Story & Mental Well Being

We naturally think of our own lives as stories, psychologists say. Changing the way you tell your scan help you handle whatever plot twists
come your way.
Jennifer King Lindley

 We all enjoy a good story. Listening to tales growing up, be it about a mythological character or a real life character always keeps us engrossed. We are glued to our TV sets & run to Movie halls for the same reasons. Facebook & Twitter owe their success to our penchant for stories.

Stories are how we naturally conceive of our own lives as well. “Our lives are so complex that we need some way to make sense
of them,” says Jonathan Adler, PhD, a professor of psychology at Olin College of Engineering in Needham, Massachusetts.
“When we construct a narrative, it allows us to hold on to the important parts, filter out the trivial, and find a meaningful

pattern in it all.”

Our daily life becomes mundane with routine activities. however we forget that we are the protagonists & the narrator of a significant tale: our life story. The only hinderance to our appreciating the significance of our stories is that we are not reliable interpreters or narrators. When we are upset, we paint a grim picture with same incidents that otherwise would not have bothered us. we lose focus and tend to revolve in circles.

Researchers at Northwestern University found that people who tend to tell their stories with GRIM colours (Contaminated stories) are low on mental well being than those that weave stories with a "Silver Lining"

slight paraphrasing, a change of tone; to our story can help us become happier, develop better relationships & achieve more success. 

POINTS TO PONDER

Article source: Power of a story (Real Simple)

Keh Mukariya By Amir khusro

The name Amir Khusro is unknown to none. 
Presenting a beautiful art of keh - mukariya or "guess what" poetry by the Father of Qawwali.

The Etiquettes of A Fall

I always took the safer road, the slow lane, the vacant seats.

Played Safe.

And then once, the safest traveler takes a leap, not as much a leap of faith, as give in to wilderness, the unshackling… a feeble and rare endeavor to experience proclivity.

One night I found myself, on the edge of insanity, engulfed in murk, and on the side of a road completely unknown. My vision blurred, (mostly because I’d lost my spectacles), and an echo blared in my ears as if all my ancestors (dead and undead) chose that very moment to knock some sense in to me by literally knocking on my eardrums; in unison.

Yes, I had erred, faltered monstrously (pun intended) and slipped.

Now, the difference between a pusillanimous prude and an oblivious derelict is how he deals with the “slip”, the etiquette of brushing off the dust from his body with a thousand pair of ostensibly vigilant but actually amused eyes tracing all his moves.

While the indiscretions of a recurrent errant train him to such performances; wherein his expertise enables him to do the same with the kenspeckle of the star performer; rendering him an “Artful Dodger”; the novice slipper feebly attempts to shroud himself in diaphanous cloak of discomfiture. Every moment, with every movement the latter remains agonizingly aware of the fall.

And so was I. New to the art of dodging eyes; the flush of shame ripe and reflecting profusely. Palpitations intensified. What have I done! Where could I have slowed down! And yet I knew the palpitations were knocking and forcing open the doors. And then I did the only thing I do under stress.

Sitting on the raw shingle, dry grass tickling my sole, and prodding eyes feigning to sympathy; I wrote a poem in my newly found state of exploit. Here it goes:

Other-worldly words.... Japanese (1): Waldeinsamkeit

There are three things one must know about TRADITIONAL Japanese art; the beliefs and aesthetics of The Japanese:

• ·         They find beauty in the most simplest of daily rituals, phenomenon and occurrences.

• ·         They have the ability to capture and express this abstract beauty in most phenomenal and spectacular manner.

• ·         Each of these representations has a spiritual and moral connection that leaves a tangible mark on its audience.

Stressing the word ‘TRADITIONAL’ is important because as technology has rendered obsolete the concept of distance and time; time no more flies with wings… it comes knocking at your doorstep even before the first rays of dawn and carries in to a virtual world that becomes reality as the reality fades away. So Japanese art too has undergone commercialization and yet; unlike other cultures the tenets have in some measures been preserved.

Before proceeding further, I must clarify that I am neither an expert of Japanese art nor a student. However just like a wrong note makes a rhythm cacophonous (and you don’t need to be an artiste to identify it), “a thing of beauty is joy forever”; so it is with all art form.

Japanese Author Hiromu Arakawa says,

"Nothing is perfect, the world's not perfect. But its there for us, trying the best it can; and thats what makes it so damn beautiful".

Now if I am not an expert, what gives me authority to write about Japanese art!!!

One: my page is about opinions, primarily mine (you are welcome too).

Two: I was pulled in to it as I set out on a journey to explore the outworldly words.....initiated as a humble thought to expand my vocabulary in an attempt to make it more ornate 😉
😉

So today I came across the word "Waldeinsamkeit".

In absence  of an accurate alternative English phrase or for that matter an approximate explanation in any language, I would be using multiple modes (images, poems, and abstract art) to build an understanding of this beautiful feeling.

For those who have already experienced it.... well enjoy the deja vu 😇😇 .  
For me, its a longing I have met before... and continue to long for.

 

Now just close your eyes, relinquish all other divagation, 'vacate the vessel' and let the void prevail.

Listen to the rustle, the leaves brushing against each other..... 

The distant trickle of water, and a mild breeze.... a whiff and a waft on the skin.

Now listen to the distant trickle of water; an incessant chatter of birds......

Now Imagine a light, a narrow but bright beam brushing past the leaves, filtering thought your eyelids. Imagine multiple similar drizzles of rays. All percolating through your thoughts instilling a tranquility. A Quiet noise. A tree with leaves hidden in the light that illuminates it. And now glance at the ground beneath you; see the shadows.... seek the shapes visible among the shadows.

Ending the word with a beautiful poem, the closest I could get in an attempt to seize on the amazing perception of Waldeinsamkeit.......

The Sheer Benefits of Swearing: Art and Objective

It was the resplendent night of December 31st, 2016; the last night of the year wrapping up its affairs. The glitz and glamour of the stars on that deserted sky was a perspective waiting to be painted as masterpieces, sung as wistful melodies, and  uninhibited cavort. the place.... Mhow; every army wife's definition and description of paradise. Why? I'll cover that epic saga later.
Idyllic.... Shangri La (again pun unintended)
and yet I was upset; to put it mildly. On that night of New Year Eve, I was in fact desolate, miserable and tenebrous despite the glitz and glam engulfing me. Why because FAMILY....  on that significant, commercially detonating eve; I was all alone. Sans family, sans friends,. Acute case of stimulus hunger, recognition hunger and structural hunger; so starved in every possible way. Actually now as I think about it, so were my taste buds; and those who know me are well aware this invokes an inimical persona I happen to resemble. But that seemed trifle in comparison to the other "starvations" i was tormented with. 
Now tears come easy to me, like my husband, totally at beck and call. But that night was the night of abandonment.... so my tears followed suit. They didn't turn up.
So I thought; and then reflected, and I researched..... and then finally came the Eureka moment.
Eureka for me spelled as Lalochezia. (lal'ō-kē'zē-ă)
The medical dictionary defines it as, Emotional discharge gained by uttering indecent or filthy words [G. lalia, speech + chezo, to relieve oneself].
The source was a very interesting book: Black Sheep: the hidden benefits of being bad BY Richard Stephens

Mr. Stephens predicament was just one: 

"Why people swear in response to pain?"

Intrigued, I found company in the journey of Mr. Stephens, fuelled by my own disinterest in my situation.

So There were 3 researches that he conducted before he found an answer befitting his endeavour. 

Premise: Swearing results from "disinhibition". almost like intoxication; ideas we may consider gauche, inappropriate, garbage in a pool of muck; may begin to flow like a clear creek.

Research:

1. Swearing reduces pain perception during "ice bucket challenge" accelerates heart rates, produces "stress induced analgesia" which forms a part of our 'fight or flight' response.

2. Daily or habitual swearing reduces the analgesic impact of swearing.... so like all other NSAID, swearing should not be practised on a daily basis, but should be activated only during really stressful situations.

3. Aggression leads to increased pain tolerance. So when you swear as a response to aggression or vice versa, your heart rate remains elevated for longer and hence your pain tolerance continues for a longer duration. 

In nutshell, swearing enhances aggression, sets off the flight or flight response and thus helps withstand pain..... and that is the story of Lalochezia

Having done with the terminology, I take the liberty to get back to my story. 
So on that dreary and desolate night of December 31, 2016; I took a new year resolution.... a worthwhile one in a long time..... and one I  manage to consistently try to pursue even though its 5th month of the year. I enrolled myself for an intensive course on choicest profanities; to use and misuse in times of dire need. I swear to swear with abandon before the next  resplendent new year eve arrives.

Cicero's Redamancy

The word that’s been recurring in my prefrontal cortex since yesterday is redamancy. So I decide to get rid of it; drag and drop it to the Hippocampus. At least put a pin on it and see if it stays.

Redamancy is a latin word, one of many beautiful words we owe to Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero), a Roman politician and lawyer. I think these are the two professions that indisputably carry the gift of gab, and are licensed to contort and chisel language as they choose to. So Cicero by sheer virtue of his talent augmented by his profession evolved in to one of the greatest orators of first century B.C. Rome. 

Quintilian (Marcus Fabius Quintilianus), Roman rhetorician, asserted that Cicero was 'not the name of a man, but of eloquence itself'. and here in lies the origin of two more words that can 'indirectly' be attributed to Cicero: 

Ciceronian: eloquence &

Cicerone: local guide

Coming back to redamancy or "the act of loving in return", originates from classic latin word "redamo" meaning "I requite love"

The root word is "red" (pun unintended). 'Red' here means 'response'; an archaic form of "re", which preceded a vowel (the word for which btw is PREVOCALIC); indicates 'response'  in contemporary English.

so red becomes the root word of many such words as:

Redact: To censor, or to black out or remove parts of a document; edit

Redigere/ Redigo: to lead back, to reduce to a certian state (red: back + agere: to put in motion)

Redivivus: to revive or to bring back to life (my personal favourite after redamancy)

Redintegro: to restore or to renew

Redeem: From Redimo meaning buy back, and also rescue

Ending with a beautiful thought by Cicero:

Love (amor) from which the word 'friendship' (amicitia) is derived, not the other way around.

Point to ponder

Bbye, or as it's said in Latin ........ Vale

a love like none other

There isn't a heart 
that grows apart
and "alters when alterations finds."
To quote Shakespeare,
 and all our fears, 
that grows within
though remain sublime.

The affections and affectations 
of soul and mind.
The ardor that always abides.
I desist, it impels;
I deride, it excels.
It is myself; the other kind,
the true love, the redamancy.
I love me, like me, like none other,
my nit; my wit;
my virtues, my vice;
that nurture me and seldom falter.
it is my self; my inner self.

Beginning of a journey: EQ

One of the biggest tragedies of my life was having siblings, 1; and 2, having an excellent bonding with them. The two siblings that I have, fulfilled almost every emotional need I encountered in my life; especially that of a friend. In fact like a true friend I found them holding a gun in my every fight; and like a family holding a magnifier to all my faults. And I earnestly believe that finding closest friends in your siblings can be quite unfortunate; primarily because you end up with those people as friends with whom you happen to share not just your strengths and weaknesses; successes and failures; but also childhood, clothes, parents and even genes. If that does not make life complicated what does!!! So it wasn’t strange that none of us siblings made “many” friends outside the family circle. But we did make a few. And this is where it gets weird. We pulled the best friends we had in the family circle… or as I choose to call it now, the scare sphere. We married our respective best friends. So now we actually don’t know what skeletons may tumble down the closet, which annoying potty training incident may become a topic of detail discussion at family gatherings.

So it came as a revelation to me, a moment of reevaluation for all my life choices; when my baby brother (he actually turned 32 last year); remarked that I have a low EQ. And; the next one remarking that “sis has improved on it now”. And all this as a prequel to a family gathering; on a conference call planning it. So this is why I call the “sibling bonding” as unfortunate. Because now I find myself looking for the term EQ; and reading this heavy (both literally and figuratively) book on EQ.

and so I begin, a journey to understand and "improve" EQ:

THE QUEER BENEFITS OF IGNORANCE

Just a thought

Being clueless absolves one of responsibilities of all kinds, just as being insane protects one from being condemned for socially unacceptable behavior and courtesies (or the lack of it). What you have no knowledge of, you cannot be held accountable for. Knowledge, on the other hand, traps you. Well, of course it gives you power. Power to choose, power to make informed decisions and power to make a change. But then you are also liable to choices you make, you cannot shrug responsibility for the decisions you take (remember, they happen to be informed), and you are accountable for all changes that your actions cause; since these changes are not inadvertent. Unlike a clueless individual you are answerable to ALL. So now, you are not free to make mistakes. In fact you are constantly under pressure to perform, to maintain standards and to never err; and if you do, stay prepared to be penalized. In short, you are trapped in a prison of rules, stigmas, standards; all under the preconceived notion that you are aware of them, comprehend them, and are competent to live up to them. Where then is the power! The true power in effect lies with the ignorant, just as theirs is eternal bliss. Whether they will inherit the Earth; quite likely. After all with knowledge comes power and with power, responsibility (remember). AND close on the heels follows stress and related inflictions. Disparaging, but the thought just came.

REBOOT

A dream is yet to be born,

I dare which eludes accomplishment.

A dream I cannot carry

to fulfillment, to achievement.

A dream that would make too heavy,

a heart lightened by bereavements.

Because I've lived a life...........

lived by default.

Death did come,

but could never halt

The life that was;

springing forth and bubbling charm.

THE HUMAN MIND

Sometimes callous,
sometimes tender;
sometimes stoic,
and sometimes perturbed.


Sometimes kindling,
sometimes nemesis;
sometimes pellucid,
sometimes turbid.


Sometimes its beauty
casts a spell;
sometimes its ugliness,
shames and repels.


Enchanting, repulsive;
spiritual, seductive;
selfish, yet selfless;
soothing, but corrosive.


Emotions ephemeral,
perceptions plethoric.
Sometimes sanguine,
sometimes derelict.


Sometimes astute,
sometimes blind;
the abysses and the shallowness,
of the HUMAN MIND

YOU.......

Your life today is a success saga;
told, retold and oft applauded.
Or a montage misplaced , forlorn;
even torn and never vaunted.
Endowed by souls known, unknown;
shadows, silhouettes, blurring and gone.

There is no say,
           there is no bar;
on what might clout your heart.

But the reminiscences treasured are your art.
Your selection your collage.

What you choose to portray,
what you choose to forgo,
colour your life as a rainbow,
or enshroud it in shadows.
You are the aisle,
you are the support.
You are the crafty creator,
of the hues that shape YOU.

The Fib Lived.......

A fib survived and severed apart,
the reminiscences of faith and fondness.
I lived the lie and plunged across,
the abysmal turbulence, the callousness.
Censure, guilt, remorse waves
live on and lash across the years.
And I realize,
it wasn't a fib after all.
It still breathes within me,
abler than the truth that engulfed.

मैं ...............

बरस जाऊं तो मेघ हूँ

तरस जाऊं तो सजल बनूँ

चपल चंचल ज्यों पतंग

सरल शीतल जैसे चन्द्र

ह्रदय है विषुवत का वन

नैन पारदर्शी घन

समुद्र सी शांत स्थिरता

रत्नों से बनी सरिता

ये दो पृष्ठों की पुस्तक

हर पृष्ठ में शत सप्तक

गहन अंधकार के मध्य

प्रज्वलित लौ एक दिव्य

ये उस लौ की संरक्षिनी

ये है जीवनदायिनी

बस एक अबल अक्षम स्त्री

या सबल सक्षम सृष्टि.

 

           

    

कुछ सपने, कुछ यादें

कुछ सपने, कुछ यादें

कुछ भंवर जाल सी राहें;

बुने हुए थे,

चुने हुए थे,

किस्से हमने सुने हुए थे.

पलकों के पीछे से रिस कर,

कक्षा के कुछ चंचल बालक,

 मीठी दूब का स्वाद परखने,

नीले नभ का व्यास आंकने,

कुछ धुंधले; कुछ श्याम सुनहरे.

जल तरंग संग बाँध की मिटटी.

शीत ऋतू की कंटक बूँदें.

विष बाण सी कुछ बेधती,

गुदगुदाती, कुछ सुलगाती,

कुछ बिन कारण ही टटोलती.

मानस के आनिन्द्य पटल पर 

कुछ सपनें, कुछ यादें,

कुछ भंवर जाल सी राहें.  

      

 

 

Shackles of Desires

Why does life try us,
in myriad modes and ways?
Why does it pine,
for one that's astray?

Desires beacons, glitter, glow,
impish twinkles of far off stars.
Softly cuddling, kindling,
pushing sealed doors ajar.

Are they Angels or the rays,
or a mob of puckish elves?
Behold the spell on saner minds,
till they know no sense, no self.

Why is melody voice of one,
yen is what the one desires?
The only vision eyes of one,
 those eyes like purging pyre.

Slumber, an estranged ally,
her destination your proximity.
Hold me close, send her back,
unshackle my sagacity.

Mercy God of all desires,
cease this baneful game.
Isn’t your niche that far off star
isn’t love thy name?