Hear Heart’s Hymns

Used for Blog Post by wakenshine.com

There is a voice within that natters to us. Occasionally it’s a persistent prattle that jars our nerves. At other times, it is the voice that guides us through troubled times.


What is this inner voice? Is it actually the divine talking to us? Or is it the celestial that is within us? Does this voice exist among the terrorists, murderers, and other anti-social elements?


Sigmund Freud called it the Super Ego chatting with us. Some call it the God within. Others say it’s a 'gut feeling'. Sadly, there are plenty in the world today who are hard of hearing their inner voice.


The voice of reason essentially means that every person has some goodness and astuteness in them. Even before committing an act of crime for a split second, the heart stops, the mind recoils, the blood recedes from even those who are deaf to the inner voice. Just like we get habituated to narcotics, alcohol and other substance of dependence, people tend to under-hear the tune within as a habit. Those who are deaf need to overhaul their spiritual self.


Why? Because being hearing-impaired by choice to the power of self-reasoning is preposterous!


Every learned man, all spiritual or religious text requests its readers to look deep within where all the answers rest- the answer to illness, grief, triumph, and harmony. Let's try to take note of that little voice within. I am sure it is whispering the happiest and purest phrases into our spirits, hearts, and intellect.



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Art of Missing

Art Of Missing Blog Post Author: Kleio B'wti ©www.wakenshine.com, 2017.

"Not seeing you is like not breathing. I see dead leaves everywhere. The red rose looks black and crumpled to my eyes. They pain, yet no tear runs through these dry sockets I use to see the world with. The delicious smell of yours that makes my world fragrant is now an odorless, clinical place. I wish I could run these miles in a second and you could glove me up with a surprised glee in your strong arms. Maybe, I am talking too much. I am not sure, though, if these three simple and overly used words would communicate what I truly feel.


Yet, I shall try-I MISS YOU!"


Alone, bereft, emotional, sad, insomniac ache are the symptoms of throbbing for someone’s presence. Some compensate ‘missing’ with ice-cream, hot chocolate, some cake or pudding. In other words, they replace the absent individual with calories devouring comforting food. The number of people hitting the pubs and drinking themselves insane, usually attribute the impulse to the 'Act of Missing' someone they love, as well.


As Jeremy Sherman has pointed out in his blog, 'missing' isn’t always being sad.


Giving up something unwanted or unpleasant 'a miss' does sound like a wise choice sometimes. Most importantly, when someone becomes a part of one's environment, he/she ends up influencing the other. Humanity is about connections- good or bad ones. When something good exits one's immediate universe, it pains, yet when an unpleasant stimulus gets deleted from one's vicinity it brings a reprieve.


Yet every wise man, poet or philosopher ends up ‘missing someone badly’. Poetry on longing, unrequited love, betrayal, the guilt of deception, reminiscence, and longing are different shades of nostalgia dealing with the central omitted emotion that binds the poet to the cherished.


A fragment from 'My River' by Emily Dickinson goes like this: My River runs to thee. Blue sea, wilt thou welcome me? My river awaits a reply. Oh! Sea, look graciously.


She makes an indirect reference to that special someone. She awaits his reply and desires to join him, in that emotional sea; to mesh herself with this person she loves. While only the creative minds write poems and music about the person being remembered, the feeling is universal.


That pang of pain, that sudden stopping of mind, that literal heartburn, those misty eyes, the lonely nights, and that sullenness of the early sun distresses every abandoned soul; suffer the pang of longing. It's because the one who moves on leaves us, goes on a business tour or vacation takes that major chunk of the heart where love dwells. Essentially stingy, they leave behind just a wisp of themselves. That big piece of love that can keep one warm during those long wakeful nights, that caress when the nightmares knock, that makes the mornings brilliant, the days agile is never shared by the miser.


The ‘Art of Missing’ is that mushy feeling of passion that makes one ardent until their love returns. Love is a crazy feeling. It is the wackiest when it cannot be instantly articulated.


Brian Adam's points out in his song; only when someone leaves, only then one really understands the feeling of being in love. A love that is hopeless, irrevocable, absolute.


Author: Kleio B'wti

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Rodent Repartee

'Rodent Repartee' Short Story Author: Kleio B'wti ©www.wakenshine.com, 2017.

Von, the squirrel always took the corner.


It was the best place to collect nuts as there were those shady trees whose branches leaned on the building- a welcome shade during the grueling day’s work. His sack was only full by one-fourth and winter was quickly approaching!


The squirrel’s giving heart overpowered his sense of worldliness. Often, the other squirrels tricked him to part with his loot with a sob story. The squirrel’s competitors thus hoarded more worked less, thanks to the squirrel at the corner. 


Things were calm and ordinary at the bend until a white mouse arrived. She had the most manicured nails, a shiny nose, and a springy tail. She had all the trimmings of ‘the lady in the manor’ yet strangely she was out to gather provisions for the winter. Initially, she took any place she’d find on the pavement.


Come the fourth day, she stepped hard on the squirrel’s foot. While he was hopping in pain, the mouse took his spot!  The mouse devised the cheapest tricks to seize Von’s position daily! No other squirrel came to help Von. Not once did they think to pay Von’s kindness with support. 


As winter approached, the other squirrels had enough to last them until the next spring. The mouse had sacks full of supplies. Von still had his sack unfilled. With the first flake of snow, the squirrels scuttled into their warm burrows.


Von had nowhere to go.


He had been so busy collecting scarcely available munchies that he had forgotten to get himself a place to stay during winter. Down-and-out, Von retired to his beloved place, the vacant corner. The Mouse too had vanished into thin air with her plunder as the snowflakes danced a pristine dream in white. 


All the frozen squirrel could do to keep warm was to get inside his sack and hide among the food he had collected. While he shivered, the chill was bearable inside. Days flitted into nights. Von remained in his quickly dwindling heap of rations. Then one night the icy winter wind sang its eeriest tune, the snowfall became a dense torture, leaving Von in uncontrollable shivers.


When he heard the tiny teeth gnawing, he thought it was his dental chatter. When he felt his sack move, he thought it was his remains’ tremble. But when the warmth of the fire, reached him through the crackling nuts in his provisions, he mustered his last bit of curiosity to peep through the holes in the sack. What he saw finally froze him in disbelief!


The white mouse, in the prettiest of all mouse dresses, peeped back through the holes and ordered, “Get out now! Your cheap thrills in the snow are a misadventure! You have to live coz I still have to steal your corner next spring.”


Von decided the best treatment for hallucination is to discount a response.


The mouse now squealed, “Get out you squirrel or else I will pour the warm broth I cooked for you into your sack and burn you!”


Von retorted with a snort, “Okay! Okay! No cheap thrills, at my expense- My Lady!”


Author: Kleio B'wti

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