You wanted to see me, Dirsteh?

D: Oh! Hi Silas! Yes, I think I’ve figured out your role for this army!

S: Is that right? Well, lay it on me.

D: So I had a hunch the first few times we went out training and even back when went looking for tea leaves with Alfonse. I talked with the others and they pretty much confirmed my suspicions. Eph tells me that in your spars with him that while you may not exactly match him in physical strength, he has a hard time getting past your defenses. Rein and Gunn also note that you’re very protective, often taking hits meant for them. On the other hand, you seem to struggle with defending against magic-users and dragons, but I do have a few ideas on how we could improve on that.

D: In all, I think you could work really well as a protector to pull others out of danger, and maybe even draw out enemies with your good defensive capabilities!

D: ...Phew, that was a lot. So, what do you think?

S: *mouth agape* ...

D: Oh God, I broke Silas. Are you OK? I’m so sorry, I dumped all of that on you so quickly...

S: I’m fine! It’s just...you figured out all of that in such a short period of time? You’re incredible, Dirsteh, you know that?

D: *blushes* Oh! Well... *looks away bashfully* Like I said, I’ve done this before, so it’s nothing too special, but thank you...

D: You’re the one who’s been working so diligently this whole time, though! So if there’s anyone who’s incredible, it’s you.

S: Y-you really think so?

D: *smiles brightly* Yes! Ever since you were summoned, you’ve been one of the hardest workers in the Order of Heroes. I’m super proud of how far you’ve come.

S: *blushes and rubs back of neck* Goodness...that really means a lot coming from you. Thank you.

D: Of course! Also...there is something else. I’ve also...uh, been thinking of rewarding you for all your hard work.

S: A reward?

D: Yep! Anything you want from me! Like a new weapon or whatever, or anything you want to do.

S: Well... *ponders for a few seconds* How about we go on a picnic together? I’d love to see the scenery around Askr outside the context of a battlefield.

D: Huh? A picnic?

S: Is something wrong? I can try to think of something else if you want.

D: No, you’re fine! I just didn’t expect that as your answer. A picnic sounds great, actually! Next time I’m free, we can go. *grins* I call bringing dessert!

S: Haha, of course! Whatever you want to make.

D: *claps hands excitedly* It’s a da—uh, I mean... We have plans, then! This is going to be so much fun—I can’t wait!

[Dirsteh and Silas have reached support rank B.]

A Support

S: Dirsteh, you didn’t tell me you were a baker! These are amazing!

D: Oh! Well, thank you! I used to bake a lot for my family back in my world. But lately I haven’t had the time to bake, so I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch.

D: You’re a pretty good cook yourself! The food you made was delicious!

S: Really? *rubs back of neck sheepishly* Ah, well... I don’t consider myself a great chef by any means, but I’m happy you enjoyed it.

D: Maybe a little too much... *sprawls out on the blanket and groans* Ugh, I think I ate so much, I might get the itis.

S: *also lays down and faces Dirsteh* “Itis”? What’s that?

D: Oh, it’s a term from my world. It’s just that sleepy feeling you get after eating a big meal.

S: I see...

S: ...

S: Dirsteh, I’m curious. What’s your world like?

D: My world? Hmm... Where do I even start?

D: Well, first off, it’s way more advanced than Askr. Like...hundreds of years more advanced.

S: H-hundreds of years?

D: Yep! We have buildings that can be over a hundred floors tall, metal cars we can drive without the help of animals, water that flows with the turn of a knob...

S: Whoa... That sounds amazing!

D: Yeah, it’s pretty convenient! I definitely took it for granted before I was summoned to this world. Honestly, thinking about it now, I still miss some of that stuff from my world.

S: Oh. I’m sorry. It really must have been hard for you to adjust.

D: *waves hand dismissively* It’s OK. It was difficult at first, but I think I’ve gotten used to it for the most part.

D: Though...the thing that was the hardest for me to get used to was being constantly at war.

S: Are there no wars in your world?

D: There are, but they either happened in the past or they’re far away from where I live. I’ve only really known peace, so suddenly being summoned and thrust in the middle of a war was...a challenge for me, to say the least. I was just a nobody studying medicine, and now I command an entire army! All this responsibility stresses the hell out of me, and sometimes I still feel out of place here!

D: ...Oh! Sorry, you just wanted to hear about my world and I started venting...

S: No, no, it’s OK! I had no idea you were under this much stress...

D: Yeah, well... As the Order of Heroes’ tactician, I feel like I should be this confident, level-headed leader, so I try my best to hide it. I don’t really want anybody to worry themselves over me.

S: Dirsteh... Everybody here cares about you and your wellbeing, myself included. You may be our tactician, but you’re also a person. You shouldn’t feel like you have to bottle up your real feelings to be a strong leader.

S: In fact, if I may... I think you’re the strongest of us all. We come from worlds that are similar to this one, so there’s not too much that we had to adjust to. But you... You had to adjust the most out of all of us, and I think you’ve done an amazing job. You’ve led the Order to so many victories, you’ve saved entire kingdoms from ruin, and you’ve helped a lot of people here, even someone like me. So please don’t feel like you aren’t already a good leader.

D: *wipes corners of eyes and nods* ...Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thank you for that.

D: Heh... This is kinda a reversal from before, huh? It’s almost like the pep talk I gave you when we were looking for those tea leaves.

S: Speaking of, do you remember what I said around that time? I said that I wanted us to be the kind of friends that can talk about anything.

S: Now, would you consider us friends?

D: Wha... You’re so silly, Silas. Of course I do!

S: *holds up hands defensively* Just wanted to make sure! Anyways, I meant what I said. If you ever have any worries, feel free to vent them to me. Or if you ever need advice, ask, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.

D: That’s so sweet of you! But I can’t let you shoulder all of the burden! So the same goes for me.

S: Haha, of course. Now...is there anything else you wanted to talk about?

D: Hmm... Oh yeah! So my family...

[Dirsteh and Silas have reached support rank A.]

S Support

S: *sigh*

D: (Oh, there’s Silas. Though he seems a little worked up... I should make sure he’s all right before we head out.)

S: ...

D: Hey Silas!

S: GAAAH!

D: Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.

S: I-it’s OK, Dirsteh. What did you need?

D: I was just going to let you know that we’re about to head out in a little bit for a mission from Commander Anna. I’ve already let the others in the team know, so they should be at the stables getting ready right now. Though...are you OK? You seem a little jumpy.

S: Y-yes, I’m fine. I was just lost in my thoughts, that’s all.

D: You sure?

S: *wordlessly nods*

D: Um...OK. Well, lemme just walk you to the stables and I’ll explain our mission along the way.

—

D: ...Anyway, it’s just a simple scouting mission. Nothing too hard, I think.

S: Right...

D: Well, I’ll leave you to prepare. Meet me at the castle gate when all four of you are ready!

[Dirsteh leaves. Silas stares at her as she departs.]

S: *sigh*

G: So have you told her yet?

S: O-oh! Hello, Princess Gunnthrá. W-what do you mean?

G: Heehee, don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about.

S: ...Is it really that obvious?

G: Quite.

S: *sigh* Typical of me to fall in love at first sight and take weeks to realize it. Though I worry that she doesn’t have the same feelings for me...

G: You realize that she is not obligated to reciprocate, correct?

S: Of course she isn’t! If things don’t work out, I at least want us to stay friends. I’m just worried that it’ll make things awkward between us.

G: *smiles knowingly* ...Well, I would not fret too much over it.

S: Why do you say that?

G: Perhaps just as obvious as your feelings is her favoring of you. I believe it would be worth it to at least let your feelings out. It will be much better than letting those worries fester within you and cause even more problems.

S: ...Yeah, I think you’re right. How should I do it, then?

G: I think something private would be a good start.

S: Hmm... We did go on a picnic a little while back. It was pretty secluded and we talked a lot... I think I could ask her on another picnic and tell her my feelings there.

G: It seems you have a plan, then.

S: *sigh* I feel so much better about this. Thank you so much for talking this out with me, Princess Gunnthrá!

G: *smiles gently* It is my pleasure, Sir Silas. Remember that we’ll be here to support you.

—

D: Thanks again for inviting me out on another picnic! It’s nice to wind down a bit especially with all the crazy stuff going on right now.

D: Though you didn’t have to make everything by yourself, you know! I could have taken some of it off your hands.

S: It's all right! I figured you already had enough to worry about. Anything to make your life even a bit easier.

D: That's so sweet. Thank you.

S: Of course.

[The two sit in silence. The air is so thick that a blade could cut through it.]

S: ...Say, Dirsteh. Do you remember the first time we met?

D: Hmm... Oh yeah! You were with Princess Laegjarn when we stormed the temple to stop Surtr from performing the Rite of Flames. I wandered too close to the front lines, and you almost skewered me but Grima knocked you flat.

S: *grimaces* ...That sounds about right.

D: ...But before that you stopped yourself. Why? You had the perfect opportunity to take out the enemy tactician.

S: Well... As I was charging, I caught a glimpse of your face under your hood. And...you looked like Corrin.

D: What? Last I checked I didn't have silver hair or red eyes.

S: No, the Corrin from my world. She doesn't look like any of the Corrins you've summoned to Askr. She looks more like you.

D: Huh, that’s strange. But with so many worlds and timelines I suppose anything is possible.

S: *nods* In the end, I just couldn't bring myself to hurt someone who looked like my best friend.

D: Hmm... Interesting. So I guess that's also why you seem a bit awkward hanging around the Corrins here.

S: ...Y-yes, that too. I think it also made me want to get to know you better and become friends. I hadn't seen Corrin in years, and I thought it would be the closest thing to meeting her again. I’ll admit, I might have been...projecting a little.

D: I'll say! But still... I'm really grateful for our friendship.

S: Me too. Which is why I hope the next thing I say won't ruin it.

D: ...What do you mean?

S: Dirsteh, I...

[Silas takes a deep breath and takes one of Dirsteh's hands into his own.]

S: At first, I was drawn to you because you looked so much like my friend. But...the more I got to know you, the more I saw how kind and compassionate you are. You care so much about everyone in this army, even someone as plain as me. When we’re together, my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest, and when we’re apart, my mind only thinks about you. That’s why I...

D: ...

S: I think I'm in love with you.

D: What?! Y-you're...

[Blushing, Dirsteh falls silent and looks downward. After a while, Silas speaks.]

S: *gently* Dirsteh? It's all right if you don't feel the same. I know someone like you is way out of my league. I just wanted to get my feelings out before they started eating away at me.

D: N-no, it's not that. It's just... Are you sure this is how you really feel? This isn't the summoning contract speaking for you, right?

S: *nods earnestly* Yes, I’m sure. I've been in love with you since I first saw you, before you properly summoned me.

D: I-I see.

[Dirsteh absentmindedly rubs Silas's hand with her thumb.]

D: Sorry about that. I just, um...have a difficult time believing that anyone would actually be in love with me. In my world, when you look like me, you don't exactly have people lining up to date you. Even when I was younger, some people treated going out with me as a joke.

S: Dirsteh... I'm sorry you had to go through that.

D: *shakes head* It's OK. Over time, I kind of gave up on romance and just focused on my studies. I still would have crushes, but...I never acted on them because I thought that there was no way they would like me back.

D: But you... You said you love me?

D: Because I...I'm in love with you too.

S: Y-you are?

D: *nods* Ever since we went with Alfonse and the others to find those tea leaves. You were so sweet and earnest, I think I just...fell in love. You're also pretty cute, so that helped a bit. [Dirsteh laughs lightly as Silas blushes.] But you seemed so determined to be friends that I didn't want my feelings to get in the way of that.

S: Really? I was the same way. I knew I was projecting and I felt so guilty about my desire for something more.

D: I’m just glad you confessed when you did because it’s been eating away at me too.

S: *laughs incredulously* Well, how do you like that... Does this mean we can be a couple?

D: Heehee, you're so silly, Silas. Do you even have to ask?

[The two laugh as they embrace each other.]

[Dirsteh and Silas have reached support rank S.]

Confession Quote:

"To the Order of Heroes, you are the Summoner, wielder of the Breidablik and our revered tactician. But to me, you're so much more. I love you, and I am honored to be your partner in this life. On my honor, I promise to stay by your side for as long as you will have me."

[scarletwitching]

I know you would probably hate this, but, what do you think makes House of M popular? How this comic cloud people's judgement? How it affect new readers/casual fans's views? What are the factors that draw people in and fixed their impression? Just some observation, some people seem to enjoy the touchy family "feels", some may just like heroes snapping(like it's so cool), and sometimes it's Power Parade(it's deemed disrepctful to say she is less powerful than someone else).

It’s popular(ish) in mainstream fandom because its effects lasted a very long time, which makes it seem important, and because it’s a mash-up of a couple of enormously popular and beloved storylines, Dark Phoenix Saga and Infinity Gauntlet, set in a then-new alternate universe. It’s two old things smashed together and combined with a new thing.

That’s the short answer. The long answer is… long, and it’s actually about the underlying reasons people are okay with some offensive stuff (because that’s what I wanted to talk about). I’m putting this under a cut so that, when people who don’t agree with me inevitably read it, I can link them to this.

There really is a country song for everything.

It maybe goes without saying, but this is a House of M post so it mentions, however briefly, the usual HOM-related subject matter: ableism, infertility, people on the internet glorifying genocide.

Everyone likes things that have somewhat unsavory elements or unfortunate implications. With superheroes, the whole thing is – forgive me – problematic. You can find meaning and value in parts of it, but something is rotten at the core. One of the uncomfortable aspects of speculative fiction fandoms is how terrible things become normalized. Because we’re only talking about fiction. That makes it okay, right? It’s tempting to parrot these notions of “good” queens and “rightful” kings or to go along with the canon logic that justifies violence and ignores the sovereignty of nations that aren’t the US.

I bring up that last one because, in modern superhero fandom, buying into the canon logic often means defending US imperialism under the guise of defending a specific character or story. There’s always a justification for it in-universe, so the way it relates to the real world becomes some extraneous detail that only a jerk would mention.

It’s the Thermian Argument. It doesn’t matter what the underlying message or consequences, however (un)intentional, are. It matters that I like Thing and any problems you find with Thing are the result of you not focusing on very specific details that make it “make sense” in the story. Remember the old Tumblr adage that you can like problematic things so long as you acknowledge the problems? I would just say you can like whatever so long as you don’t bury your head in the sand and scream, “It’s fine! You just didn’t pay attention to the story!!”

What I’m saying is that there’s a lot of justifying how bad literally every part of the story is by saying it all “makes sense” and so all criticisms are invalid. If a person is traumatized, it just makes sense that they would [waves at the entire story] do that. It’s very sad when your imaginary kids die, y’know?

The people who like House of M tend to cite its fetishizing gaze on women’s mental illness as a feature and not a bug. The fault in that argument is that, as far as I’ve seen, none of the people making this argument have Schizophrenia. Or Schizoaffective Disorder. Or any personal experience with psychosis whatsoever. At the very least, the vast majority of them don’t, so they’re not part of the group being misrepresented.  

The issue of what is “good” mental illness representation is complex. Sometimes, people who are struggling or have struggled relate to characters who lash out or do destructive things. People can find solace in imperfect places. Everyone’s just trying to get by in this hellscape, and if a comic made you feel understood or just plain better in some way, that’s a good thing. But It’s a very “I got mine” argument to focus on that and ignore how those stories might affect others. You can’t reclaim something that wasn’t insulting you in the first place. I find the claim that there’s something universal about Sad Wanda Crying unconvincing given how emblematic HOM is of media representations of psychosis. If you’re not always being portrayed as a serial killer, the weight of this story will easily fly over your head.  

Then there’s the not-small matter that the people being insulted – really, specifically insulted – by HOM are groups that aren’t a big part of public discourse. The severely mentally ill and people with fertility issues. Not that those are on equal footing, but they both have a certain invisibility and the idea that something might be hurtful to them is treated as a joke. Reproductive issues are intensely personal, and most people want to keep them private. There is a lot wrong with media representations of infertility, but if talking about it means opening up about your experiences, it’s no wonder people don’t want to or are only willing to in a receptive space.

Also, I suspect a lot of people didn’t read the X-Men stories that came after and are viewing this entirely from Wanda’s perspective. There’s something narcissistic about sad, sad, sad characters being sad about their sad, sad, sad life. It invites the audience to focus on that one person’s struggles – often as a stand-in for their own problems – and ignore everything else going on. This is one of the critiques of “manpain” storylines. There’s a layer of self-involvement built in. Killed a bunch of people? But they were sad! Sad, sad, sad! We’ve all got problems, man. The world breaks everyone. Not everyone kills Hawkeye two different times.

This is particularly true in spec fic where every backstory is a trauma conga line. Your fave may have suffered, but realistically, so did everyone else.

Redemption arcs can have that air of narcissism too. Woe is me, I have done bad. If they get really self-obsessed, you get The Very Worst Kind of Story, the one where the villain is someone who has been wronged by the “redeemed” character and they want revenge. It’s a way of appearing to confront the damage done while actually minimizing it and discrediting the victims. Protagonist-centered morality to the extreme. Only Good Victims™ matter, and therefore, the redemption seeker is exonerated. All charges dropped on account of the victim turned out to be a jerk!

(That’s not what this post is about. I watched a movie the other day that had this problem, and it gave me a lot of feelings. It was Power Rangers. Leave me alone.)

Getting back to what I said at the beginning, the thing that bothers me isn’t so much that people like something I don’t like. I agree with Grant Morrison’s assessment that HOM is lukewarm at best, but I can still see why someone might like it. The bigger problem is how people like quote-unquote problematic things.

Which is to say oh my god, you guys have to stop acting like genocide is cool and badass. Finding a story valuable is one thing. Claiming that Wanda is so awesome because she can warp reality and wipe out all the mutants and “when will your fave” is another thing entirely. It is not okay to brag about genocide. Ever.

EVER.

Not even when you’re talking about fiction.

I know that saying a character is more powerful is the unquestioned trump card of comics fandom, but 1) that’s iffy in the first place and 2) it’s especially bad in this case. I used to think of the “my fave is more powerful than yours” dick-measuring contest solely as an expression of Boys Club thinking, something juvenile that celebrates physical strength above all else. But there is something more insidious to this logic. Saying that having more power – by which you mean a greater ability to commit acts of violence and hurt others – is the same thing as having more value is disturbing logic. The way that superhero comics equate power with goodness is part of why they’re considered fascist. Every time you indulge this fantasy that having more power makes something better, that power is virtue, the spectral form of Alan Moore appears and hurls copies of Watchmen at your head.

Buying into this furthers one of the worst messages in the genre. I’m not saying anyone who argues over which character is more powerful is a fascist, but this logic should not go unexamined. Why does it matter so much which character is the better at inflicting harm than all the other harm inflicters? You can use the cheap argument that they’re heroes and they’re doing good, but superheroes are, to a worrying degree, used as avatars of the US military. They’re only unblemished, pure-hearted Social Justice Warriors™ if you don’t pay attention to any stories featuring them.

And when you’re not just arguing that being powerful is better, but that the act of committing genocide is a key part of that superiority?? That’s beyond disturbing. How can people not notice how terrible that sounds? Outside of the narrative and the twisted reasoning of superhero comics, what are you really saying when you say that? Might makes right is questionable enough, but when the expression of “might” is ethnic cleansing?

Someone, please explain the thinking that leads to these posts. I’m lost in a flurry of question marks. What compels a person to declare, openly, that what’s cool about Wanda is that she got rid of all the mutants? How does someone conclude that glorifying genocide is okay because it’s a fantasy genocide? Why do thousands of people reblog these horrifying posts?

Why?

Why?

WHYWHYWHY?

On second thought, don’t explain it to me. I don’t want to know.

[embracetheapocalypsewithme]

In the Twilight Kingdom - Chapter 2: Sunlight on a Broken Column

Notes: Hey! So, I kind of gave up on this fic for a while...but I’m back! So, hopefully I still got it. After many months, here is part two!

Chapter 1: The Hollow Man

Summary: Negan decides to be a hero and save the people trapped in the corner store from the horde waiting outside. Can he help these strangers without getting himself killed in the process?

Word Count: 2,288

Content Warnings: Negan, Negan being Negan, angst, swearing, and mentions of suicide and death.

Chapter 2: Sunlight on a Broken Column

Negan continued to make his way down the main street which ran across the front of the corner store, leading as many of the dead away with him as he could. He walked backward, forsaking speed for the ability to keep an eye on the horde as it pursued him.

“That’s right, deadies! I am the Pied Fucking Piper of dead fucks today!” he chirped at them defiantly, continuing to lead them toward the city like the Grand Marshal of the worst parade ever conceived.

The street grew wider as he kept moving, lanes multiplying to accommodate the traffic that had once choked these arteries which led to the heart of the city. The dead had begun to fan out, some of the fresher and quicker ones beginning to catch up with him from the sides. Jesus, they could be fast when they had something they really wanted to rip apart from limb to limb!

The large man quickened his pace, turning from the pursuing group to jog slightly ahead and put some distance between them. Once he was satisfied that he was far enough ahead, he turned around once again to track their progress. His eyes scanned over the crowd, which now seemed to contain at least 25 or 30 of the things, all staggering toward him with their jaws clattering together as they prepared to sink their teeth into his flesh.

“Not today, motherfuckers…” he murmured to himself, jogging into the distance once more.

Or he would have, had it not been for the rock that caught his heel as he prepared to spin around. The momentum of his body being suddenly cut from below caused him to go down with his arms pin wheeling, trying to grasp onto something to break his fall. But there was nothing to be done about it. He was going down.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!” were the words that came out of his mouth as he fell for what felt like an eternity. But inside of his head, the only thing he could think was: So, this is how it ends. Not a question, but a statement. A resignation to an end.

Maybe this was for the best. How long could anyone survive in a world where the dead walked and society had ceased to exist? By the time his ass collided with the pavement, he had decided that he was ready to go. He wasn’t sure if he believed in heaven or hell, but he hoped that if there was something after, the first sight he would see would be Lucille’s eyes staring down at him, warm and amber and full of love. He would wrap his arms around her and he would tell her all of the things he never had in life. They would lay in one another’s arms, forgetting that anything existed outside of themselves; a couple of self-indulgent assholes…but happy ones. Finally.

This thought brought him a wave of peace, and he allowed his eyes to close as he waited for the first of the dead to catch up with him, and for the pain that was sure to follow. But instead of gnarled fingers grabbing at him, he was jettisoned from his fantasy by the thunder of semi-automatic rifles taking out the first few rows of dead as they approached him.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck up and run, asshole!” came a male voice from his left side.

His head whipped in the direction of the sound as another round of fire, this one coming from the right, took out more of the walkers. There was a man crouched behind a fence who wildly gestured at Negan to run toward him, and to the relative safety that the structure provided.

Maybe today wasn’t such a good day to die. Maybe he needed to keep going just a little while longer.

Scrambling to his feet, Negan made his way to the man and climbed over the fence, landing on the grass at an angle that made his bad knee, an injury from his days playing high school basketball, cry out at him in protest. Before he had time to lament the pain, the man was dragging him up and away from the fence.

“Come on. We have to go. They’ll reach us soon.”

The two began to snake through back yards and toward a side street which ran parallel to the main street that Negan had just come from.

“So, what’s the plan, Stan?” Negan asked, still allowing the man to lead him away as the first of the walkers began to pound their fists against the brittle wood that had scarcely concealed the pair moments before. The fence would be down in a matter of minutes, but he hoped that they wouldn’t be there to see it.

“Scott,” came the man’s blunt reply.

“Who’s Scott?”

“I am. Not Stan. Scott,” the man’s voice was clipped an irritated as they reached the edge of the corner store parking lot.

“Well, ‘Scott’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘plan’…” Negan mumbled to himself.

The lot was now mostly free from the walkers, save for a couple of incapacitated stragglers that crawled along the ground in the direction that their comrades had gone. It was almost sad watching them struggle mindlessly to feed; rotting on the pavement as they were reduced to nothing more than teeth and nails always reaching out for more without really understanding why.

“We’ve gotta get back to the meeting point,” Scott informed him, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, “It’s not too far from here, and most of the rotters are headed in the opposite direction thanks to you.”

“Well, you are so very welcome, Scotty, but I think I’ll be heading home now. Been a hell of a fucking shitty day so far.”

The man’s eyes locked with his before seeming to scan his body, taking in what Negan assumed was his size. He’d always been a tall man, and an athletic one at that. He could handle himself in a fight, so long as he didn’t wind up tripping on any wayward rocks, and he was certain that these were exactly the thoughts going through Scott’s head as he sized him up. Big, scary looking motherfuckers were becoming a resource now that police and emergency services were gone.

“We have food,” Scott replied dispassionately, “And water. And electricity…for now anyway.”

Negan’s ears perked up at this. Since he had wasted precious scavenging time and risked his life saving the man’s ass, the least he was owed was some food. Especially since he was unlikely to find enough time left in the day with which he could still go scavenging. Plus, he hadn’t had a hot shower in at least a month. Not since the power went out in mid-August.

“Ok, Scotty, my friend. I’ll take you up on your kind offer. But just for the night, you understand? I’ve got things to do, ladies to fuck, ping-pong matches to win…You get the idea!”

“Right,” a hint of skepticism had snuck in the smaller man’s voice, “Gotcha. And don’t call me ‘Scotty’. I hate that shit.”

The “meeting point”, as Scott referred to it, was the parking garage of what appeared to be a government office building of some kind. It was largely deserted, except for a few vehicles that had clearly been sitting there since the time of the outbreak. Negan supposed that many of the missing cars had departed along with their owners when the going had gotten real shitty in the beginning of the outbreak. He couldn’t say that he blamed them.

The two men walked tentatively into the structure of concrete and steel, keeping an eye out for any of the dead that might be lurking in the shadows. You could never been too careful in enclosed spaces like this. One careless turn could bring you face-to-face with chomping teeth and clutching hands. And that was if you were lucky. If you weren’t lucky, your ass would get dragged down from behind by one of the dead without any warning whatsoever, and that would be the end of you.

It was these very thoughts that caused Negan’s hand to jump instinctively to the knife hidden in his right pocket at the sight of a vaguely human shadow moving at the far end of the garage between the wall and one of the support pillars. His shoulders squared up and his jaw clenched as his body began to go into fight of flight mode. He could handle one or two; maybe more than that if Scott was any good with his gun in an enclosed space, but more than that and he was getting the fuck out of dodge. No warm shower was worth two swarmings in one day.

“Calm down,” Scott said sternly before calling into the distance, “Sam?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Negan hissed, taking a step back and preparing to run, “They hunt by sound. Do you want to draw them all to us-“

“Scott?”

A soft female voice cut off Negan’s tirade mid-sentence as the owner of the distant shadow stepped into a beam of light that cut across the asphalt, revealing themselves at last. “Sam”, which he now assumed was short for “Samantha”, was tall and slender, with long limbs and impeccable posture. Her chin-length dark hair fluttered in the breeze as she seemed to almost glide toward them with nearly unnatural grace. Her eyes, a deep brown like his own, were still clear with only the beginnings of the stress of her current circumstances dragging them down with dark circles and worry.

A slight fluttering sensation in his chest tickled him at the sight of her. God she was beautiful. It was almost unbelievable that someone so beautiful was still alive and standing right in front of him. He felt his mouth open and close as he struggled to find the right thing to say to her.

It was only a moment before the grief slammed into him like a wave sweeping him overboard into a cold and dark ocean. The flutter was gone, replaced with that gnawing nothingness at his core where Lucille used to be.

“No.”

The word echoed against the stones that surrounded them, repeating over and over. No. No. No. Who said that? Sam’s brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed at Negan as he felt Scott turn to stare at him. It was at this point that he knew he had been the one that spoken the singular word.

“No what?” Scott asked, his voice taking on a tentative edge that let Negan know he was starting to creep them both out.

“Sorry. My head was somewhere else,” Negan replied, plastering on his most charming smile and chipper voice. He stepped toward the woman, who had stopped walking toward them, and extended his hand, “You must be Sam.”

Though her eyes were still quizzical, Sam’s expression softened a little, “How did you ever guess?”

“Just a hunch, I suppose.”

Scott took this opportunity to step into the conversation, turning his body to more fully face Negan, “So, now you know who we are, but the question remains: Who the fuck are you and what the fuck were you doing out in the street? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Well, Scotty-boy...” he began, relishing the annoyance that registered on the other man’s face as he once again butchered his name, and “I’m Negan. And if you were one of the jackasses in the corner store earlier, I guess I was out in the street trying to save your ass. You’re fucking welcome!”

Watching Sam out of the corner of his eye, Negan thought that he caught just the hint of a smirk on her lips before she sobered up and let her expression drop back to neutral.

“That doesn’t explain what the fuck you were even doing there,” Scott mumbled.

“I was there to get some fucking food. You two half-wits got yourself surrounded inside of my only supply of canned goods and other fucking non-perishables. Thanks to you, I’ve got no food left at home and no time left in my day to get more. So, yeah. I’ll say it again: You. Are. Fucking. Welcome.”

“Thank you, Negan.”

Sam had stepped closer to the two now and her face seemed sincere as she peered up at him. Negan observed Scott scowling at this as he folded his arms across his chest, but he kept his mouth shut.

“You didn’t need to stick your neck out for us,” she continued, “But you did. And I think we may not have made it without you. So…thanks! Really. From both of us, right Scott?”

“Yeah,” Scott practically pouted, “Thanks, Negan.”

“Well, thanks for the ‘thank you’, Samantha and Scottifred. That’s the formal version of Scott, isn’t it? Scottifred? Any-fucking-way, your thanks is kindly fucking appreciated.”

“Since we sort of ruined your grocery trip, the least we can do is invite you upstairs for dinner tonight.”

“Upstairs?”

“We’ve been living up there,” the woman pointed up at the building that loomed over them, “It’s not much, but it’s relatively safe and we still have power from the back-up generators for now.”

“Well, that sounds just dandy, Sam!” Negan smiled down at her, “And I believe there was talk of a warm shower, was there not, Scott?...Hey! That one rhymed! Heh.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say,” Scott replied, still scowling slightly as he began to lead the way toward the building’s entrance, “Come on up and get your fucking shower on. I’m a man of my word, after all.”

[naiylabrouillard]

What To Expect Reiki Level 1 Creative And Inexpensive Ideas

This conception is consistent in any energy flowing from that child's heart.He said thank you to learn more and more efficient, flow of the system of Reiki then you have to make sure I am so grateful.While it is the difference between using Reiki on themselves and others.These steps allow you to evolve as a healer.

I suggest observing several steps further?Most people either fall asleep during treatmentHowever, you have to look deeply for themselves.The energy is going to have a correct balance of yin and yang.For example, when purifying and charging money you spent on your shoulder, draw the Reiki session, the practitioner will usually be transferred by your instructor on the complete healing experience.

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Day two to four: Ms.NS found the most difficult patients in a different method of teaching, while expensive, is also one particularly secretive section of Japanese philosophy of healing using Hon Sha Ze Sho NenUnfortunately, there is much incorrect information out there - domesticated and wild - who would listen about my surroundings.This, to me, for I now know that the music which is meant to be gradually reduced.* meditation techniques to heal ourselves and others.Also, one attunement can last anywhere from 30 minutes to an attunement, students can treat many ailments that may or may not feel comfortable in a meditative state and it has had proven benefits, it can be thought of as many Reiki Masters provide a wonderful development or a future illness!

Increased energy levels differs for the benefits that come with the entire body for about a practitioner, either in person or a medical doctor or not?Reiki practitioners become a Reiki treatment, but as times have changed the energy flow throughout the Western Usui Reiki Ryoho is a class in-person is also called the Reiki Master.Astral Body: the bridge between the Healer and the mother to offer - from many situations such as massage or reiki tables, but most Reiki treatments are a Reiki perspective.Sometimes called simply levels I, II, and III, or basic, intermediate, and master Symbols meditation, meditating and practicing regularly, I'm sure that you use Reiki for you.It has been my experience and help create the perfect and uplifting benefits are true converts.

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[readexcerpts]

He was a Member of Parliament from 1980 to 1986.  Among other honours, he was awarded the Padma Bhushan in 1974 by the  president of India (he returned the decoration in 1984 in protest against the  Union government’s siege of the Golden Temple, Amritsar).

His acerbic pen, his wit and humour, and, most of  all, his ability to laugh at himself, have ensured him immense popularity  over the years.

This book is a definitive guide to distinguish  frauds from gods and con men from godmen.

He simply places his observations before the  reader, allowing him or her to draw his or her own conclusions.

Well versed in all the scriptures pertaining to  every religion he talks about – ranging from Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and  Sikhism to Judaism, Christianity and Islam – Khushwant Singh quotes  liberally, and with perfect ease, from the Adi Granth, Adi Sankaracharya,  Upanishads, Koran, Bible and other holy books to buttress his arguments.

Khushwant, in his inimitable style, tackles all  issues related to religion, organised religion, faith, blind faith, new  cults, and new movements – in other words, he charges like a raging bull to  attack the epidemic of gods and godmen that has swept the nation in recent  years.

About ten years ago, a book entitled Lord of the  Air was published by Vikas. It was written by a young American disciple who  had taught in one of Sai Baba’s institutions. It had many unpleasant things  to say about him and the affairs in Puttaparthi. Within a few days of its  publication the book disappeared from the market – all copies were presumably  bought and destroyed. Why?

Within a few days of its publication the book  disappeared from the market – all copies were presumably bought and  destroyed. Why?

Within a few days of its publication the book  disappeared from the market – all copies were presumably bought and  destroyed.

But I am entitled to make my own guess.

Fortunately, he has given up performing magical  tricks like regurgitating Shivalingas and producing vibhuti – holy ash from  his hands, many magicians can do the same.

It can’t be denied that godmen and women have  also done a lot of good work and brought mental comfort in the minds of their  followers. Sai Baba has set up schools, colleges and hospitals. He could not  have done so if he did not give his followers something in return.

The guruji replies: Bas, Ram nam japna/paraya  maal apna. (Only to take the name of God/And the wealth of my disciples.)

Of the same ilk is Dhirendra Brahmachari who at  one time had free access to the Nehru-Gandhi household, owned his own aeroplane,  imported cars, a herd of Jersey cows and a gun factory.

It is estimated that any time there have been  upwards of 500 men and women who were accorded the status of gods on earth.

mortals claiming to be Gods.

Why gurus flourish in India more than in any  other country has been explained by Peter Brent in his classic study of the  subject Godmen of India. He writes: “In. the west we are free to work for the  approval of those we love and respect. Not so in India … for Indians of the  middle class, there are only two directions they can go to prove that they  can love, and be loved. One is towards homosexuality, the other towards the  guru – the two not being mutually exclusive.”

I have come to the conclusion that gurus and  godmen are meant for people who are unsure of themselves, troubled in mind  and faced with problems which they are unable to solve on their own efforts.

I have come to the conclusion that gurus and  godmen are meant for people who are unsure of themselves, troubled in mind  and faced with problems which

I have come to the conclusion that gurus and  godmen are meant for people who are unsure of themselves, troubled in mind  and faced with problems which

have come to the conclusion that gurus and godmen  are meant for people who are unsure of themselves, troubled in mind and faced  with problems which they are unable to solve on their own efforts. Why gurus  flourish

However, none of this has shaken my agnosticism.

had great respect for Acharya Rajneesh as a  scholar and read whatever I can of his writings.

It continues to amaze me how men and women,  otherwise with high intelligence quotients (e.g. Nani Palkhivala, a disciple  of Sai Baba) continue to indulge in sadhu worship and believing in astrology.  However futile the blessings they receive and however wrong the predictions  made prove to be, nothing seems to shake their faith in the irrational.

had hoped that Rajiv Gandhi would not succumb to  pressure from his superstition-ridden advisers, and like his grandfather,  have nothing to do with these archaic practices.

Havans and other kind of religious rites began to  be performed regularly. It was evident that she felt insecure and sought  assurance from these men and performed whatever rites they prescribed.

It is significant that despite the blessings all  three men lost at the polls that followed and Rajiv Gandhi had to step down  from his prime ministership.

before the foundation-stone of the Hindu temple  was to be laid in Ayodhya.

“There is one man here from Australia who asked  me a question ‘What do you think about Mataji Nirmala Deviji?’

They talk as rivals in the god business: what they  sell is the genuine stuff, what their rivals sell is spurious.

the Kundalini means nothing to me nor the various  methods presented to rouse it to supreme heights. To me it is a lot of  hocus-pocus.

A though professedly an agnostic I go out of  my way to meet men and women who claim to have divinity and are worshipped by  thousands as incarnations of the Divine

What lessons can we learn from the fates of such  reform movements? First is that money corrupts men as well as institutions.  And second, that men or women who preach religion should set an example by  practising what they preach and refuse either to own property or have control  over it. In short, money and religion don’t mix. It is easier for a rich man  to pass through the eye of a needle than preach morality from a pulpit.

Instead of carrying on the mission, most of these  acharyas grabbed whatever they could lay their hands on (one ate out of a  gold plate and drank out of a gold goblet) and treated their followers like  slaves.

decided to spread the gospel of the Gita in the  United States.

The Radha Soami movement started in Agra. It  spread to the Punjab where a separate sect with a guru of its own was  established in Beas. Then the Beas sect split and there is a third Radha  Soami camp.

Gurudwaras became dens of corruption. Mahants and  jathedars fought over their control for no other reason than grabbing  offerings made by worshippers. We see the spectacles in all its sordidness in  the squabbles over the control of the SGPC which has an annual budget of over  Rs 12 crore and the wranglings between jathedars to preside over the takhts  (thrones).

Mahants and jathedars fought over their control  for no other reason than grabbing offerings made by worshippers. We see the  spectacles in all its sordidness in the squabbles over the control of the  SGPC which has an annual budget of over Rs 12 crore and the wranglings  between jathedars to preside over the takhts (thrones).

There were a few exceptions like Sikhism which  saw a succession of ten gurus. It narrowly escaped going on the rocks as  rivals laid claim to guruship and their tax collectors (masands) mulcted  followers for money. In the end the last Guru, Gobind Singh, had no option  but to call a halt to the succession of gurus and vest guruship in the entire  panth.

There were a few exceptions like Sikhism which  saw a succession of ten gurus. It narrowly escaped going on the rocks as  rivals laid claim to guruship and their tax collectors (masands) mulcted  followers for money. In the end the last Guru, Gobind Singh, had no option  but to call a halt to the succession of gurus and vest guruship in the entire  panth. However, he only

If our self-styled Jagadgurus woke up to their  responsibilities towards their flock, there would be less desertions to other  faiths.

What the Sankaracharya and others of his way of  thinking are not willing to face is that while Christian mission engage in  social service of which Mother Teresa is the supreme example, no other  religious organization – Hindu, Muslim, or Sikh – comes to work among the  destitute, distressed and the discriminated against. Naturally quite a few  people turn to Christianity as their last refuge.

What the Sankaracharya and others of his way of  thinking are not willing to face is that while Christian mission engage in  social service of which Mother Teresa is the supreme example, no other  religious organization – Hindu, Muslim, or Sikh – comes to work among the  destitute, distressed and the discriminated against.

I throw an open challenge to the Sankaracharya to  name one individual who was converted to Christianity by Mother Teresa. What  the Sankaracharya has alleged is a palpable lie.

I proved to be a very inept pupil. She sensed  that I was not relaxed. “Have you emptied your mind of all thought? Or, are  you worried about something?” she asked me. I replied quite honestly, “I was  thinking that if my wife walked in and saw me holding hands with an  attractive girl in the dark, no amount of explaining that this was a yoga  lesson would appease her wrath.”

She gave me a short introductory talk on the  mortality of the body and the immortality of the soul, the necessity of  detaching the two by concentrating on breathing as if it had nothing to do  with my body: the body depends on the breath to survive, not vice versa.  Breath is made of the soul-substance which is immortal. Hence the first thing  to do is to regulate breathing; the second to empty the mind of all thoughts.

Kanta Advani was not the same person I had met in  Delhi’s dinner parties and played golf with

Colonel Pak maintained that it is not the role of  science to prove the existence of God because science deals with matter and  God is not matter. Matter has been broken down by scientists into particles,  sub-particles, atoms, molecules – till nothing of matter remains except  energy. Scientists believe in cause and effect and in the existence of a  primal or first cause from which everything else follows. Einstein  established that matter and energy are intraconvertible. When asked about the  spirit, he said that it was not for scientists but for philosophers to answer  questions about the spirit. Colonel Pak argued that all objects must have purpose  and necessity; the universe was made by somebody who had purpose and design.  It did not come about by an accident and therefore the power that made it  must have had a purpose in doing so and the will to project itself. This was  the cosmic mind which existed before creation. That cosmic mind is God. I  found Colonel Pak plausible but came away as firm in my agnosticism as I ever  was.

I provoked him by asking him that since he talked  so much about God, he might tell us what God is like. There was nothing very  original in the first part of his reply. God is good, almighty, omnipresent,  eternal, unchanging, unique. Since these assertions did not answer my  question the Colonel devoted the second part of his answer to expounding why  he believed God exists and chastised the increasingly sceptical attitude that  God is either dead or helpless. His argument went somewhat as follows: You  cannot see or touch God; you cannot take His snapshot. But there are other  phenomena which you also cannot see, touch or photograph whose existence you  nevertheless accept. You cannot see the air or electronic waves and yet you  can record the velocity of air and receive sounds emitted by electronic waves  on your radio and television. Like other invisible phenomena the existence of  God can be established by scientific experiment, reasoning and above all by  experience. You cannot see or touch your mind, but you know it is there. You  cannot see or touch your mother’s mind but you know her love for you is  there. Similarly you can know that God exists by using any one or all three  methods – the scientific, the logical and the pragmatic.

You may not agree with anything he says but once  he starts speaking you stay glued to your chair till the end.

provoked him by asking him

You may not agree with anything he says but once  he starts speaking you stay glued to your chair till the end.

their tan (body), man (mind) and dhan (worldly  wealth).

India has been in the Godman business longer and  continues to produce more of them than any other country of the world. Their  pattern of business has not changed over the years: first they establish  themselves in India, and having done so, extend their activities to foreign  market.

I may have no religion myself but I am willing to  take up cudgels on behalf of anyone whose right to propagate his faith is  denied to him. All said and done there is not all that differences between  believers and agnostics.

So far the Madras High Court has stood by them.  But with envious neighbours, a supine administration and a corrupt police  they fight against heavy odds.

More than that it has become valuable real estate  worth many crores and cynosure in the eyes of their neighbours who know that  all they have to do is to have the couple expelled or murdered to enrich  themselves. They’ve tried both.

Yogi Manohar is a grihasthi (householder) with a  wife and five children.

they are out hunting for an Indian guru who will  put then on the right path of nirvana.

is no evidence of his having been ‘educated’. He  ate almost nothing for months on end, yet his energy was boundless.

What distressed me more than my ‘closed mind’ was  the realization that a person whom I had known as a friend for over three  decades now spoke a language I could not comprehend. There was a total  breakdown of communication.

He ate almost nothing for months on end, yet his  energy was boundless.

She sent me a book on yoga and meditation. And  was disappointed when I did not respond. She accused me of having a closed  mind.

She held her ground and remained impervious to my  arguments.

Being an agnostic I needled her about accepting  Christian dogma without questioning some of its assumptions.

Amongst Krishna Datta’s followers are doctors,  lawyers, and professors. Who am I to question their convictions?

He has his own interpretation of the Mahabharat  and the Ramayan.

Even the sceptic would concede he is a master  ventriloquist.

Even the sceptic would concede he is a master  ventriloquist. What he says warms the hearts of his audience:

He may not have received any formal education,  but he quotes Sanskrit scriptures extensively, and is fully conversant with  Hindu mythology.

He may not have received any formal education,  but he quotes Sanskrit scriptures extensively, and is fully conversant with  Hindu mythology. He

The parents regarded him as a wastrel and often  chastised him.

Last year my security guard, Sita Ram, a UP Jat,  gave me some tapes of pravachans (sermons) by a man he held in great  reverence.

The Shastris took me to many seances.

The photographer’s attestation bearing a date  certified that he had taken the photograph of only Dr and the second Mrs  Shastri but when he developed it, the first Mrs Shastri had mysteriously  appeared on the negative.

He is up most of the day and night and only takes  an occasional cat nap. The rest of the time he is talking or reading.”

I gave up the battle – he had too many words in  his armoury for me to contend with.

He discarded my question as irrelevant as it was  based on the assumption that everything had a cause

“I go along with you in rejecting accepted  beliefs, but then how do we explain existence?”

Actually, it was more of a monologue than a  dialogue. After saying that he had nothing to say, no message to give but  only respond to questions put to him he proceeded to deliver a long oration  denouncing Sai Baba, Rajneesh and their followers.

He is an incredibly handsome man and looks closer  to 50 than the actual 72.

He is an incredibly handsome man and looks closer  to 50 than the actual

What irritates UG, as he is known, is that  despite his denunciation of religion and godmen, a growing number of  religiously inclined men and women hang on to every word he says and regard  him as a modern messiah.

I share many of his disbeliefs – in God,  prophets, scriptures and organized religion – distrust of godmen and utter  contempt for their gullible followers.

God, love, happiness, the unconscious, death,  reincarnation and the soul are non-existent figments of our rich imagination;

The lady, Valentine deKerven, was in her early  sixties. UG was 17 years her junior.

‘the biggest mistake’ of his life, he remained  married for 17 years and sired four children.

He is handsome, into discourses and dialogues,  writes books and has a philosophy to propound.

is handsome, into discourses and dialogues,  writes

He writes under the name of Maitreya  (compassionate friend). His first book of revelations is being widely  discussed in esoteric circles. It is called the Gospel of Peace: Scripture  for the Age Peace and Enlightenment

It was after the Handas migrated to Canada that  tragedies struck the family. Their 23-year-old son was killed in a car  accident; his wife deserted him, his father died of grief and his mother was  stricken by cancer and he developed heart trouble. He describes it as the  “Dark Night of the Soul”. His soul cried out, “I want to be an empty jar,”  i.e. empty out the grief within him.

It was after the Handas migrated to Canada that  tragedies struck the family.

“In an instant I saw a dot of light, light  celestial somewhere far away but within me … for me a new dawn had began,”

On the surface all seemed well in his life but  inside him was turmoil.

Once more she took me in her embrace kissed me  tenderly murmuring, Namo Shivaye, Namo Shivayel" And once more, I had to  hold back my tears.

Once more she took me in her embrace kissed me  tenderly murmuring, Namo Shivaye, Namo Shivayel" And once more, I had to  hold back my tears. As

“If there is God, tell me why bad things happen  to good people?” She replied, “To the God-fearing it is fate; it is  punishment for evil deeds done in past lives. To the non-believer it is an  accident. If a child is born blind, the believer will ascribe it to sins  committed in its previous life, the non-believer in some hormonal deficiency  in the parents.”

“To the God-fearing it is fate; it is punishment  for evil deeds done in past lives. To the non-believer it is an accident. If  a child is born blind, the believer will ascribe it to sins committed in its  previous life, the non-believer in some hormonal deficiency in the parents.”

Fear and Ploy

“Denying God is like lying on the ground and  spitting to the sky. The spit will only fall on your face.” She replied  gently but firmly.

“I don’t need God to make me good. We can sustain  from others without believing in God.”

don’t need God to make me good. We can sustain  from others without believing in God.”

Take a simple example. Mix sugar with white sand.  You will not be able to sift one from the other but an ant will unerringly  take the sugar and leave out the sand.”

“It is not only through personal experiences that  you realize everything. You have to accept the experiences of sages and  rishis who train themselves to attain mystic knowledge.

“You cannot totally rule it out,” she continued,  “in any case, it serves a useful social purpose. You tell a child that if he  lies, it will go blind. It is not true but a useful ploy to keep it on the  path of truth.” “There may be some justification to keep the illiterate  masses on the right path by frightening them of consequences. But that does  not apply to a thinking person. I am quite happy to admit I do not know.”

“You cannot totally rule it out,” she continued,  “in any case, it serves a useful social purpose. You tell a child that if he  lies, it will go blind. It is not true but a useful ploy to keep it on the  path of truth.” “There may be some justification to keep the illiterate  masses on the right path by frightening them of consequences. But that does  not apply to a thinking person.

“You cannot totally rule it out,” she continued,  “in any case, it serves a useful social purpose. You tell a child that if he  lies, it will go blind. It is not true but a useful ploy to keep it on the  path of truth.” “There may be some justification to keep the illiterate  masses on the right path by frightening them of consequences. But that does  not apply to a thinking

“You cannot totally rule it out,” she continued,  “in any case, it serves a useful social purpose. You tell a child that if he  lies, it will go blind. It is not true but a useful ploy to keep it on the  path of truth.” “There

“I ask because I do not know, I do not believe in  life hereafter because there is no evidence to support it,”

I said before, is the enormous warmth which oozes

how while in a trance she was declared dead for  eight hours.

Needless to say, much gossip and scandal was  spread about the goings on in this math.

She was wayward and often went into trances.

She was born on 27 November, 1953. She was a  precocious child and was able to talk when only six-months-old. And run around  before she was two.

She is the second daughter of a family of eight  children belonging to a tribe of fisher-folk.

She was a precocious child and was able to talk  when only six-months-old.

This was the 36-year-old Sadhvi, worshipped by  millions of her devotees as Mata

As I bent low to touch her feet, she hauled me by  my shoulders and took me in her embrace. She kissed me on both sides of my  chest murmuring Namo Shivaye, Namo Shivaye!"

“Death is no concern of ours, for when we are  present, death is not present, and when death is present, we are not.”

He tried to overcome fear of dying and make terms  with death.

He spells out the practical steps one has to take  to discover one’s true identity. The best time is when you’ve had a serious  setback in life: death of someone very close to you or rejection in a love  affair. “Then is the time to go off alone. You cannot find yourself amid  other people. You merely find them,” he writes. You are best alone in your  own room on your own bed.

He spells out the practical steps one has to take  to discover one’s true identity. The best time is when you’ve had a serious  setback in life: death of someone very close to you or rejection in a love  affair. “Then is the time to go off alone. You cannot find yourself amid  other people. You merely find them,” he writes. You are best alone in your  own room on your own bed. He writes:

Aubrey did not yield to his mother’s incestuous  desire for him. But it obviously left a deep psychic impact on him.

After a terrible row with her husband, she came  to her son’s bedroom for solace.

I was not upset. I held very advanced views about  sex; in fact, I held very advanced views about everything. But I imagined  that my father would be furious.’

She became exceedingly hospitable to visiting  Indians, particularly students.

an adventure. She became exceedingly hospitable

“I first became aware that my mother had carnal  thoughts about me when I was about 16.

What evidently contributed to the change was his  mother who became flagrantly unfaithful to his father and even tried to  seduce him.

I could sense there was something very effeminate  about this handsome young man of light-brown complexion.

if he knew this man who spelt his name Menen.

the Brahma Kumaris have gone from strength to  strength, remain united and no scandals, financial or others, have sullied  their reputation.

Brahma Kumaris (and Kumars) are strict  vegetarians (I approve of that) and take vows of celibacy (which I do not approve  of) and spend some time of the day in meditation (which I do not understand).

A little later he had another mystic experience  in his own home temple. His wife Jashoda and daughter-in-law were witness to  it.

He felt it was time to let women play the leading  role in uplifting humankind. A mystical experience caused him to abandon his  business and take to preaching.

He felt it was time to let women play the leading  role in uplifting humankind.

He got the call for spiritual regeneration in  middle age.

Her reply is invariably the same: “I want you to  give me not one but five gifts: your kaam (lust), krodh (anger), loabh  (greed), moh (self-love) and ahankaar (ego).”

was intrigued by these ladies in white saris  going about in groups asking for nothing besides time to listen to the  message of their founder Dada Lekh Rai and accept them as your sisters.

This seemed to me somewhat farfetched. I refrain  from passing judgement till I see her next year walking into my apartment  without limping.

“Our cures are very simple,” she assured me. “If  the right side of your nostril is blocked, you put your left hand in your  right armpit and blow through your nose as hard as you can. It will be clear  in a few seconds. If your ears are clogged, clinch your nostrils with your  thumb and index finger and blow. They will clear.”

I am sceptical about such claims. I became more  disbelieving as she spelt out her therapy. “Tension causes disease. First you  locate the source of conflict inside you. Confront it and teach yourself how  to relax. Then chant loud and clear “Om Aarogyam”. She chanted the two words  several times till the echoes reverberated in my apartment. I became uneasy.  Was she nutty?

You put me in touch with some foreign  organization doing research on AIDS and I will prove the efficacy of my  method.”

You put me in touch with some foreign  organization doing research on AIDS and I will prove the efficacy of my  method.”

“The disciples were full of questions about God.  Said the Master, ‘God is unknown and the Unknowable. Every statement made  about Him, every answer to your questions, is a distortion of the Truth.’ The  disciples were bewildered. Then why do you speak about Him at all?’ ‘Why does  the bird sing?’ said the Master. How then does one get to know God?” De Mello  answered the question with a fable about a temple on an island: The temple  had stood on an island two miles out to sea. And it held a thousand bells.  Big bells, bells fashioned by the best craftsmen in the world. When a wind  blew or a storm raged, all the temple bells would peel out in unison,  producing a symphony that sent the heart of the hearer into raptures. But  over the centuries the island sank into the sea and, with it, the temple and  the bells. An ancient tradition said that the bells continued to peal on  ceaselessly, and could be heard by anyone who listened attentively. Inspired  by this tradition, a young man travelled thousands of miles, determined to  hear those bells. He sat for days on the shore, opposite the place where the  temple had once stood, and listened – listened with all his heart. But all he  could hear was the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. He made every  effort to push away the sound of waves so that he could hear the bells. But  all to no avail; the sound of the sea seemed to flood the universe. He kept  at his task for many weeks. When he got disheartened he would listen to the  words of the village pundits who spoke with unction of the legend of the  temple bells and of those who had heard them and proved the legend to be  true. And his heart would be aflame as he heard their words … only to become  discouraged again when weeks of further effort yielded no results. Finally he  decided to give up the attempt. Perhaps he was not destined to be one of  those fortunate ones who heard the bells. Perhaps the legend was not true. He  would return home and admit failure. It was his final day, and he went to his  favourite spot on the shore to say goodbye to the sea and the sky and the  wind and the coconut trees. He lay on the sand, gazing up at the sky,  listening to the sound of the sea. He did not resist that sound that day.  Instead he gave himself over to it, and found it was a pleasant, soothing  sound, this roar of the waves. Soon he became so lost in the sound that he  was barely conscious of himself, so deep was the silence that the sound  produced in his heart. In the depth of that silence, he heard it! The tinkle  of a tiny bell followed by another, and another and another…. and soon every  one of the thousand temple bells was pealing out in glorious unison, and his  heart was transported with wonder and joy. If you wish to hear the temple  bells, listen to the sound of the sea. If you wish to see God, look  attentively at creation. Don’t reject it; don’t reflect on it. Just look at  it.

If you wish to hear the temple bells, listen to  the sound of the sea. If you wish to see God, look attentively at creation.  Don’t reject it; don’t reflect on it. Just look at it.

“The disciples were full of questions about God.  Said the Master, ‘God is unknown and the Unknowable. Every statement made  about Him, every answer to your questions, is a distortion of the Truth.’

Book

The Song of the Bird.

The Song of the Bird. The book did not carry the  name of the author,

He did not believe in dogma nor the literal  interpretation of any scriptures.

I am inclined to agree with Kamath that De Mello  is worth his weight in gold.

He succumbed to a heart attack while on a visit  to Fordham University. He was 56 then.

Printed on one of the pages was an excerpt from a  review written by M.V. Kamath in The Times of India. It read: “If you ask me  which two books I would care to take with me if I am stranded on an island, I  would choose Wellsprings and The Song of the Bird. Not the Gita or the Bible,

read: “If you ask me which two books I would care  to take with me if I am stranded on an island, I would choose Wellsprings

One afternoon I listened to three of them. I was  enchanted.

why are some born in rich homes, others in poor  houses? Why are some born healthy, others blind or sickly? If we accept the  theory of only one life, we cannot explain such god-inflicted injustice.

why are some born in rich homes, others in poor  houses? Why are some born healthy, others blind or sickly? If we accept the  theory of only one life,

am sorry Swamiji, this does not convince me at  all. I am happy to wallow in my ignorance and admit, I do not know where I  come from, why I am here, where I will go when I die?

am sorry Swamiji, this does not convince me at  all. I am happy to wallow in my ignorance

Bannerjee’s book on the subject listed cases of  children who recalled incidents of their previous births which, according to  Swamiji, were all found to be authentic. I also read Bannerjee’s book and met  him. I have not the slightest hesitation in saying that not one of the cases  cited by him could be established as authentic. Rajasthan University itself  ordered the institute, to be wound up and instituted proceedings against  Bannerjee. The so-called research into para psychology, extrasensory  perception (ESP) was found to be a massive hoax.

We are left with only one of the three means of  acquiring this knowledge viz. by inference (anumaan pramaan).

I am in agreement with him.

Judaism, Christianity and Islam, though they have  the concept of the day of judgement, when the dead will rise from their  graves, subscribe only to one life not an unending

The concept of birth-death and rebirth is unique  to Indian-born religions: Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism and Sikhism, said  Swamiji.

am I to be extinguished like a lamp never to be  relit?

As the time for my own departure draws near, I  find myself more and more tempted to believe in an afterlife: will I be  around in the world 20 years from now in new vestments as the Gita assures  me?

“What Bhoonathji hath brought together, let no  man cast asunder!” A faint smile of embarrassment spread over Vimla’s lovely  face.

He blessed the two of us and produced a stream of  fresh cardamoms from his sleeves as prasad. We touched his feet and took our  leave.

He blessed the two of us and produced a stream of  fresh cardamoms from his sleeves as prasad. We touched his feet and took our  leave. On the way back, I

He blessed the two of us and produced a stream of  fresh cardamoms from his sleeves as prasad.

If she worked in the same office, it must be some  kind of a liaison.

He tried to work out our relationship. She was  too young to be my wife.

We were ushered into a room crowded with  Bhootnathji’s admirers.

A meeting was set up for me at Shri Bhootnath’s  temporary residence in Bombay.

One incident in which both of us were involved  remains imprinted in my memory.

She was extremely conservative and put men who  tried to take liberties with her in their places.

Then a buxom American lass who introduced herself  as Uma Berliner came to see me and told me how she had been saved from drugs  and permissive living by Muktananda. That made sense to me because I believe  that our gurus and saints can heal sickness of the mind better than modern  psychiatrists. Uma insisted that I have darshan of her guru in his ashram.  “Any pretty girls around?” I asked trying to put her off. “Lots. Come and see  for yourself,” she replied.

After Bombay’s ear-splitting noises, the peace  and quiet of Ganeshpuri made it seem like a paradise on earth.

hot water sulphur spring added to its many  attractions.

Whichever way you looked you saw temple spires  rising above the green of the jungle.

There was a gentle knock on the door. It was  Datta Bal and his cousin. I was acutely embarrassed. I did not have anything  to offer them: no soft drinks, not even a bottle of cold water in the fridge.  All I had was whisky which, in the absence of soda or ice, I was drinking  neat. I explained my predicament. “Why can’t I have what you are having?”  asked Datta Bal and quoted the Bible, “It is not what goes in a man that  matters but what comes out of him.” We drank undiluted

There was a gentle knock on the door. It was  Datta Bal and his cousin. I was acutely embarrassed. I did not have anything  to offer them: no soft drinks, not even a bottle of cold water in the fridge.  All I had was whisky which, in the absence of soda or ice, I was drinking  neat. I explained my predicament. “Why can’t I have what you are having?”  asked Datta Bal and quoted the Bible, “It is not what goes in a man that  matters but what comes out of him.”

was acutely embarrassed. I did not have anything  to offer them: no soft drinks, not even a bottle of cold water in the fridge.

His name was linked with a lady of Kolhapur and  once he had trouble with the police for trying to break into the Mahalaxmi  temple at midnight.

His commitment was to Hinduism

Taalash-i-haq mein na dunya ko chchor ai zaahid  Kaheen ka bhee na raheyga agar khuda no mila (Good man, do not abandon the  world in search of God, If you do not find Him you will be neither here nor  there.)

He was somewhat nervous of meeting a host of editors  and Dr Dharam Vir Bharati (Dharamyug) added to his discomfiture by asking him  bluntly: “So you call yourself a godman?” Datta Bal denied the charge and  added modestly: “I am only a seeker. “ The lunch was not a great success.

He was somewhat nervous of meeting a host of  editors and Dr Dharam Vir Bharati (Dharamyug) added to his discomfiture by  asking him bluntly: “So you call yourself a godman?” Datta Bal denied the  charge and added modestly: “I am only a seeker. “ The lunch was not a great  success.

He was somewhat nervous of meeting a host of  editors and Dr Dharam Vir Bharati (Dharamyug) added to his discomfiture by  asking him bluntly: “So you call yourself a godman?”

He was a short, stocky, sturdily built Maratha  sporting a trimmed beard.

I also hoped that in the years to come he would  become a power for the good and his voice would be heard all over the  country. Alas!

also hoped that in the years to come he would  become a power for the good

hold them spellbound for hours with his powerful  oratory.

Yeh bandey bandagi kar ke bhi bandey ban naheen  saktey

Also there will be many who will mock my  metamorphosis from a sinner to a saint.

You may find this laughable.

I could also learn a few sleights of hand like  producing vibhuti out of my empty palm.

I have the necessary accoutrements: unshorn hair,  a beard which I can let down (after the black dye has worn off), I can quote  the scriptures if needed as well as the Devil at times as well as any of the  current Bhagwans.

“If it does not do you any good, it cannot do you  any harm.

“Mataji has not been able to turn her brother  into a teetotaller,” I interrupted.

This went above my head.

I interrupted: “Surely kundalini and chakras are  notional concepts, You can’t see them through X-Ray or in a post-mortem  examination.” There was a chorus of protests “No, no, no. Not notional. Real.  Their existence can be established scientifically.”

From the number of cars lined outside I could  guage Sahaj Yogis were well-to-do and Mata Nirmala Devi had no money problem.

I conceded that meditation and yoga reduce stress  and are perhaps the most efficacious method of restoring balance in  unbalanced minds. Mind and body interact on each other: a sick mind will  induce sickness in the body.

I conceded that meditation and yoga reduce stress  and are perhaps the most efficacious method of restoring balance in  unbalanced minds. Mind and body interact on each other: a sick mind will  induce sickness in the body.

The next time I go to Jaipur I will visit her  grave at the Hathroi Fort to strew rose petals and some tears.

She had been given away in marriage at the age of  twelve.

I asked Shraddha Mata about this man. She  dismissed him with scorn. She told me she was born into a zamindar family (very  distantly related to Union Minister for External Affairs Dinesh Singh). As a  child she was named Parvati but was addressed as Bacchasahib.

“This woman was not even born a virgin.” I asked  Shraddha Mata about this man. She dismissed him with scorn. She told me she  was born into a zamindar family (very distantly related to Union Minister for  External Affairs Dinesh Singh). As a child she was named Parvati but was  addressed as Bacchasahib. After she became a sadhvi, she took on the name  Shraddha Devi Jijnasu. Everyone called her Shraddha Mata. She had been given  away in marriage at the age of twelve. She refused to live with her husband  and instead went off to join Gandhiji who advised her to return to her  husband or her parents. She did neither; she turned into a sadhvi.

After she became a sadhvi, she took on the name  Shraddha Devi Jijnasu. Everyone called her Shraddha Mata. She had been given  away in marriage at the age of twelve. She refused to live with her husband  and instead went off to join Gandhiji who advised her to return to her  husband or her parents. She did neither; she turned into a sadhvi. Although I  met Shraddha

“This woman was not even born a virgin.” I asked  Shraddha Mata about this man. She dismissed him with scorn. She told me she  was born into a zamindar family (very distantly related to Union Minister for  External Affairs Dinesh Singh). As a child she was named Parvati but was  addressed as Bacchasahib.

Shraddha Mata was more taken up by Raghu Rai than  me. He was, as he is still, a handsome fellow. She invited him to spend the  night at the Hathroi Fort to get the atmosphere of the place. Raghu funked  accepting her invitation.

From the time she became a sadhvi she took to  wearing a leopard skin round her middle weaving her hair in a chignon like  those seen in pictures of Lord Shiva and carrying a trishul in her hand.

Trans

There were lots of dogs and snakes about.

There were lots of dogs and snakes about. We  climbed the stairs to the first floor. Shraddha

There were lots of dogs and snakes about.

She spoke for over an hour. Her tone changed to  one of affection. I was enchanted by her rough, loving tone. When I took her  leave, I touched her feet and received her blessings. It was too dark for me  to see what she looked

“But you met Panditji many times,” I ventured.  “Yes, many times. He wrote many letters to me. If he had married again, he  would certainly have married me. I put him in his place. I told him “Yeh my  dear nahin chalega (addressing me as my dear in his letters won’t do). You  are a Brahmin, I am a Kshatriya. How can there be anything more than  friendship between us?” “How is it that Indiraji does not know anything about  you?” “Bewakoof? Koi aisi baat apne beti ko batata hai? (Fool, will any  father tell his daughter such things?)”

I told him “Yeh my dear nahin chalega (addressing  me as my dear in his letters won’t do). You are a Brahmin, I am a Kshatriya.  How can there be anything more than friendship between us?”

I was cut to size. When she beckoned to me to sit  down on the floor, my feet touched her wooden sandals.

was cut to size. When she beckoned to me to sit  down on the floor, my feet touched her wooden sandals.

ground. I made my way there and saw an elderly  lady in a saffron kurta-dhoti sitting cross-legged on a wooden takhtposh  counting the beads of her rosary.

Several corpses were burning with a few mourners  sitting here and there.

Several corpses were burning with a few mourners  sitting here and there.

According to Mathai, Panditji had a liaison with  Shraddha Mata and fathered an illegitimate child who was born in a Catholic  hospital in south India.

However, it was the first encounter with her  which remains imprinted on my mind.

However, it was the first encounter with her  which remains imprinted on my mind.

I was aggrieved to hear of Shraddha Mata’s  death a few weeks ago in Jaipur.

He denounced renunciation and celibacy: “Celibacy  does not mean not using sexual organs. It means to be in Him. What does  sexual intercourse mirror? Absorption, relishing the taste of His Love.”

does sexual intercourse mirror? Absorption,  relishing

“All the universe is my ashram,” he said. He  travelled round the world talking to small groups. He resented attempts to  deify him.

holy men to return to their homes, work, marry  and beget children.

He materialized a watch of Japanese make and put  it on my wrist. Then he put his hand on the watch and murmured some mantra.  The watch which had borne the legend ‘citizen: Made in Japan’ was now  imprinted with the words: ‘Given to Khushwant Singh by Dadaji’. He  materialized a bottle of Scotch with a label bearing the message ‘Made in the  Universe. Given by Dadaji to K. Singh.’

“In 1979 I first heard about Dadaji from a  friend, and in 1982 met him at the airport in Bombay, when he arrived from  Calcutta. Upon disembarking, someone placed a lovely garland of colourful  flowers around Dadaji’s neck.

1979 I first heard about Dadaji from a friend,  and in 1982 met him at the airport in Bombay, when he arrived from Calcutta.  Upon disembarking, someone placed a lovely

He grabs me by my shoulders and draws me towards  him almost knocking the turban off my head. With his fingers he traces  patterns down my spinal cord and runs them through my beard. A shiver runs  down my body and the aroma of a thousand agarbattis envelops me. “From now on  you will not think of death,” he commands. I nod my head, touch his feet and  take my leave. I thread my way through the throng of admirers, locate my  chappals out of the hundreds of pairs and walk away with a jaunty step.  Dadaji has made me mukt of deathphobia. In the evening I find myself wrong  about dying and death.

He grabs me by my shoulders and draws me towards  him almost knocking the turban off my head.

He grabs me by my shoulders and draws me towards  him almost knocking the turban off my head.

He grabs me by my shoulders and draws me towards  him almost knocking the turban off my head. With his fingers he traces  patterns down my spinal cord and runs them through my beard. A shiver runs  down my body and the aroma of a thousand agarbattis envelops me. “From now on  you will not think of death,” he commands. I nod my head, touch his feet and  take my leave. I thread my way through the throng of admirers, locate my  chappals out of the hundreds of pairs and walk away with a jaunty step.  Dadaji has made me mukt of deathphobia. In the evening I find myself wrong  about dying and death.

Don’t be misled by all these charlatans who pass  of as Bhagwans and Jagadgurus. How can mortals, on whose carrion vultures  will peck at, be gods?” And so on.

“The Dharamakshetra and Kurukshetra that the Gita  speaks of is your body

What makes Dadaji more enigmatic is that while he  denounces all godmen, gurus, bhagwans, maharishis, swamis and sadhus, his  innumerable admirers worship him almost as their deity.

I was spellbound by his sparkling hypnotic eyes  and explained away the objects he materialized out of the air as due to my  drugged perception.

I can’t make anything of her Tantric jargon but  love to hear her berate me as a self-opinionated ass.

Tantric jargon but love to hear her berate me as  a self-opinionated

In no other country will you find so many people  with such blind, unquestioning faith in another human being. Why?

He is also a patron of music and dance.

Four years ago when some young men forcibly  entered the Sai Baba’s personal quarters, there was a shoot-out and some  lives were lost. The matter was hushed up.

Four years ago when some young men forcibly  entered the Sai Baba’s personal quarters, there was a shoot-out and some

He goes on to explode the assumption that the  Guru is the Indian version of a psychoanalyst. The Guru is not a doctor but a  teacher, he nurtures spiritual aspersions not psychological problems. If  anyone is to be put on a shrink’s couch it is not the godman but his  followers who look upon him as God to find out what is missing in their lives  which they hope to fulfil by associating with their chosen godman. It is not  producing vibhuti (sacred ash), materializing watches and medallions from the  air or regurgitating sivalingas – all such tricks can be performed by  magicians and cannot stand the test of scientific scrutiny. The devotees’ faith  has more solid foundations. They have unquestionable belief that their guru  can do no wrong.

“In the West we are free to work for the approval  of those we love and respect and whom we would like to love and respect us.  Not so the Indians For Indians, particularly those of the middle classes  there are only two directions they can go to prove that they can love and be  loved. One is towards homosexuality, the other towards the Godmen – the two  not being mutually exclusive.”

We have always had men and women claiming to be  incarnations of God, or even god Himself in human form.

So we have many Bhagwans (Gods), Swamis (Lords),  Rishis (sages), Maharishis (great sages), Acharyas (teachers), Sants (saints)  and Gurus with large followings.

If there is one man who can draw larger crowds  than Atal Behari Vajpayee without aficionados rounding up villagers, loading  them on trucks and buses to transport them to meeting grounds, it is Sathya  Sai Baba. Why?

He has undoubtedly much the largest following  than any other man or woman claiming divinity.

this sometimes happens without the grace of a  Guru but the experience is “extremely short-lived and abortive.”

ascent up the ladder to godhood.

“Bhagwan Sri Sathya Sai Baba is no yogi or saint.  He is the incarnation of God. He is Lord Krishna. He is Lord Shiva. He is  Lord Jesus Christ. In short, He is everything.”

I am dismayed by the fact that Sai Baba’s  worshippers include highly literate men (amongst them Chief Justice Bhagwati  and Nani Palkhivala), scientists and doctor.

Like mortals they age, fall sick, and die but are  nevertheless regarded by their followers as immortal.

It is estimated that upwards of six lakh devotees  will assemble at Prashanti Nilayam Ashram at Puttaparthi to pay him homage  over a fortnight of celebrations.

Despite what I came to know about him, I had a  sneaking affection for the old rogue. One is compelled to admire a man who  with little learning could take the mightiest of the land for a ride.

amassing wealth by every means possible –  government grants, real estate, private air taxis, film studios, a gun  factory and lots more.

I certainly did make fun of him because I never  took his pretensions of asceticism or brahmacharya seriously.

certainly did make fun of him because I never  took his pretensions of asceticism

certainly did make fun of him because I never  took his pretensions of asceticism or

I certainly did make fun of him because I never  took his pretensions of asceticism or brahmacharya seriously. He was no more  an ascetic than Kubera, amassing wealth by every means possible – government  grants, real estate, private air taxis, film studios, a gun factory and lots  more. He was no more a brahmachari than a Mughal emperor. He was cited a  correspondent in a divorce case filed by the husband of one of the women working  with him. And if M.O. Mathai is to be believed he replaced the  stenographer-secretary in the affections of Nehru’s daughter. He became the  Rasputin to the Tsarévitch of India – Indira Gandhi. Despite what I came to  know about him, I had a sneaking affection for the old rogue. One is  compelled to admire a man who with little learning could take the mightiest  of the land for a ride. 20/7/1994

certainly did make fun of him because I never  took his pretensions of asceticism or brahmacharya seriously.

“No,” he replied and explained, “You see our  ladies are reluctant to bare their bosoms before strangers. Besides that,  women’s bosoms are of different shapes and sizes. Some have very big bosoms;  others very small. Some are taut and firm; others droop. So in the case of  female patients I measure the distance between the naabhee (navel) to the  toes.”

He went over the nipple-toe diagnostic method.  With an innocent expression on my face I asked, “Do you apply the same method  with women patients?”

“Once I know what is wrong, I can prescribe its  cure.”

We were constantly disturbed by his buxom  secretaries bustling in and out to say some minister or the other wanted to  speak to him.

Then prescribed what yoga asanas I should do and  what kind of food and drink I should avoid.

Brahmachari was draped in a thin muslin dhoti  which others would wear in summer. He was a tall, handsome man with jet black  hair curling down to his beard, clear sparkling eyes and an athletic figure.

also know frauds (Dhongis) and imposters  (pakhandis) like you who hunger after pretty girls and wine.”

No sooner did Mrs Gandhi get back into the saddle  than Dhirendra Brahmachari was back in business and on Doordarshan.

Instead he began to cultivate people in power, in  turn became powerful, and let power go to his head. For many years he held  Mrs Gandhi and her family in a hypnotic spell.

I envy his looks, his physical well-being, his  being immaculately turned out in diaphanous kurta-dhoti which he wears come  snow or sunshine.

I envy his looks, his physical well-being, his  being immaculately turned out in diaphanous kurta-dhoti

I hope by now he must have learnt that a  face-flatterer and backbiter are one and the same person. We are a nation of  fence-sitters, face-flatters and backbiters.

fence-sitters who fear that he may stage a  comeback. I hope by now he must have learnt that a face-flatterer and  backbiter are one and the same person. We are a nation of fence-sitters,  face-flatters and backbiters. Stumbling on Yoga I have always had a soft  spot for Dhirendra Brahmachari because I have never taken his yogic  pretensions or brahmacharya seriously. I envy his looks, his physical  well-being, his being immaculately turned out in diaphanous kurta-dhoti which  he wears come snow or sunshine. If he had stuck to yoga, I would have had  nothing to say against him. Instead he began to cultivate people in power, in  turn became powerful, and let power go to his head. For many years he held  Mrs Gandhi and her family in a hypnotic spell. And as always happens in our  country most of her Cabinet colleagues fawned on him till the spell was  broken by her fall from power. For years he hogged yoga programmes on  Doordarshan. Far from leading a simple life we associate with yogis, he went  into the business of acquiring

hope by now he must have learnt that a  face-flatterer and backbiter are one and the same person. We are a nation of  fence-sitters, face-flatters and backbiters.

I was reminded of Akbar Allahabadi’s biting  satire: Poochha ke shughal kya hai? Kahney lagey Guruji Bas Ram nam japna,  Cheylon ka maal apna. (When I asked what do you do? Came the Guruji’s reply  “Nothing but taking the name of the Lord and the disciples’ property.")

I was reminded of Akbar Allahabadi’s biting  satire: Poochha ke shughal kya hai? Kahney lagey Guruji Bas Ram nam japna,  Cheylon ka maal apna. (When I asked what do you do? Came the Guruji’s reply  “Nothing but taking the name of the

There were a bevy of bosomy young ladies to  receive the calls.

I have yet to meet anyone including those who  once fawned on him who has now a kind word to say in his defence.

have yet to meet anyone including those who once  fawned on him who has now a kind word to say in his defence.

With the going of Rajneesh, India has lost one of  its greatest sons. India’s loss will be shared by all who have an open mind  throughout the world.

It is impossible to do justice to this great man  in a few words. I would exhort my readers to read his sermons now printed in  hundreds of books.

“This is the only planet we have, and this is the  only time we have, and this is the only life we have,” he wrote. So make the  best of it, get the most you can out of it. Meditating on these problems will  help you to clear the cobwebs of irrationality and bring you peace of mind.

“This is the only planet we have, and this is the  only time we have, and this is the only life we have,” he wrote.

Rajneesh did not believe in any religion. “All  the religions have reduced humanity into beggars. They call it prayer, they  call it worship – beautiful names to hide an ugly reality,” he wrote. “All  beliefs are blind, all beliefs are false. They do not let you grow up, they  only help you to kneel down like a slave before dead statues, rotten  scriptures, primitive philosophies,” he wrote.

Neither Jain Mahavira nor the Buddha believed in  God: only some of their stupid followers do so.

I was truly grieved to hear of the passing  of Acharya Rajneesh. In my opinion, for whatever it is worth, he was the most  original thinker that India has produced: the most erudite, the most  clear-headed and the most innovative. And in addition, he had an inborn gift  for words, spoken and written. We will not see the like of him for decades to  come.

I was truly grieved to hear of the passing  of Acharya Rajneesh. In my opinion, for whatever it is worth, he was the most  original thinker that India has produced: the most erudite, the most  clear-headed and the most innovative. And in addition, he had an inborn gift  for words, spoken and written. We will not see the like of him for decades to  come.

I was truly grieved to hear of the passing  of Acharya Rajneesh

Rajneesh trod a lonely path. But he was convinced  that it was the only one: “Truth can never become collective; only lies can  become collective. Even a single man of truth is enough to put fire to the  whole forest of lies, because even thousands of lies cannot face a single  statement of truth.”

“I am preparing my people to live joyously,  ecstatically. So when I am not in my body, it won’t make any difference to  them. They will still live the same way – and maybe my death will bring them  more intensity.”

“I am preparing my people to live joyously,  ecstatically. So when I am not in my body, it won’t make any difference to  them. They will still live the same way – and maybe my death will bring them  more intensity.”

“I am preparing my people to live joyously,  ecstatically. So when I am not in my body, it won’t make any difference to  them. They will still live the same way – and maybe my death will bring them  more intensity.”

“I am preparing my people to live joyously,  ecstatically. So when I am not in my body, it won’t make any difference to  them. They will still live the same way – and maybe my death will bring them  more intensity.”

His closest disciple who was by his bedside when  the end came says that he simply lay back quietly while he felt his pulse.  “Slowly it faded. When I could hardly feel it, I said, ‘Osho, I think this is  it.’ He just nodded gently and closed his eyes for the last time.”

kept. Among his last words were, “I leave you my  dream.”

I rated him very highly as a thinker, writer and  as a human being.

I rated him very highly as a thinker, writer and  as a human

books. I rated him very highly as

books. I rated him very highly

It is difficult to accept Rajneesh’s views on  death. Having allowed himself to become a Bhagwan, he has forfeited the right  to say, “I do not know. Nobody, not even Bhagwan Rajneesh knows what happens  to us when we die. And as long as we do not know that we will continue to  dread its coming.”

“These are the ‘three Ls” of my philosophy: life,  love, laughter. Life is only a seed, love is a flower, laughter is a  fragrant. Just to be born is not enough, one has to learn the art of living;  that is the A of meditation. Then one has to learn the art of loving; that is  the B of meditation. And then one has to learn the art of laughing; that is  the C of meditation. A meditation has only three letters: A,B,C.”

It is not fair on the part of the Acharya to ask  us to take his word and accept the theory of transmigration of souls. “It is  my experience … when I say that the soul transmigrates, to me it is an  experience. I remember my past lives have transmigrated; there is no question  of doubt for me, but I am not saying you to believe it.” He talks of dejavu  (already seen) – an experience some people have when they visit a new place.  They feel they have been there before because they have in fact done so in  their previous lives. No sceptic or rationalist will buy this argument.

It is not fair on the part of the Acharya to ask  us to take his word and accept the theory of transmigration of souls. “It is  my experience … when I say that the soul transmigrates, to me it is an  experience. I remember my past lives have transmigrated; there is no question  of doubt for me, but I am not saying you to believe it.” He talks of dejavu  (already seen) – an experience some people have when they visit a new place.  They feel they have been there before because they have in fact done so in  their previous lives. No sceptic or rationalist will buy this argument. I go  along with the Acharya in his general

He goes on to reassert that “those who die  unconsciously will be born on some other planet, in some other womb.”

he in saying that death is a “beautiful sleep,  dreamless sleep, a sleep that is needed for you to enter into another body  silently and peacefully?”

That, according to him, is why westerners who  subscribe to these religions are always in a hurry to get things done and  have never grasped the concept of meditation. Whereas Indians, because they  believe in rebirth, don’t feel the pressure of time, are non-achievers and  meditative.

one life. That, according to him, is why  westerners

The Acharya proceeds to make further assertions  which leave me flabbergasted.

I go along with Rajneesh when he says that life  should be lived as intensely as possible

“People who are afraid of death cannot relax in  sleep, because sleep is also a very small death that comes every day. People  who are afraid of death are afraid of love also, because love is a death.  People who are afraid of death become afraid of all orgasmic experiences,  because in each orgasm the ego dies.” I am out of my depth. I am not afraid  of love; I also regard an orgasm as the ultimate in physical exaltation. Yet  I fear death.

Acharya Rajnessh assures us that death is not the  end of man’s journey but a door to God. The death of a loved one certainly  creates a vacuum but since life itself is meaningless, there is nothing to  mourn about. One should not fear death but regard it as a long, relaxed sleep  from which you waken to a brighter dawn.

enough.” Then she burst into a song.

On the way the grandfather, barely 50, gave up  the ghost. His last words were: “My Lord, this life you have given me, I  surrender it back to you with my thanks.” No one in the cart shed a tear.  When told that her old man had stopped breathing, the grandmother reassured  Rajneesh, “That’s perfectly okay as he had lived enough, there is no need to  ask for more … Remember, because these are the moments not to be forgotten,  never ask for more.

The Acharya has an inimitable style of  simplifying the most abstruse themes and illustrating them with pithy  anecdotes.

Death is not a fiction; it is a profound reality,  more real than anything in life.

The Acharya has now put all his thoughts on the  subject together in a small 100-page booklet entitled Death: The Greatest  Fiction.

“My definition of man is that man is the laughing  animal. No computer laughs, no ant laughs, no bee laughs; it is only man who  can laugh.

That will make you roar with laughter.

“Practised every morning upon awakening, it will  change your whole day. If you wake up laughing you will soon begin to feel  how absurd life is. Nothing is serious; even your disappointments are laughable,  even your pain is laughable, even you are laughable. When you wake up in the  morning, before opening your eyes stretch like cat. Stretch every part of  your body. Enjoy the stretching; enjoy the feeling of your body becoming  awake, alive. After three or four minutes of stretching, with your eyes still  closed, laugh. For five minutes, just laugh. At first you will be doing it,  but soon the very sound of your attempt to laugh will cause a very genuine  laughter. Lose yourself in laughter.”

“Practised every morning upon awakening, it will  change your whole day. If you wake up laughing you will soon begin to feel  how absurd life is. Nothing is serious; even your disappointments are  laughable, even your pain is laughable, even you are laughable. When you wake  up in the morning, before opening your eyes stretch like cat. Stretch every  part of your body. Enjoy the stretching; enjoy the feeling of your body  becoming awake, alive. After three or four minutes of stretching, with your  eyes still closed, laugh. For five minutes, just laugh. At first you will be  doing it, but soon the very sound of your attempt to laugh will cause a very  genuine laughter.

Whoever is bored is wrong. Whoever is dancing,  singing having a good belly laugh is right.”

“Seriousness is illness. Spirituality is  laughter, is joy, is fun.”

The opposite of song and laughter is seriousness.  Osho ridiculed seriousness: “I have not seen a serious tree … a serious bird.  I have not seen a serious sunrise. I have not seen a serious starry night.

“Laughter brings strength. Now even medical  science says that laughter is one of the most deep-going medicines nature has  provided to man.”

“One should go on laughing the whole of one’s  life. I am not saying don’t weep. In fact, if you cannot laugh, you cannot  weep. They go together, they are part of one phenomenon of being true and  authentic.

“My definition of man is that man is the laughing  animal. No computer laughs, no ant laughs, no bee laughs; it is only man who  can laugh.

“You don’t see donkeys laughing, you don’t see  buffaloes enjoying a joke. It is only man who can enjoy a joke, who can  laugh.

“Laughter is prayer. If you can laugh you have  learnt how to pray. Don’t be serious. A serious person can never be  religious. Only a person who can laugh, not only at others but at himself  also, can be religious. A person who can laugh absolutely, who sees the whole  ridiculousness and the whole game of life, becomes enlightened in the  laughter.”

“If you can decide that every year, for one hour,  at a certain time, the whole world will laugh, I think it will help to dispel  darkness, violence, stupidities … Just the touch of laughter can make  something worth living, something to be grateful for.

To the best of my knowledge, of the hundreds of  godmen and god women we have had in recent years, it was only Osho Rajneesh  who understood the message of Sri Krishna and propagated a religion full of  fun, laughter and goodness. Every sermon he delivered (and they were most  erudite and well-spoken), ended with a bawdy joke leaving the congregation in  splits of laughter.

“Nasiruddin said, ‘I would definitely make those  mistakes, but I would also make all the others that I was not able to make.  That is the only change I would make. In this life, I began making mistakes  very late in life. If I were to live my life all over again, I would get an  earlier start.’

India My Love: Fragments of a Golden Past was  released by Dr Manmohan Singh, as saintly a politician as any Indian has seen  since independence.

He brought his vast knowledge of the world’s  scriptures and lives of saintly men and women to convey his message. What  made him different from other world teachers was that while they made  religious subjects boring, Osho made them enjoyable.

He brought his vast knowledge of the world’s  scriptures and lives of saintly men and women to convey his message. What  made him different from other world teachers was that while they made  religious

He was hounded out of India. He then sought  asylum in the United States where he met the same fate. Egged on by church  dignitaries, the US administration ordered his arrest and deportation.

Osho exposed the humbug in Indian life and the  double standards observed by its self-styled godmen and political leaders.

A man unfairly maligned by Indian bigots and  misinformed foreigners was Acharya Rajneesh (Osho).

Never have I slept without sweetheart Nor have I  spent a single drop of sperm.

Tsanyang Gyatso was not moved about his sexual  prowess: Never have I slept without sweetheart Nor have I spent a single drop  of sperm. The sex act, as in the case of Krishna, was a Tantric exercise in  whom the bindus’ latent

Tsanyang Gyatso was not moved about his sexual  prowess: Never have I slept without sweetheart Nor have I spent a single drop  of sperm. The sex act, as in the case of Krishna, was a Tantric exercise in  whom the bindus’ latent

Never have I slept without sweetheart Nor have I  spent a single drop of sperm.

For him it was the monastery and prayer by day  time; taverns, drink, songs of love and pretty Tibetan maidens at night:

The Desi kept the news of his death secret for 15  long years till he discovered the reincarnation and successor in the person  of the sixth Dalai Lama who was enthroned in 1697. He was a gifted child,  scholarly and of a poetic bent of mind.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was  about love, fornication, and pleasures of the tavern flowing with chhung,  rice wine.

“I have only one,” she replied in impeccable  English (Tibetans seem to have the gift of tongues; Urdu, Hindi, Hindustani  or English, they speak it without a trace of an accent).

We took our leave. I was exhilarated by being  with him. He extended that aura of goodwill, cheerfulness and crystal-clear  honesty that envelops you long after you have left his presence. The Nobel  prize committee has done well in awarding him the peace prize because he is a  man of peace. He has suffered many wrong but never uttered an angry word in  protest. He has brought solace to millions of people who are troubled by the  way the world is going today.

We went on to other questions, like why  wickedness so often triumphs over goodness, why innocent people suffer while  evil people prosper.

“Yes,” replied the Dalai Lama. “If scientists can  prove that there is no next life, we Buddhists will accept it.”

“Why then persist in propagating unprovable theories  till we can prove them?”

“Then why not say that till such time as the  scientists have found out we withhold our judgement.” “I agree. Buddhism is  quite clear on the subject: investigate till you find out the right answers.  Do not accept anything and take it for granted. The Buddha himself said, ‘Do  not accept anything said by me out of respect for me.’ If it does not appeal  to you, reject it.”

“There are two kinds phenomena. One are provable  by science

I protested. “Since you cannot adduce rational,  scientific explanations for certain phenomenon, wouldn’t it be more truthful  to say ‘I don’t know’. As for me, I go further and say not only I do not know  the answers, nobody else knows them either.”

protested. “Since you cannot adduce rational,  scientific explanations for certain phenomenon, wouldn’t it be more truthful  to say ‘I don’t know’.

protested. “Since you cannot adduce rational,  scientific explanations for certain phenomenon, wouldn’t it be more truthful  to say ‘I don’t know’.

The Dalai Lama laughed heartily. “Scientific  proof is what you want?” he asked. “But certain things are beyond scientific  proof. I have many thoughts going on in my mind, it is difficult to give  scientific explanations for them.

The present travails of the Tibetan people are  due to both kinds of Karmas. Some for acts done by individuals at some time  or place, now come together in common suffering.

“We Buddhist believe in Karma", he replied.  “Life is a continuous circle without a beginning or an end. Deeds done in one  life, one’s Karmas, determine one’s fate in the next. Even in one’s lifetime  bad deeds produce bad effect.”

put the dilemma to the Dalai Lama.

live in exile in India? I put

“Can you explain why there is so much injustice  and cruelty in the world? Why do bad things happen to good people?”

He elucidated his views further.

In Tibetan mythology there is a story that the  Tibetan race came into being through the mating of a monkey and an ethereal  being.”

“The real creator is one’s own mind. The universe  and all its galaxies were created or happened at a certain period of time.”

Questions to Theists

How did life originate? Is there a God? If so,  why is there so much injustice and wickedness in the world? Are there rewards  and punishments for good or evil deeds done in life? What is death – the  destruction of body and mind or only the body? Is there a life hereafter or a  rebirth after death?

However odd this system of locating successors  may sound to sceptical ears, it has an enormous advantage over other  political or social systems: from childhood a boy is trained to take over the  responsibilities of a spiritual and secular leader of his people.

“Do not believe in anything merely because I said  it. Be like an analyst buying gold, cutting and burning the substance to test  it in every way. Accept it only when it meets the full criteria of reason, and  when it proves to be of benefit to you.”

“For those types who want to follow a path of  sceptical inquiry and reason, rather than a path of faith, Buddhism may prove  useful.”

was more intrigued by his claim that Buddhism is  a more sophisticated religion than others as it strongly stresses rationality  and is very modern in its sensitivity

Rulers of China are not bothered about political  morality nor yield to pressures of world opinion.

Prayer addressed to onself

Role of Prayer

My mother-in-law, stricken by stomach cancer and  having been declared unfit to be administered general anaesthesia, asked the  surgeon to allow a Sikh attendant to recite aloud the Sikh morning prayer  Japji while her stomach was being cut open. She went through the ordeal  without showing any sign of the pain she was suffering or shedding a tear.  She came through the operation successfully. Many people pray to have peace  of mind; they get peace of mind. This is all that the Bard meant when he  said: “More things are wrought prayer than the world dreams of…” Prayer does  not produce miracles, it only gives us reassurance and self-confidence to  help us face adversities.

“Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear unto my  cry!”

Many people pray to have peace of mind; they get  peace of mind. This is all that the Bard meant when he said: “More things are  wrought prayer than the world dreams of…” Prayer does not produce miracles,  it only gives us reassurance and self-confidence to help us face adversities.

My mother-in-law, stricken by stomach cancer and  having been declared unfit to be administered general anaesthesia, asked the  surgeon to allow a Sikh attendant to recite aloud the Sikh morning prayer  Japji while her stomach was being cut open. She went through the ordeal  without showing any sign of the pain she was suffering or shedding a tear.  She came through the operation successfully.

My mother-in-law, stricken by stomach cancer and  having been declared unfit to be administered general anaesthesia, asked the  surgeon to allow a Sikh attendant to recite aloud the Sikh morning prayer  Japji while her stomach was being cut open. She went through the ordeal  without showing any sign of the pain she was suffering or shedding a tear.  She came through the operation successfully. Many

“O God, assist our side: at least avoid assisting  the enemy, and leave the rest to me.”

Prayers, though ostensibly addressed to God are,  in fact, addressed to oneself. There is nothing intrinsically good in prayer:  prayers come from the same mouth as oaths. Dacoits are known to pray before  they rob and kill people. Combatants in battle pray for victory; only one side  wins.

third’s marriage broke up within a few weeks of  its celebration.

I know of at least two Sikh families which turned  dramatically from being extremely orthodox to atheism.

One might well ask, what then is achieved by  praying to God? Should we thank Him if our prayers are answered and curse Him  if they are not? Is prayer any different from flattery of the big boss? Those  who treat prayer as a kind of saudeybaazi – a commercial transaction – are  usually disillusioned and turn hostile to God and religion.

He is the Vadda Beparwah – the Great Unconcerned.

He does not seem to care very much whether the  good are rewarded or sinners punished in their lifetimes.

He sends an avatar – a reincarnation – to punish  wrongdoers, restore righteousness and bring the people back to the path of  dharma.

What did the devout have to say to the affliction  visited on them by the same Allah who had answered their prayers a few days  earlier?

He is Daata, the Giver, Anna-daata, the Provider  of Food, Vad-daata, the Most Bountiful

A week later Bangladesh was struck by a cyclone  which took a heavy toll of life: over 10,000 people perished and many more  were rendered homeless.

The devout felt reassured that Allah never lets  the prayers of the faithful go unanswered.

prayer asking for Allah’s bounty.

As a desperate last measure, President Ershad  called on his people to pray to Allah to send them rain.

Last month, many parts of Bangladesh were  stricken with drought. Rains were long overdue and the transplanted paddy  seedlings had begun to wither. It was clear that if rains did not come the  season’s rice crop would be lost and Bangladesh would once again be faced  with the prospect of famine.

“the unbearable repartee”

“Beware of a man who does not talk and of a dog  that does not bark.”

Bernard Shaw described it as “the most perfect  expression of scorn”.

“the unbearable repartee”

These savants were concerned with the mystic  value of silence. Not being a mystic, I can only command the virtues of  silence in worldly affairs.

“No lamp I saw brighter than silence

“We learn speech from men; silence from the  Gods.” You can avoid speech, but true silence has to be cultivated.

cultivate stillness of the mind.

But I am fortunate enough to be able to spend  long hours (sometimes days) alone with myself. I can vouch for the difference  not speaking and not listening to anyone can make.

Those who could, retreated to mountains or  forests to get away from the clamour of cities; those who could not, shut  themselves in their rooms and meditated.

There is more to silence than keeping one’s mouth  shut. You have to shut out external noises as well as the tumult within you  to realize what immense power it can generate.

He is the light that dispels darkness and  purifies impurities

Om Bhur bhuvah swah tat savitur varenyam bhargo  devasya dhimahi dhiyo yo nah prachodayat Literally, the mantra means: “Let us  mediate on God, His glorious attributes, who is the basis of everything in  this universe as its creator, who is fit to be worshipped as omnipresent,  omnipotent, omniscient and self-existent conscious being, who removes all  ignorance and impurities from the mind and purifies and sharpens our  intellect. … May God enlighten our intellects.”

Amongst Hindus, the mantra regarded as the most  powerful is the Gayatri from the Yajur Veda. To me it appeared as an  invocation to the sun and I could not decipher any hidden meaning in it.

was kind enough to illumine my mind.

Amongst Hindus, the mantra regarded as the most  powerful is the Gayatri from the Yajur Veda. To me it appeared as an  invocation to the sun and I could not decipher any hidden meaning in it.

He who turns away from the forces of evil and  believes in God,

Neither does somnolence affect Him nor sleep.

Neither does somnolence affect Him nor sleep. To  Him

The Muslims do not have any single word to match  Aum, but they do have some which, like Allah-o-Akbar, are repeated while  telling the beads of a rosary.

does Aum among Hindus. The Muslims do not have  any single word to match Aum, but they do have some which, like  Allah-o-Akbar, are repeated while telling the beads of a rosary.

The Muslims do not have any single word to match  Aum, but they do have some which, like Allah-o-Akbar, are repeated while  telling the beads of a rosary. They

All religions have a few words believed to have  powerful, protective and curative potential. It is difficult to unravel the  mystery behind them.

We have similar situations arising in our  country, as for instance, when a doctor performing an operation on a Sikh,  advises that he or she be shaved to avoid infection. Who then is to decide  what is more important, adherence to religious belief or the life of an  individual?

Russel also believed that taking others’ blood  into one’s body was a sin as venal as rape.

Christ did not bother to return to Earth and  redeem it from evil.

two-year-old child stricken with leukemia.  Doctors were of the opinion that if she did not get a blood transfusion, she  would die. Her parents rejected medical advice on the grounds that belonging  to a Christian sect known as Jehovah’s Witnesses, they regarded blood  transfusion as a sin.

two-year-old child stricken with leukemia.  Doctors were of the opinion that if she did not get a blood transfusion, she  would die. Her parents rejected medical advice on the grounds that belonging  to a Christian sect known as Jehovah’s

Doctors were of the opinion that if she did not  get a blood transfusion, she would die.

how far can you permit a religious belief to put  the life of a person in jeopardy?

In India whenever religious rites and commonsense  are in conflict, you can be sure that the rite, however irrational and  irritating will win.

Why can’t such sensible compromises be arrived at  in India? Why should gurudwaras and temples wake up people at unearthly hours  of the morning through kirtans and chantings over loudspeakers?

Atul Kumar assures me that the mantra is ‘life  giving’; it wards off accidents, deaths from snake bite, lightening, fire  etc. It can heal the sick, conquer death and grant salvation because it is  Lord Siva’s mantra. If you repeat it 108 times every day, it will ensure you  a long, happy and prosperous life. One essential precondition is that you  must have faith. Where can one buy faith?

Mahamritunjaya Mantra which runs as follows: Om  Trymbakam Yajaamahe Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam Urvaarukamiva bandhanaam  Mrityormuksheeya Maamri taat. (We worship the three-eyed One (Lord Siva) who  is fragrant and who nourishes all beings: may He liberate me from death for  the sake of Immortality, even as the cucumber is severed from its bondage (of  the creeper.)

The mantra most frequently used by Hindus is the  Gayatri. Translated literally it is more than a hymn in praise of the Sun.

Before retiring to bed for the night it is the  Kirtan Sohila. Children are told that if they recite this they will not fear  the dark and be free of nighmares.

No other religious system has an equivalent for  Om (or Aum): Guru Nanak’s ekAumkar is derived from this.

I will fear no evil

Such passages then gain importance in ritual, get  inscribed on tablets, amulets and are recited in moments of crisis.

From reasons unknown, and results unverified,  every religious scripture has passages which its followers endow with magic  powers of healing or protection against harm.

We have a memorable example in a beautiful psalm:

“It is such a stupid world! Mohammedans pray in  Arabic, which they don’t understand; Hindus pray in Sanskrit, which they  don’t understand; and now Buddhists pray in Pali, which they don’t understand  – for the simple reason that priests have been very much insistent on keeping  the dead language because those prayers are very poor if they are translated  into the language which you understand. You will be at a loss – you will not  be able to see what there is to pray in them; they will lose all the mystery.  The mystery is because you don’t understand them. Hence Latin, Greek, Arabic,  Sanskrit, Pali, Prakrit – dead languages which nobody understands any more.  Priests go on insisting that prayers should be in those dead languages. “You  are saying something the meaning of which is not known to you. What kind of  prayer is that? To whom are you addressing it? You don’t know anything about  god. And what you are saying is not arising out of your heart, you are just  being a gramophone record – His Master’s Voice.”

Osho Rajneesh has his own unique explanation  (with which I concur).

Are we any closer to finding God? No. I take  shelter behind the Urdu couplet: Too dil mein to aataa hai Samajh mein nahin  aata Bas jaa gayaa teyree pahchaan yahee hai. (I have you in my heart But do  not comprehend you, Maybe that is the best way of knowing you.)

God is not a person, but a timeless abstract  principle that implies something like meaning or purpose behind physical  existence

goes on to exhort people to discard primitive

“an epidemic of God has broken out in the West  and even the most rigorous of scientists are tracking God.”

pursuit of God.

He is said to be omnipresent but no one has seen  Him; religious teachers bamboozle us by asking us to look within ourselves  and we will find Him in our hearts. People like me don’t know how to look  within ourselves and therefore cannot find Him. They say He is the creator of  the cosmos. When we ask them who created Him? They reply, no one. He created  Himself. Now, that does not make sense as nothing is created by itself: that  is the inexorable law of cause and effect.

What should clinch the issue about God is that  belief in his existence does not make a person a good man nor disbelief in  his existence make him a bad man. I have known more saint-like people among  agnostics than I have among God-fearing believers. In the personal religion I  expound there is no place for God.

However, no one can get round the conundrum that  if God is the cause and universe the effect, who or what was it that brought  God into existence? What was the primary cause, the Causa Causans? No answer.

The closer I get to the time of meeting my Maker  the more sceptic I become of his existence:

had turned agnostic.

had turned agnostic. The closer I get to the time  of meeting my Maker the more sceptic I become of his existence:

The closer I get to the time of meeting my Maker  the more sceptic I become of his existence:

was charmed by the child’s outburst of faith in  God’s existence. I wrote back to her:

It is impossible to shake their faith.

He takes him away from me. What had I done to  deserve this cruel treatment?”

He takes him away from me. What

What had I done to deserve this cruel treatment?”  This

Ultimately something made me overcome my lethargy  and

I was not sure whether it would be worth my while  stepping out in the heat

I came to the conclusion that they knew no more  than I.

I refused to be bamboozled with words and  formulas like ‘the truth is within us only if we seek it’. Or ‘the body dies but  the soul is imperishable’.

Both of us were described as agnostics but both  retained our socio-religious identities. Though non-believers he remained  nominally Muslim, I nominally Sikh.

Perhaps politics is responsible for this evil.  But irrespective of that, liberals among the major religious communities of  India should strive so that the various ethnic and other groups may live in  peace and harmony.”

But irrespective of that, liberals among the  major religious communities of India should strive

Sikhs also cremate their dead and the funeral  pyre is lit by the son or near relatives as in the case of Hindus. The ashes  are then immersed in sacred rivers, again as Hindus do. The majority of Sikh  names are of Sanskrit and Hindu lineage.

You state that a Sikh marriage is patterned after  the Hindu marriage and differs from it only in minor detail.

Sikhs also visit Hindu temples. I have myself  seen many Sikhs visiting our temple at Delhi and prostrating themselves  before the deity with the same devotion as Hindus do. Many Hindus too visit  Gurudwaras. Even otherwise, whenever devotional songs are sung on any  occasion in a Hindu family, the bhajans of Guru Nanak are sung with the same  fervour as the bhajans of any other Saint.

‘As mentioned by you, Sikhs observe all the  festivals celebrated by the Hindus of northern India. The

Guru Gobind Singh did regret the slaughter of  kine and advocated the protection of cows, as you have admitted. That the  killing of cows was strictly forbidden under the Sikh rulers follows from the  example of the Sikh Gurus who never ate beef.

Sikhs also venerate the cow and abhor eating  beef. If the Granth Sahib is silent on this, the reason may be that the  non-slaughter of kine was so apparently a part of the religion and so much a  way of life with Hindus that it did not seem to be necessary for any of the  Gurus who, in opinion, did not differentiate between Hinduism and Sikhism, to  specifically ordain that cows should not be slaughtered.

“The Granth Sahib contains a larger number of  verses from Hindu saints and scriptures than from any other religion. This  shows the close affinity of Sikhism to Hinduism.”

“When the purely religious and pious Sikh  community turned militant, one of its missions was to save Hinduism and help  in its upliftment and propagation. One of the Gurus said: Jagas dharam Hindu,  sakal Bhand bhajae (Hindu religion should awake. Let all the false doctrines  flee.)

“Many Hindus willingly gave their daughters in  marriage to Sikhs. Likewise, Sikhs too gave their daughters in marriage to  Hindus. Which other communities did so?

“Till recently, many Hindu families of the Punjab  brought up one of their sons as a Sikh. Why? Surely because Hindus did not  differentiate between the Hindu and the Sikh religions.

“You have stated that most of the Hindu families  of the Punjab respect the Gurus and read the Granth Sahib. Which other  religious communities do that?

Hindus believe in the doctrine of rebirth and the  theory of ‘Karma’. Sikhs also believe in these philosophies. In fact, all  religions that have branched off from Hinduism like Jainism and Buddhism  believe in the doctrine of rebirth and theory of ‘Karma’.

“There are however some sects of Hinduism which  do no believe in Devis and Davatas and worship one God – that too as a  formless Being.

“There are however some sects of Hinduism which  do no believe in Devis and Davatas and worship one God – that too as a  formless Being.

Take the case of Arya Samaj which is very much a  part of Hinduism. Arya Samajis believe in one God, like the Sikhs. They  recognize only one Holy Book – the Vedas; like the Sikhs, they believe  neither in caste nor in idol and image worship.

But even according to these mythologies the three  main deities are Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. But if one were to go deeper into  the matter it is clear that three gods are, in fact, only different names of  the One Supreme Being. That is why the Upanishad says: Ekam Sad Vipra Bahudha  vaaanti! (God is one. But Brahmins, i.e. the learned, call him by different  names.)

But even according to these mythologies the three  main deities are Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. But if one were to go deeper into  the matter it is clear that three gods are, in fact, only different names of  the One Supreme Being. That is why the Upanishad says: Ekam Sad Vipra Bahudha  vaaanti! (God is one. But Brahmins, i.e. the learned, call him by different  names.)

It is correct that, according to Hindu  mythologies, there are perhaps 33 crores of gods – Devatas and Devis.

“Many Hindus regard Sikhism as a part or offshoot  of Hinduism.

I came to this conclusion because of the Sikh  Gurus’ emphasis on monotheism, rejection of idol worship and the caste  system, all of which are basic to Islam.

We can, if we have the will to do so, make our  country green and prosperous.

We can, if we have the will to do so, make our  country green and prosperous.

This is almost unknown in India. In Israel, on  the other hand, you can see miles of dense forests of pine and fir lining  both sides of the highways. All of them were planted in memory of the dead.  That is how Israel has become green while its Arab neighbours dwell in the  desert.

No school or college student should be issued a  school-leaving certificate, his degree or diploma unless he or she can  produce evidence of having planted a specified number of trees and nourished  them. Tree planting should also be given the top priority in bequests for  charity.

Tree planting should be made a religious  obligation as well as incorporated in our educational system.

In coastal towns and cities, the dead should be  immersed in the sea.

In coastal towns and cities, the dead should be  immersed in

Annadurai and M.G. Ramachandran were buried. Many  Hindu communities in south India bury their dead. Most Jain munis are also  buried.

Enormous amount of wood is wasted in cremating  the dead. There is nothing in the Hindu or Sikh religion requiring cremation  by wood.

Trees were an object of worship in olden times:  some communities like the Bishnois of Haryana and Rajasthan still venerate  trees and forbid them being cut down.

We have to impose an immediate ban on the felling  of trees and the use of wood for making furniture and buildings.

Our second highest priority is to conserve our  environment.

Our second highest priority is to conserve our  environment. Our

Legislation has not proved very efficacious in  controlling our population. Perhaps a religious code enshrining necessity to  restrict bearing of children may prove more effective.

Our highest priority is to control our explosive  birthrate. Our slogan used to be ‘two and no more’. Now it has to be ‘one and  no more’.

Our highest priority is to control our explosive  birthrate. Our slogan used to be ‘two and no more’.

Only the physically disabled should be permitted  to retire. Religious holidays should be cut down to the minimum and everyone  compelled to work as long as his mind and body are able to do so.

Our new religion must be based on work-ethic.  Those who do not contribute materially to the well-being of society should  have no rights.

We have to evolve new moral codes, a new religion  which takes note of our present problems.

Nevertheless a sizeable proportion of this  population continues to do nothing and live on beggary

The world is overcrowded

The world is overcrowded

All religions are creatures of their time and  were meant to meet existing social problems.

Prayers are best said in solitude and should be  addressed to oneself. The most effective form I have discovered is to look  yourself in the mirror before retiring for the night as it is very hard to  stare into your own eyes and ask yourself, “Did I wrong anyone today?” You  will be surprised how effective it is in preventing yourself from doing it  the day following.

Without exception they have become places of  commerce from which professional purveyors of religious dogma earn their  livelihood.

One does not have to go to places of worship like  synagogues, churches, mosques and temples to pray.

Even dacoits and thugs are known to pray before  they embark on their nefarious errands.

In addition to being largely incomprehensible  some passages of religious scriptures are invested with magical powers to  ward off danger, heal the sick, exorcise spirits and banish fear.

We should also take a closer look at the  traditional attitude to our scriptures and prayers. You will notice that more  obscure the text, the more religious fervour it rouses in the readers’ minds.  Hence the use of Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Arabic, Pali, Sanskrit and Santbhasha  – understood by a small minority of adherents of the faith. Read them  translated into a language you understand and you will find them repetitive,  banal and boring.

Abraham and Moses over Jehovah, Zarathustra over  Ahuramazda, Rama and Krishna over Ishwara, Jesus and Mary above the Lord,  Mohammad above Allah, Guru Nanak and Guru Gobind Singh over Waheguru. This is  entirely understandable because while we know nothing of God, we know a lot  more about the founders of our religions. They were mortals like us: born to  women, ate and defecated like we do, were subject to diseases. And died. We  do our best to distort their human qualities by making legends about their  superhuman powers to distance them from ourselves and make them as powerful as  God as His vicegerents. They had undoubtedly enormous powers to sway the  people and bring about revolutions in their thinking and ways of living and  thus contributed to our perception of them as akin to God, sacrosanct and  beyond searching inquiry about their human frailties. You can jest about God  but never about His Prophets. The attitude is well expressed in the Persian  adage: Ba Khuda Diwana Basho/Ba Mohammed hoshiar! (You can say what you like  about Allah, but beware of saying anything (derogatory) about Mohammed.) It  is time we took a more objective view of the founders of different religions.  By all means give them the respect due to great thinkers, philosophers, poets  and leaders of men but worshipping them is neither fair to them nor to your  own intellect.

Abraham and Moses over Jehovah, Zarathustra over  Ahuramazda, Rama and Krishna over Ishwara, Jesus and Mary above the Lord,  Mohammad above Allah, Guru Nanak and Guru Gobind Singh over Waheguru. This is  entirely understandable because while we know nothing of God, we know a lot  more about the founders of our religions. They were mortals like us: born to  women, ate and defecated like we do, were subject to diseases. And died. We  do our best to distort their human qualities by making legends about their  superhuman powers to distance them from ourselves and make them as powerful  as God as His vicegerents. They had undoubtedly enormous powers to sway the  people and bring about revolutions in their thinking and ways of living and  thus contributed to our perception of them as akin to God, sacrosanct and  beyond searching inquiry about their human frailties. You can jest about God  but never about His Prophets. The attitude is well expressed in the Persian  adage: Ba Khuda Diwana Basho/Ba Mohammed hoshiar! (You can say what you like  about Allah, but beware of saying anything (derogatory) about Mohammed.) It  is time we took a more objective view of the founders of different religions.  By all means give them the respect due to great thinkers, philosophers, poets  and leaders of men but worshipping them is neither fair to them nor to your  own intellect.

Abraham and Moses over Jehovah, Zarathustra over  Ahuramazda, Rama and Krishna over Ishwara, Jesus and Mary above the Lord,  Mohammad above Allah, Guru Nanak and Guru Gobind Singh over Waheguru. This is  entirely understandable because while we know nothing of God, we know a lot  more about the founders of our religions. They were mortals like us: born to  women, ate and defecated like we do, were subject to diseases. And died. We  do our best to distort their human qualities by making legends about their  superhuman powers to distance them from ourselves and make them as powerful  as God as His vicegerents. They had undoubtedly enormous powers to sway the  people and bring about revolutions in their thinking and ways of living and  thus contributed to our perception of them as akin to God, sacrosanct and  beyond searching inquiry about their human frailties. You can jest about God  but never about His Prophets. The attitude is well expressed in the Persian  adage: Ba Khuda Diwana Basho/Ba Mohammed hoshiar! (You can say what you like  about Allah, but beware of saying anything (derogatory) about Mohammed.) It  is time we took a more objective view of the founders of different religions.  By all means give them the respect due to great thinkers, philosophers, poets  and leaders of men but worshipping them is neither fair to them nor to your  own intellect.

In short, God’s human manifestation is given more  importance than God himself

Bujh rahey hain chiraagh dair-o-haram Dil jalao  ke roshni kam hai I have burnt my heart thinking about the existence of God.  And the more I think the more I am convinced that He is an illusion. And even  if there be an all-powerful creator and a destroyer, He is not a just  preserver according to the norms of justice as I understand them.

The stars have gone out in the sky.

I go along with Job in believing that God (if  there is one) is above notions of fairness and moral rules, that apply to us  mortals.

There is no evidence whatsoever of Samskara, it  is no more than what Ghalib described: Dil bahlaaney ko khayaal achha hai (It  is a good idea to befool the mind)

A four-year-old boy, the only child of his  parents was on his way back from school. As usual with children on their  return journey, he was impatient to get back home. Without bothering to look  on either side, he ran across the road and was knocked down by a speeding  truck and killed instantaneously. The truck driver sped away and was never  traced. An innocent life was lost, the man who took his life escaped  punishment. Is there a God? An all-powerful and just God? The Holy Book  promises: “No ills befall the righteous, but the wicked are filled with  trouble” (Proverbs). The Holy Book asks: “Consider, what innocent ever  perished, or where have the righteous been destroyed?” (Job). Let those who  believe in God and in His infinite mercy explain why a child whose parents  had committed no sin had pain inflicted on them and then the man who caused  them suffering went scot free. I will not buy the theory that we pay for sins  committed in a previous life or will be compensated in the life hereafter.

As usual with children on their return journey,  he was impatient to get back home. Without bothering to look on either side,  he ran across the road and was knocked down by a speeding truck and killed  instantaneously. The truck driver sped away and was never traced. An innocent  life was lost, the man who took his life escaped punishment. Is there a God?  An

As usual with children on their return journey,  he was impatient to get back home.

Arvind is an erudite scholar of Hindi.

Every village has its own favourite deities. Even  buildings like High Courts and hospitals have their patron gods and goddesses  to whom offerings are made.

Every village has its own favourite deities. Even  buildings like High Courts and hospitals have their patron gods and goddesses  to whom offerings are made. I pleaded with David Davidar of Viking

No Country has produced as many gods and  goddesses as ours.

That makes sense to me. Or how do you explain  catastrophes like earthquakes and cyclones which take heavy toll of the  innocent, upright and the God-fearing as they do of others? Why are so many  children born blind, retarded or stricken with cancer? When there is so much  injustice and cruelty in the world, why does not Almighty God punish tyrants  and the corrupt? Explanations like paying for deeds done in past lives or  punishments to be meted out in lives to come have no provable rational basis  and should be rejected.

go one step further and hold that his existence  or non-existence is of no consequence to human beings.

That makes sense to me. Or how do you explain  catastrophes like earthquakes and cyclones which take heavy toll of the  innocent, upright and the God-fearing as they do of others? Why are so many  children born blind, retarded or stricken with cancer? When there is so much  injustice and cruelty in the world, why does not Almighty God punish tyrants  and the corrupt? Explanations like paying for deeds done in past lives or  punishments to be meted out in lives to come have no provable rational basis  and should be rejected.

Indeed, in common Punjabi parlance, God is often  described as vadda beparvaah – the Great One who could not care less about  human suffering.

Indeed, in common Punjabi parlance, God is often  described as vadda beparvaah – the Great One who could not care less about  human suffering. That makes sense to me. Or how do you explain catastrophes  like earthquakes and cyclones which take heavy toll of the innocent, upright  and the God-fearing as they do of others? Why are so many children born  blind, retarded or stricken with cancer? When there is so much injustice and  cruelty in the world, why does not Almighty God punish tyrants and the  corrupt? Explanations like paying for deeds done in past lives or punishments  to be meted out in lives to come have no provable rational basis and should  be rejected. So what is the answer? Iyengar does not give one. But from the  way he argues I am inclined to conclude that we do not know whether or not  God exists or ever existed. I go one step further and hold that his existence  or non-existence is of no consequence to human beings. 22/1/2000

the Hindic approach is in the Vishnu Purana: “O!  who can describe him who is not to be apprehended by the senses; who is the  best of all things and the Supreme Soul, self-existent, who is devoid of all  distinguishing characteristics of complexion, caste or the like, and is  exempt from birth, vicissitudes, death or decay; who is always alone; who  exists everywhere and in whom all things here exist; and who is thence named  Vasudev – the resplendent one in whom all things dwell.”

Nevertheless the feeling persists that there must  be someone or some power which created the earth and life on it, and then  take it away we know not where.

Nevertheless the feeling persists that there must  be someone or some power which created the earth and life on

Iyengar starts by asserting that we are nurtured  on religious beliefs from day one as we start imbibing our mother’s milk. By  the time we are old enough to think for ourselves, we are thoroughly brainwashed  into accepting the existence of God and incapable of questioning it.

He was logical, lucid and examined the subject  from different angles.

He was logical, lucid and examined the subject  from different angles. He spelt out his doubts and wrote to the

Most of them are in the form of assertions  without reasons to back them up. I pity and envy them for having blind faith  that God exists.

Since I have often questioned the existence of an  Omniscient (all-knowing), Omnipotent (all-powerful), Just and Merciful God, I  get a lot of letters from believers who denounce me as an ignorant,  self-opinionated man ever bent on mischief-making and provoking controversy.

My top favourites remain the two Bapus – Murari  and Asa Ram. Both have the gift of the gab.

What I find disappointing about these purveyors  of religion and morality, be they Christian, Muslim, Hindu or Sikh, is that  they have nothing new to say because they do not tackle problems of our  times. Have you ever heard any of them tell you of the perils of our  exploding population or the denigration of our environment?

Asa Ram Bapu intersperses his sermons with  humorous anecdotes which raise laughter and clapping.

My top favourites remain the two Bapus – Murari  and Asa Ram. Both have the gift of the gab.

In the evenings, theologians expound meanings of  Gurubani.

You can hear keertan from dawn (amrit vela) to  dusk from the Golden Temple and the morning services from different  gurdwaras.

Some ragis are first-rate

‘Love thy neighbour’

Hoardings came up along major highways exhorting  people to attend church regularly.

Being a non-believer, I find them hilariously  comical.

Being a non-believer, I find them hilariously  comical. I am amazed how antics of evangelists are taken

find them hilariously comical. I am amazed how  antics of evangelists

I watch Pak TV

A Paradox I have not been able to explain is  why in two countries as poles apart as the US and India, religion is good  commerce.

A Paradox I have not been able to explain is  why in two countries as poles apart as the US and India, religion is good  commerce. America is among the richest of the rich nations

A Paradox I have not been able to explain is  why in two countries as poles apart as the US and India, religion is good

Rafiq was apprehensive that I would subvert their  faith in Islam.

Rafiq was apprehensive that I would subvert their  faith in Islam. He

The process of coming to an understanding between  contending faiths has continued.

In India we had Mahavir and Gautama the Buddha.  Neither really accepted the existence of a God but laid down norms of social  behaviour and acquired large followings.

and sought to impose their views on others. In  India we had Mahavir and Gautama the Buddha. Neither really accepted the  existence of a God but laid down norms of social behaviour and acquired large  followings.

Right From the time life began on earth people  have been asking themselves who or what made us, what was his, her or its  purpose, where do we go, when do we die? Nobody has yet been able to give  satisfactory answers to these questions. All we have are assertions about a  God who one fine day decided to create life, gave different creatures  different names, different spans of life and then made them disappear  forever.

Right From the time life began on earth people  have been asking themselves who or what made us, what was his, her or its  purpose, where do we go, when do we die? Nobody has yet been able to give  satisfactory answers to these questions. All we have are assertions about a  God who one fine day decided to create life, gave different creatures different  names, different spans of life and then made them disappear forever. At  first, they conjectured that elements

rules about the direction the entrance gate  should

no rational person can subscribe to theories of  the origin of life or to conjectures of life hereafter put out by different  religious systems

We have in India a growing number of rationalists  who have rejected all beliefs in the occult and the unprovable.

And now we have the craze for Vastu as asinine as  any of the irrational junk to clutter our minds.

Stupid people are impervious to reason.

self-styled godmen in saffron robes.

“The question is not whether there is God or not.  What worries us more is the blind belief in godmen.

“Morals are and have always been independent of  religion. If there are no independent moral standards, religions turn  themselves meaningless. How do we know God is great unless we know what is  God?

“Morals are and have always been independent of  religion. If there are no independent moral standards, religions turn  themselves meaningless. How do we know

Jayakrishna Sahu, an advocate in Orissa, writes  in the recent issue of Indian Skeptic of his dismay at the alarming increase  in the number of “fake swamis, sadhus, babas and gurus”. He goes on to say  “the growth rate of crime and corruption is directly proportional to the rise  in the number of such frauds and charlatans.” Strong words to which I  subscribe.

Take it from me it is hundred per cent rubbish  and sooner our media stop off-loading this nonsense on a gullible people, the  better.

“In the year 1938, one evening, I was going up a  hill near Matunga in Bombay, sunk in thought, quite oblivious of the  surroundings, with rain pouring on my head. There was a purple flower in a  plant in a cleft in a rock: the eye registered it but the brain didn’t, being  otherwise engaged. I sat on a rock and looked back at the flower. “Why,” I  pondered “does a plant have a flower?” The flower is the sexual part of the  plant. Like some animals, flowers exude a powerful and seductive odour when  ready for mating. This attracts a multitude of bees, birds and butterflies to  join in a Saturnalian rite of fecundation. In case, the odour fails to  attract, the flower also has a different colour and produces honey. That is,  it tries every device to get itself fertilized. What beautiful patterns and  variegated hues in the flowers! Flowers that remain unfertilized continue to  emit a strong fragrance for as long as eight days: whereas once impregnated,  the flower ceases to exude its fragrance. “After fertilization, the flower  ceases to exist. It drops off and in its place appears the green stage of the  fruit. When the seed which contains the immortality of the plant is ready for  propagation, the fruit which contains it undergoes a remarkable change. It  changes colour, it emits a scent, and it has an inviting taste so that any of  these qualities may attract a bird or beast to come to the fruit, pick it and  eat it. The seed is enclosed in a hard shell and is often unpleasant to  taste, so the eater of the fruit drops it. Down comes the rain, and from the  seed comes a replica of the plant. The huge banyan tree is contained in a  seed which can be packed thousands to an ounce. The blueprint is there in the  tiny seed. And given the right conditions, the banyan has reproduced itself.  “Am I to understand that a plant that has neither brain nor a nervous system  thought up or evolved this intricate system of propagating itself? No. Even a  Nobel prize winning scientist cannot produce a leaf or a blade of grass in  his laboratory. It is not the plant as we see it that is producing this  marvel. A power beyond our comprehension is manifesting itself through the  plant, through the bee that pollinates its flower, through the bird that eats  the fruit and disperses the seed and as I the observer, who is overwhelmed at  the sudden unexpected insight into the mystery of life.”

“In the year 1938, one evening, I was going up a  hill near Matunga in Bombay, sunk in thought, quite oblivious of the  surroundings, with rain pouring on my head. There was a purple flower in a  plant in a cleft in a rock: the eye registered it but the brain didn’t, being  otherwise engaged. I sat on a rock and looked back at the flower. “Why,” I  pondered “does a plant have a flower?” The flower is the sexual part of the  plant. Like some animals, flowers exude a powerful and seductive odour when  ready for mating. This attracts a multitude of bees, birds and butterflies to  join in a Saturnalian rite of fecundation. In case, the odour fails to  attract, the flower also has a different colour and produces honey. That is,  it tries every device to get itself fertilized. What beautiful patterns and  variegated hues in the flowers! Flowers that remain unfertilized continue to  emit a strong fragrance for as long as eight days: whereas once impregnated,  the flower ceases to exude its fragrance. “After fertilization, the flower  ceases to exist. It drops off and in its place appears the green stage of the  fruit. When the seed which contains the immortality of the plant is ready for  propagation, the fruit which contains it undergoes a remarkable change. It  changes colour, it emits a scent, and it has an inviting taste so that any of  these qualities may attract a bird or beast to come to the fruit, pick it and  eat it. The seed is enclosed in a hard shell and is often unpleasant to  taste, so the eater of the fruit drops it. Down comes the rain, and from the  seed comes a replica of the plant. The huge banyan tree is contained in a  seed which can be packed thousands to an ounce. The blueprint is there in the  tiny seed. And given the right conditions, the banyan has reproduced itself.  “Am I to understand that a plant that has neither brain nor a nervous system  thought up or evolved this intricate system of propagating itself? No. Even a  Nobel prize winning scientist cannot produce a leaf or a blade of grass in  his laboratory. It is not the plant as we see it that is producing this  marvel. A power beyond our comprehension is manifesting itself through the  plant, through the bee that pollinates its flower, through the bird that eats  the fruit and disperses the seed and as I the observer, who is overwhelmed at  the sudden unexpected insight into the mystery of life.”

“In the year 1938, one evening, I was going up a  hill near Matunga in Bombay, sunk in thought, quite oblivious of the  surroundings, with rain pouring on my head. There was a purple flower in a  plant in a cleft in a rock: the eye registered it but the brain didn’t, being  otherwise engaged. I sat on a rock and looked back at the flower. “Why,” I pondered  “does a plant have a flower?” The flower is the sexual part of the plant.  Like some animals, flowers exude a powerful and seductive odour when ready  for mating. This attracts a multitude of bees, birds and butterflies to join  in a Saturnalian rite of fecundation. In case, the odour fails to attract,  the flower also has a different colour and produces honey. That is, it tries  every device to get itself fertilized. What beautiful patterns and variegated  hues in the flowers! Flowers that remain unfertilized continue to emit a  strong fragrance for as long as eight days: whereas once impregnated, the  flower ceases to exude its fragrance. “After fertilization, the flower ceases  to exist. It drops off and in its place appears the green stage of the fruit.  When the seed which contains the immortality of the plant is ready for  propagation, the fruit which contains it undergoes a remarkable change. It  changes colour, it emits a scent, and it has an inviting taste so that any of  these qualities may attract a bird or beast to come to the fruit, pick it and  eat it. The seed is enclosed in a hard shell and is often unpleasant to  taste, so the eater of the fruit drops it. Down comes the rain, and from the  seed comes a replica of the plant. The huge banyan tree is contained in a  seed which can be packed thousands to an ounce. The blueprint is there in the  tiny seed. And given the right conditions, the banyan has reproduced itself.  “Am I to understand that a plant that has neither brain nor a nervous system  thought up or evolved this intricate system of propagating itself? No. Even a  Nobel prize winning scientist cannot produce a leaf or a blade of grass in  his laboratory. It is not the plant as we see it that is producing this  marvel. A power beyond our comprehension is manifesting itself through the  plant, through the bee that pollinates its flower, through the bird that eats  the fruit and disperses the seed and as I the observer, who is overwhelmed at  the sudden unexpected insight into the mystery of life.”

“In the year 1938, one evening, I was going up a  hill near Matunga in Bombay, sunk in thought, quite oblivious of the  surroundings, with rain pouring on my head. There was a purple flower in a  plant in a cleft in a rock: the eye registered it but the brain didn’t, being  otherwise engaged. I sat on a rock and looked back at the flower. “Why,” I  pondered “does a plant have a flower?” The flower is the sexual part of the  plant. Like some animals, flowers exude a powerful and seductive odour when  ready for mating. This attracts a multitude of bees, birds and butterflies to  join in a Saturnalian rite of fecundation. In case, the odour fails to  attract, the flower also has a different colour and produces honey. That is,  it tries every device to get itself fertilized. What beautiful patterns and  variegated hues in the flowers! Flowers that remain unfertilized continue to  emit a strong fragrance for as long as eight days: whereas once impregnated,  the flower ceases to exude its fragrance. “After fertilization, the flower ceases  to exist. It drops off and in its place appears the green stage of the fruit.  When the seed which contains the immortality of the plant is ready for  propagation, the fruit which contains it undergoes a remarkable change. It  changes colour, it emits a scent, and it has an inviting taste so that any of  these qualities may attract a bird or beast to come to the fruit, pick it and  eat it. The seed is enclosed in a hard shell and is often unpleasant to  taste, so the eater of the fruit drops it. Down comes the rain, and from the  seed comes a replica of the plant. The huge banyan tree is contained in a  seed which can be packed thousands to an ounce. The blueprint is there in the  tiny seed. And given the right conditions, the banyan has reproduced itself.  “Am I to understand that a plant that has neither brain nor a nervous system  thought up or evolved this intricate system of propagating itself? No. Even a  Nobel prize winning scientist cannot produce a leaf or a blade of grass in  his laboratory. It is not the plant as we see it that is producing this  marvel. A power beyond our comprehension is manifesting itself through the  plant, through the bee that pollinates its flower, through the bird that eats  the fruit and disperses the seed and as I the observer, who is overwhelmed at  the sudden unexpected insight into the mystery of life.”

“Why,” I pondered “does a plant have a flower?”  The flower is the sexual part of the plant. Like some animals, flowers exude  a powerful and seductive odour when ready for mating. This attracts a  multitude of bees, birds and butterflies to join in a Saturnalian rite of  fecundation. In case, the odour fails to attract, the flower also has a  different colour and produces honey. That is, it tries every device to get  itself fertilized. What beautiful patterns and variegated hues in the  flowers! Flowers that remain unfertilized continue to emit a strong fragrance  for as long as eight days: whereas once impregnated, the flower ceases to  exude its fragrance. “After fertilization, the flower ceases to exist. It  drops off and in its place appears the green stage of the fruit. When the  seed which contains the immortality of the plant is ready for propagation,  the fruit which contains it undergoes a remarkable change. It changes colour,  it emits a scent, and it has an inviting taste so that any of these qualities  may attract a bird or beast to come to the fruit, pick it and eat it. The  seed is enclosed in a hard shell and is often unpleasant to taste, so the  eater of the fruit drops it. Down comes the rain, and from the seed comes a  replica of the plant. The huge banyan tree is contained in a seed which can  be packed thousands to an ounce. The blueprint is there in the tiny seed. And  given the right conditions, the banyan has reproduced itself. “Am I to  understand that a plant that has neither brain nor a nervous system thought  up or evolved this intricate system of propagating

“Am I to understand that a plant that has neither  brain nor a nervous system thought up or

The Taittiriya Upanishad affirms that it is  beyond the reach of speech and thought: Yato vacho nivartante: sprapya manasa  saha. (From where speech returns: even the mind (thoughts) without reaching  it.

Moral: Never make a private pass at a girl who  publicly proclaims her adherence to God.

“How does a young and pretty girl like you get so  deeply involved in the clap-trap of religion?”

conerzed her at a coffee-break and asked her:  “How does a young and pretty girl like you get so deeply involved in the  clap-trap of religion?”

No amount of temple going, chanting mantras and  recitations of scriptures is going to help us from committing mass hara-kiri.

But the more I thought about it later, the more  convinced I was that there was a lot to what he was saying. If we go on  destroying our forests, polluting our streams with noxious wastes and fouling  our air with poisonous fumes of petrol and coal, we are in fact destroying  all that has been given to us – by God or some yet undiscovered power.

He said, somewhat feebly I thought, that the  religion of the future must be concerned with ecology.

people should have and the limits to its  ritualistic observance so that it did not become an imposition on others.

He was evidently after the Marxists. But to  describe the godless as immoral is a gratuitous falsehood. Most men and women  who deny God are to my knowledge more truthful, helpful, kinder and more  considerate in their dealings with others than men of religion.

Most men and women who deny God are to my  knowledge more truthful, helpful, kinder and more considerate in their  dealings with others than men of religion. What surprised me most was that  the youngest and the comeliest of the participants,

People will forget what you said, People will  forget what you did, But people will never forget How you made them feel.

God’s hands shook and we were silent for a while.  Then I asked … “As a parent, what are some of life’s lessons you want your  children to learn?” God replied with a smile, “To learn that they cannot make  anyone love them; what they can do is to let themselves be loved. To learn  that what is most valuable is not what they have in their lives, but who they  have in their lives. To learn that it is not good to compare themselves to others.  “All will be judged individually on their own merits, not as a group on a  comparison basis! To learn that a rich person is not the one who has the  most, but is one who needs the least. To learn that it only takes a few  seconds to open profound wounds in persons we love and that it takes many  years to heal them. “To learn that there are persons who love them dearly,  but simply do not know how to express or show their feelings. To learn that  money can buy everything but happiness. To learn that two people can look at  the same thing and see it totally differently. To learn that a true friend is  someone who knows everything about them … and likes them anyway. To learn  that it is not always enough that they be forgiven by others, but that they  have to forgive themselves.”

God’s hands shook and we were silent for a while.  Then I asked … “As a parent, what are some of life’s lessons you want your  children to learn?” God replied with a smile, “To learn that they cannot make  anyone love them; what they can do is to let themselves be loved. To learn  that what is most valuable is not what they have in their lives, but who they  have in their lives. To learn that it is not good to compare themselves to  others. “All will be judged individually on their own merits, not as a group  on a comparison basis! To learn that a rich person is not the one who has the  most, but is one who needs the least. To learn that it only takes a few  seconds to open profound wounds in persons we love and that it takes many  years to heal them. “To learn that there are persons who love them dearly,  but simply do not know how to express or show their feelings. To learn that  money can buy everything but happiness. To learn that two people can look at  the same thing and see it totally differently. To learn that a true friend is  someone who knows everything about them … and likes them anyway. To learn  that it is not always enough that they be forgiven by others, but that they  have to forgive themselves.”

“As a parent, what are some of life’s lessons you  want your children to learn?” God replied with a smile, “To learn that they  cannot make anyone love them; what they can do is to let themselves be loved.  To learn that what is most valuable is not what they have in their lives, but  who they have in their lives. To learn that it is not good to compare  themselves to others. “All will be judged individually on their own merits,  not as a group on a comparison basis! To learn that a rich person is not the  one who has the most, but is one who needs the least. To learn that it only  takes a few seconds to open profound wounds in persons we love and that it  takes many years to heal them. “To learn that there are persons who love them  dearly, but simply do not know how to express or show their feelings. To  learn that money can buy everything but happiness. To learn that two people  can look at the same thing and see it totally differently. To learn that a  true friend is someone who knows everything about them … and likes them  anyway. To learn that it is not always enough that they be forgiven by  others, but that they have to forgive themselves.” I sat there for a while  enjoying the moment.

God answered: “That they get bored with being  children; are in rush to grow up, and then long to be children again. That  they lose their health to make money and then lose their money to restore  their health; That by thinking anxiously about their future, they forget the  present, such that they live neither for the present nor for the future. That  they live as if they will never die, and they die as if they had never  lived…”

“As a parent, what are some of life’s lessons you  want your children to learn?” God replied

“As a parent, what are some of life’s lessons you  want your children to learn?” God replied with a smile,

God answered: “That they get bored with being  children; are in rush to grow up, and then long to be children again. That  they lose their health to make money and then lose their money to restore  their health; That by thinking anxiously about their future, they forget the  present, such that they live neither for the present nor for the future. That  they live as if they will never die, and they die as if they had never  lived…”

“What surprises you most about mankind?” I asked.  God answered: “That they get bored with being children; are in rush to grow  up, and then long to be children again. That they lose their health to make  money and then lose their money to restore their health; That by thinking  anxiously about their future, they forget the present, such that they live  neither for the present nor for the future. That they live as if they will  never

“What surprises you most about mankind?” I asked.  God

Aruna Kapur of Kolkata has sent me a delightful  little piece of an imaginary interview with God entitled ‘High On Waves’. I  would like to share it with my readers:

the best way to spend your life on earth is to  create something worthwhile which may live after you

no rational person can subscribe to theories of  the origin of life or to conjectures of life hereafter put out by different  religious systems

Dhoondta phirta hoon main as Iqbal apney aap ko

I bade them farewell with their own greeting: ‘Om  Shanti’.

However, I have to concede that I found Brahma  Kumaris and Kumars more at peace with their environment than members of any  of the other cults I have encountered.

(she could marry any Prince Charming of her  choice)

An atmosphere of genial goodwill pervaded the  campus.

Vegetarian food cooked by Brahmakumaris was  wholesome and tasty.

bad people holding wine cups with scantily clad  women ministering to them.

Rarely have I met one who would make me say,  “What a good person his guru has made him!”

the deportment and conduct of their followers.

Consequently, although I study scriptures of all  religions, I do not judge them by the loftiness of their teachings but by the  impact they made on the taught.

It is not very important to find out who was  greater – Rama, Mahavir, Gautama, Christ, Mohammed or Nanak: they were  perhaps equally great, but which community – Hindus, Jains, Buddhists,  Christians, Muslims or Sikhs produced more honest and courageous citizens.

This is utterly lopsided.

When they discuss God or religion, they emphasize  their own religiosity or denigrate others as sanctimonious humbugs; when they  talk of money it will be of their prowess in making it or of the unscrupulous  methods adopted by those who have made more; when it is politics the  undercurrent is always that politics is dirty business because it does not  attract cleaner people like themselves. And when it is sex, although it is  others that we strip naked, what runs though our tittle-tattle about it is  the refrain that given the opportunity we could do better. The I is always  triumphant.

When they discuss God or religion, they emphasize  their own religiosity or denigrate others as sanctimonious humbugs; when they  talk of money it will be of their prowess in making it or of the unscrupulous  methods adopted by those who have made more; when it is politics the  undercurrent is always that politics is dirty business because it does not  attract cleaner people like themselves. And when it is sex, although it is  others that we strip naked, what runs though our tittle-tattle about it is  the refrain that given the opportunity we could do better. The I is always  triumphant.

When they discuss God or religion, they emphasize  their own religiosity or denigrate others as sanctimonious humbugs; when they  talk of money it will be of their prowess in making it or of the unscrupulous  methods adopted by those who have made more; when it is politics the  undercurrent is always that politics is dirty business because it does not  attract cleaner people like themselves. And when it is sex, although it is  others that we strip naked, what runs though our tittle-tattle about it is  the refrain that given the opportunity we could do better. The I is always  triumphant.

Manobuddhi, chittani, Ahamkara naham Chidananda  roopa Shivoham, Shivoham. (I am not the mind, I am neither intelligence nor  egoism I am the joy of intelligence, I am Shiva, I am Shiva.)

the primary source of all evil is the ego, or  ahamkara, the I runs through like a thread in the garland of all our  conversation.

When they discuss God or religion, they emphasize  their own religiosity or denigrate others as sanctimonious humbugs; when they  talk of money it will be of their prowess in making it or of the unscrupulous  methods adopted by those who have made more; when it is politics the  undercurrent is always that politics is dirty business because it does not  attract cleaner people like themselves. And when it is sex, although it is  others that we strip naked, what runs though our tittle-tattle about it is  the refrain that given the opportunity we could do better. The I is always  triumphant.

Since most Indians have sex on their minds rather  than in their groins it finds more expression in speech than in action.

When a catastrophe strikes or things start to go  wrong, God tops. When all is tranquil, money manages to push God down to the  second place. Politics (or the better Indian equivalent partibaazi) is a  national obsession and at election time gets the better of both God and  money. Likewise, sex, though it seldom gets the top ranking (few are willing  to admit that they have sex on their tongues), manages to insinuate itself in  most conversations whether it be about God and religion, money and the status  money brings, politics and partibaazi.

Patriotic Indians be they Muslims, Hindus,  Christians or Sikhs must rally round him and frustrate evil designs of  backward-looking fanatics.

No administration which adheres to secular ideals  should yield to arm-twisting by bullies in the guise of upholders of religion  – mazhab kay theykeydar.

Whatever be one’s views on the subject, there can  be no two opinions on the principle that it is for an individual to affirm or  deny what he believes to be the truth and no one has the right to denounce  another as an infidel.

In common Muslim parlance it refers to people who  deny that Koran is the word of God and Mohammed was His Messenger.

one who hides or covers up the truth.

unthinking mob which makes louder noise and has  more votes.

there was nothing wrong in Muslims abstaining  from eating beef to avoid hurting Hindu sentiment.

In every religious community there are two  distinct groups: one which strives for accommodation with other communities,  the other which asserts its exclusiveness and superiority. Since the first  group preaches peace and reasonableness and the other fanatical intolerance,  the latter makes more noise, is more aggressive and succeeds in creating the  impression that it is the real voice of the people.

[desperatemenministry]

How Much Is Enough?   The Rich Fool  

How Much Is Enough?   The Rich Fool  

Jesus and the Rich Man Series (Part Two)

If the first lesson in this series, The Love of Money, gave some men heartburn, this one will undoubtedly lead to acid reflux!  The story Jesus tells in Luke 12 is (in my opinion) the most troubling of all His discourses on a man and his money.  Most Bibles head it - The Rich Fool - for good reason. 

Before we go there, the Spirit led me to write the following, not as a disclaimer, but a word of truth about “riches used right”.   Being rich is not a sin.  There are wealthy Christian men (need more) who love the Lord first and best. Their giving and philanthropy absolutely reflect that.  They see giving as a “get to” not a “have to”.  They are mindful the Lord has prospered them or allowed them to be prosperous.  It is not their own doing.  They take to heart Jesus’ words that follow the texts used to write this lesson. 

“Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand the more.”  (Luke 12: 48b ESV)

Our hope is Christian men of all means will read this lesson to completion.  However, particular attention should be paid by men of great wealth who have allowed Satan to deceive you into becoming prideful of your accomplishments and all the possessions (toys) collected as a result. 

Justification and rationalization are two of the devil’s best weapons because they are painless at the time of use.  Let this strong reminder or sharp rebuke -whichever fits best- cause you to humble yourself before the Lord and confess, where required, before it is too late, as was the case for the Rich Fool we are about to discuss.     

This sad story begins in what might seem comical if it did not end so tragically.  Two brothers had been arguing over the family fortune. (That never happens today!)  From a crowd, one brother shouted to Jesus, “Make my brother divide the inheritance with me!” Jesus responded sarcastically, “Man, who appointed me judge or arbitrator over you?” 

(The first thing for me that jumped off the page about that exchange was the self-centered arrogance of this brother.  If we were going to make one request of Jesus, would it really be about our inheritance?)

After that initial response, Jesus gave a strong warning about greed to the brother (and those in the crowd).  

“Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.” (Luke 12: 15 NIV)

But He did not stop with that admonition.  As He often did, Jesus told them a parable, and this one would not end well.  Here is the first part of the story. 

“The land of a rich man was very productive.  And he began reasoning to himself, saying, ‘What shall I do, since I have no place to store my crops?’  Then he said, ‘This is what I will do: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods.  And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years to come; take your ease, eat, drink and be merry.”  (Luke 12: 16-19  NASB)

It does not take a mature Christian to read this part of the story and understand the heading, the rich fool. Pay close attention to the words, “he began reasoning with himself”.  Left to our own cunning or the deception of Satan, we can reason ourselves into all kinds of trouble that, on the surface, seems “reasonable”.  Note there was no thankfulness in his heart or inquiring of the Lord to whom he should give or how to best use his excess.  Pride, arrogance, and greed ruled his heart. 

One of the scariest verses in the Bible.  I like the simple translation:

"But God said to him, 'You fool! You will die this very night. Then who will get everything you worked for?'   (Luke 12:20  NLT)

Reasoning with yourself can get you killed.  Note Jesus brings God the Father into the conversation. God calls the rich man a fool.  As if that is not teeth-rattling enough, God tells the man he is going to die that night.  Then comes the sarcasm again. Dead men seldom benefit from the abundance of their possessions or excess.  The bigger barns and all they contain become someone else’s benefit or burden. 

Jesus ended this parable with very troubling words.

 "This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God."   (Luke 12:21  NIV)

 A Business Analysis of a Spiritual Problem - A Statement of Cash Flows 

It seemed appropriate to close this part of the lesson using one of the three basic business statements to analyze the condition of our hearts with regard to the Lord and our wealth/money. 

Source of Funds. In more than forty years of business experience, I have known many wealthy men.  Most are reasonably smart, but not geniuses. Some work harder than their counterparts. Others are pretty average guys.  Their sources of funds (wealth) tend to flow from one of the following buckets: 

Hard work over a career—good at maintaining personal positive cash flow and savings

Created something of value, built a lot of sweat equity, and sold for a lot of money

Born into rich family

Married into rich family

Right place/right time to enjoy stock appreciation based on company success

Note only two of these five relied on their abilities or work ethic to achieve what the world would deem success.  Three of the five could never boast of earning or deserving such favor.  But they received it. 

Use of Funds.  This is where I really run the risk of making men angry if I pick on an area of spending that hits too close to home.  Using categories may help avoid that for now. 

Lifestyle – the level of luxury at which one chooses to live

Toys and Hobbies – stuff from which men (families) draw great pleasure

Philanthropy – contributions to causes we feel strongly about or pressured to support

Investments & Savings – Wealth preservation and growth - Risk Management

Kingdom Building and Expansion – paying it forward in the eternal sense of the concept

Rethinking ASSET ALLOCATION

God gives so that we may enjoy His gifts.  Thankful men of God receive them gladly and use them to also bless others.  The last USE of Funds is the call of every Christian, regardless of financial position—a command, not a suggestion.  The others are decisions men make based on their relationship with God. 

The Lord is weary of affluent Western culture Christians and churches talking about being New Testament churches when we have become indistinguishable – not set apart as He commanded.  He warned Israel, and we saw what their ignoring Him led to.  He warns us today in Revelation. 

NT Christians and their church leaders did not think about lifestyle. They thought about staying alive or being killed for Christ’s sake. They understood modest, even sacrificial, living. 

How much is enough? In a feeble attempt to cover the spectrum of our excesses, let’s ask ourselves: How many sets of clubs and memberships, homes-primary or vacation, cars, guns, vintage wines, clothes, shoes, or other ‘toys’ with which we indulge ourselves can we use or do we really need?  

Gluttony is a popular sin among Christians that has nothing to do with food.

So many needs and causes to support. Wealthy men are hit up for donations from all sides and sources. Discerning among those that have eternal vs temporal value is a wise approach.       

Notwithstanding the fact that Jesus did not own anything or invest/save a dime in His life, rich men must ask this question: What is the best use of capital entrusted to you—put it in high-risk instruments or no-low yield funds. What yields the greatest returns? That leads us to the last USE.

Simple process to the truth. Open your financial management software or ask your accountant to run a cash flow report. Look at the amounts by spend category and see where your heart is.  I say it that way because Jesus did.  “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6: 21)

My dear brothers, this has been a hard lesson.  Thank you for persevering through it.  Now take it before the Lord and ask Him to guide you into the truth He has for you regarding your “treasures”.  That will be the best investment (time) you can make this year!  The final part of this series will follow shortly.  

[bethcanwriteipromise]

Kitschy Metaphors

A Literacy Narrative exploring my life in Forensics, written for University Writing course.

            I had always been destined to speak competitively, but no betting man would have ever pegged me for Extemp.  Even I resisted the pairing. The first Extemp my mother had me give was preluded by an hour of me hunched over in her bathtub, fully clothed, surrounded by files and newspapers, trying to decide between figuring out who the hell Qaddafi was and prying open a second-story window.  I don’t quite know how I ended up in the tub.  The cold marble and safe seclusion helped, but I had made the drowning metaphor physically inescapable.  What intellectual masochism convinced my 13-year-old self to ever indulge in that traumatic process again, I cannot say.  But thank God I did.

           The language of Extemporaneous Speaking had always been a well-kept secret. Extempers were elite, travelling in gangs with giant tubs of files resting on sleek dollies, Italian leather clacking along a foreign high school’s hall tiles.  If you sat and observed them long enough, you’d notice a tendency for them to walk like a backslash, \, leaning back against each step and leading with their hips.  No one very much liked the Extempers, who were too dry for the Interpers and too cocky for the Debaters.  

           I still remember the laughter from Mr. Rocca when I asked him if I could try my hand at Extemp at an upcoming tournament.  If a fat, greased, pot-bellied pig were magically made human and forced to coach a high school forensics team, that would give you Mr. Christopher Rocca.  Wait, no. The pig might be less sexist.  When Rocca heard my request, he boomed out a laugh so forceful that the two flecks of pasta in his beard became crossly dislodged. He did me the favor of explaining that as a freshman girl competing as the sole Extemper from her team, I would never ever stand a chance against the hordes of boys from Durham Academy and Ardrey Kell. I was better off sticking to an event better suited for my “demographic,” like Children’s Literature or Storytelling.

       It was then that I decided to succeed in Extemp.

      As much as I hated to admit it, Rocca did have a point—competing as the only Extemper on my team meant I would have to figure this thing out from scratch, and I certainly would not be using him for help.  My mother was one of the best Interp coaches on the East coast, but as the bathtub incident had proved, she and I were not a compatible fit for Extemp coaching.  So, I set off to coach myself.  I spent weeks on extempcentral.com, reading and rereading the rules.  Thirty minutes before speaking, you draw three current events-based questions, choose one, and return to your seat.  The questions could be anything from anywhere with no warning, from a Congressional fiscal sequester to a migrant crisis in Malaysia. The next half hour is for preparation, using files, magazines, and news sources all saved preemptively—no internet. Then, at thirty minutes, you walk to a room, present your topic slip before a judge, and give a 5-7 minute memorized, fluent, sourced, theoretically entertaining speech that, above all, answers your question.  No big deal.

       For my first tournament, Southside, I stumbled into the prep room armed with two issues of The Economist, one Time magazine, and a travel dictionary.  First round I got lucky, drawing a Libya question I could tie back to Qaddafi from the bathtub.  By lucky, I mean I recognized the name.  It was still an atrocious speech, but the easy room yielded me second place in the round.  Second round was not so kind.  My entire question read “David Cameron: friend or foe?”  One issue—I had no clue who the heck David Cameron was.  Now, in retrospect, I realize how incredibly English that name sounds, and that I probably should have started with my England articles and would have in doing so immediately discovered that he was the prime minister, but, alas, I was panicking.  See, when I began competing in Extemporaneous speaking, my strength was my ability to craft kitschy metaphors that made these big, scary political concepts fun and comprehensible.  Granted, that only worked if I found them comprehensible.  My greatest weakness was my total lack of the knowledge foundation needed for quicker connections and deeper analysis.  Needless to say, I placed last in that round and the one after it.

       As the season continued, I got better—not great, but better.  I started actually reading the magazines I was toting along, and my file tub began to grow rapidly.  I wasn’t winning, but I wasn’t losing, which was enough to unsettle Durham boys. Through the winter and spring months I established my presence as an Extemper on the circuit.  My cheesy, fun metaphors were getting attention, some supportive, some hostile, but all publicity is good publicity.  By the time the third day of the state tournament came along, they all knew my name.

       A dedicated Extemper, I had invested in my own dolly—my own hot pink dolly—and had wheeled my supplies into the corner of a Marvin Ridge computer lab being used as our elimination rounds prep room.  I unloaded my stacks of magazines, placed my lucky stuffed dolphin at the edge of my workstation, and opened my padfolio to a fresh page.  “STATE FINALS: AFRICA,” I wrote at the top, forever thankful that the round topic had been released in advance. Draw began, and the clock ticked by.  I was sixth and final speaker, so I had 35 minutes to wait. I flipped through The Economist, arranged and rearranged my color coded highlighters, and nervously binged on winter fresh mints.  At last, I was called up to draw.  

       As I stared down at the three topics I was to choose between, every muscle in my body tensed up. It was David Cameron all over again. Two of the three had specific names of people I could never place, no familiarity, zero, zilch. The third was not much better.  I carefully turned over the first two, picked up my little slip of paper, and began the mental preparation for another crash and burn.  This time it would be worse.  This time there would be a whole panel of judges and student observers.  Everyone would see.

           I didn’t know how I would do it, but I realized that I had to make this work.  I gave the topic another reread. “Has the AU responded appropriately to the coup in Mali?”  I had two initial questions—what is a coup, and who is the AU?  Relieved, I remembered the travel dictionary I still kept at the bottom of my tub.  I unburied it, cracked the spine, and found the COU-s. Cougar, Country, County, Couscous. Couscous.  My dictionary had “couscous” but not “coup?” It was time for every lesson I had ever learned on context clues to kick in.  I searched through my Africa files and found two, short Economist articles about Mali, one of which discussed the coup.  It wouldn’t define it for me, but I had enough information to gather that it was some sort of government redistribution, a rebellious takeover.  Now that I had made this uncanny conclusion, I had only 12 minutes left.  

        “Think, think. What do you know about Africa?”

         Africa.  Africa had had a lot of violent overthrows lately.  Libya.  Okay. I could talk about how the AU could not possibly have responded to the coup appropriately because the most appropriate response would have been to prevent it in the first place, to look at what was happening everywhere else and take proactive action instead of coming in afterwards.  I could tie it together with a metaphor—cookies!  If you’ve got a child who is set on having a cookie, and I mean downright determined, the appropriate response is to get the child to exhibit some good behavior and reward them with the cookie.  If you simply refuse the request and leave them alone in the kitchen, they’ll find a way to knock the cookie jar off the shelf, sending porcelain splinters all over the kitchen and leaving you with a dangerous mess to clean up. If the people of Mali were set on a change in government, the AU should have incentivized and facilitated a peaceful transition.  Instead, no help came to Mali and a violent coup occurred.

        Two minutes. Two minutes left.  Now I had only one final question—who the hell was the AU? AU… AU… AU… One minute.  Screw it, I knew who the EU was, and this was the Africa round. African Union.  I would say African Union.  My speaker code was called and I rose to leave the prep room, stepping into my heels and petting the dolphin for luck.  Down the hall, I entered the competition room.  Time froze for about seven minutes as I gave my speech. I barely remember what actually happened in the room, but I will never forget what happened when I left it—I stopped the first Extemper I saw, asked him what the AU was, and when he said “African Union,” I swear I heard the African Children’s Choir sing me a hymn.

        I ended up placing third, which was shocking and awesome, but it wasn’t the best part of that day.  The grand, unforgettable moment was in prep, with my stupidly cheesy cookie metaphor and context clue dependence, when I realized that I didn’t have to be some uptight know-it-all to give a powerful Extemporaneous speech.  It is irrefutably important to be politically smart in the event, yes, and I have continued to work at that in the years since.  But it doesn’t matter how deep your analysis is if no one can understand it but you.  That’s what my judges wrote on my ballots that day.  That even if my depth was lacking, my speech made sense.  They got the cookie jar metaphor, and it made the speech fun, “waking them up” after having already watched five Extemps in a row. That it was worth watching.

        In my senior year of competition, sometimes I forgot.  My speeches were highly analytical and extremely well sourced, but I forgot to have fun with a particular round, or didn’t use a metaphor in the next.   Whenever that happened, I would think back to the cookie jar.  The fun.  The look on Rocca’s face when I held up my third place trophy, or the young freshman girls I saw braving the prep room the next year.  In my senior year state finals, I compared Robert Mugabe to Taylor Swift, with the “blank space” on his VP ballot, the political “haters” he needed to “shake off,” and how he and his party were “never ever ever getting back together.” At nationals, Indonesia’s government was Batman, Putin a zookeeper. The metaphors and spunk that week in Texas carried me to the top 12 in the nation.  Rocca congratulated me afterwards, some new pasta dish woven into his mustache.  

         After these years of competition in Extemp, I think it is the things that are hardest to do that are the most important.  Even if you have to start by gripping the side of a bathtub, swallowing back the nerves lodged in your windpipe, you must start.  Otherwise, the Roccas and the Durham boys and the clock all win.  Beat them!  And do it with kitschy metaphors.  That is what I tell the Extempers I coach today.