Category Archives: Short Stories

Short Stories {9} ~ Desert Rose, Ages Of Souls

Adina, a desert tribal girl, had been sent to venture out into the dunes with her friends from the local tribe confederation along with two tanned stealthy dogs {to ward off any intruders of the Deasian lands.} The group were scanning their surroundings for the Desert Rose, the first to discover the rose would find the secrets to the age of their soul, whispered to them through telepathic plant intelligence.

The group knew eachother well, there wasn’t so much competitiveness yet Adina could converse with the universe like no other in the tribal lands. Adina was born with a scared gift, she could commune with nature and the mother Gaia. Adini silently walked along the dusty dunes feeling the energy of the desert rose. This taurus astrological girl was well read and had been homeschooled by her parents teaching her the ways of the land. Her mother, who she was very close to, had given her pieces of information before she left on the quest to find the answer to her soul age. In the back of her mind her mother’s voice echoed Adenium obesum is a poisonous species of flowering plant belonging to tribe Nerieae of subfamily Apocynoideae of the dogbane family, Apocynaceae, that is native to the Sahel regions, south of the Sahara, and tropical and subtropical eastern and southern Africa and Arabia. Remember you are an old soul, you know how to feel your way. The Desert Rose plant spirit will appear to the ones who psychically feel their way to her.”

The group split into pairs and would meet by the only green oasis in the desert once the answer had been found.

Adini walked along with Jamal, a boy she was very fond of and would talk to him on a regular basis. Although their relationship had become strained through long distances of family migration, they were united again.

“Jamal,” Adini gently spoke as they walk side by side, sweat dripping from their clothes. “Have some water, here.” Adini took out a bottle of water from her satchel which Jamal gulped down eagerly. “They say life is a “journey,” a “school” and is here to teach us “important lessons.” But why?” asked Adini to Jamal. Jamal shrugged his shoulders and looked on into the endless horizon of sand; he wasn’t interested, he was too hot to talk.

“Have you ever considered the possibility that the lessons we learn and wisdom we accumulate in this life, extends into other lives? Is it perhaps possible that our life is not the only journey of experience, advancement and maturing – but the whole of conscious existence is?” Adini mused navigating her way, feeling the pull of the Desert Rose spirit.

“Adini, I’m going to wait here by this tree, I believe in you. You will find it, you have the capabilities and faculties of the mind to,” Jamal said gasping for breath, steading himself against the tree. “Jamal, I promise you I will find it and bring back answers, I can feel her pull. I will see you here, if you do not see me within the next hour send the dogs,” shouted Adini as she ran towards her calling, “Stay here.”

Adini ventured far out, hearing the Desert Rose’s calls. At first she thought she had found the rose, but it was not, a pink, similar-looking flower had been poking out from a bank. “Adini,” whispered the Desert Rose inside Adini’s consciousness. Adini could feel herself getting warmer, closer towards her goal. The desert rose sat solitary behind a dune. Adini sat next to the plant and telepathically received information.

“According to the Soul Age theory from the Pleadians, man doesn’t have simply one shot at living and learning. He has multiple lifetimes in which to grow, learn and mature. Soul Ages are based on the different levels of advancement a soul obtains throughout its reincarnational journey. As a person progresses through the hierarchy, paying off karma as he or she advances, it is said that he or she is free to return to universal and infinite consciousness at the end, achieving final liberation. Some call this the state of “nirvana”, others “heaven” and others “paradise,” said the Desert Rose whilst Adini lay in a trance on the little grass she could find to rest her head on.

Adini had found her answer, she could bring back the knowledge to the group and tell her mother how true she was to always have believed in her extrasensory gifts.

Life is not always about what age you are in human terms, what of soul age? Once we see past the labels, concepts and numbers of human life, we can get in touch with the true nature of the soul essence the person is expressing. Soul age is a progression of stages of learning in the Spirit World. Adini was an old soul, from a planet in the Pleiades star cluster, sent for her mission to live a human life, on the outside portrayed as young, inside a wise old soul destined for greatness and beauty.

~DiosRaw, 15/04/21

Inspired by a girl I once knew who is a beautiful, endearing and creative soul.

Short Stories {8} ~ Jacob’s Hero’s Journey, Native American Nahajo Plains

Jacob, a young Nahajo Native American boy, sat amongst his tribal family within the community tepee. Jacob was a naturally happy child, yet was eager to discover through his curiosity the wonders of the world. He watched as the family gathered around the fire, warming the morning brisk air, gently rubbing their hands together.

Yaho, Jacob’s father, knew that strong connections between the members of the tribe were of upmost importance to develop. To build a strong group Spirit he knew Jacob had to find out what the meaning of friendship was for him to flourish in this lifetime. Yaho gazed into the embers of the fire seemingly in a trance communion with Bobo, Eagle Spirit, his main instructor from the other world. This morning, Bobo would take Jacob on a journey he would never forget.

Yaho rose from his seat, “Jacob come, we must talk.” Jacob felt reluctant to go, he was in an argument within his mind about a close friendship that was turning sour very recently, he went over to his father and sat cross legged in front of Yaho. “After yesterday my son you need to learn through your initiations how to be a hero and resolve friendship conflicts. My dear boy, you cannot fight like this, Erincho took your dream catcher then in return you too his. This behaviour is childish, a wrong and wrong does not make a right. Today, when you walk into the plains to play I want you to follow Bobo.” Jacob was rolling his eyes whist his father was speaking yet knew he had to follow his command. “I shall father,” uttered Jacob embarrassed.

Jacob got up and ran out of the tepee, he could see Erincho and his mother washing clothes, but what really caught his eye was a massive beautiful eagle, flying high, disappearing then reappearing behind the mist of low clouds. Bobo, Eagle Spirit, was his father’s spirit guide coming to land. Bobo puffed his chest out and urged Jacob to climb on his back. Jacob was excited to be upon his father’s Eagle once again. Bobo took off swiftly and flew low over the grassy plains where the buffalos were grasing.

“Jacob, you need to find your talents and channel them in the right way dear boy,” spoke Bobo. “Listen to me and you shall live an honorable life.” Jacob felt warm and cosy, safe on the back of this magnificent creature. Jacob took in his surroundings; the mountains, dusty plains and the village of Nahajo in the distance.

“Spiritual friends walk alongside each other on connected paths, friendships are often based on similarities and mutual interests. That means we share values, are at similar stages of development and each has about the same level of knowledge and experience around our mutual areas of interest,” Bobo whispered between the thin wisps of cloud with a translucency. “The soul of friendship is located in honesty, respect, sharing, and loyalty. The making and the keeping of friends over the long haul of a lifetime is a spiritual practice requiring large reserves.”

Jacob sat patiently listening to Bobo’s words. “I was silly to fight back at my best friend Erincho,” Jacob shook his head. “As soon as I return home I will put things in order.” “Your role in a spiritual friendship may shift back and forth from student to teacher to student to teacher, teach Enricho the way and he will follow,” responded Bobo.

Cruising through the sky Bobo spoke more words of wisdom. “In a spiritual friendship, we have shifting roles. Sometimes you are the teacher who deepens our mutual journey with your insights and observations. Sometimes you are the student who asks questions that make both of us stop and think. And we’re always partners on a journey, walking steadily beside each other, shining our lights on the unfolding path before us and walking alongside each other in illumined service.”

Bobo felt he had said enough for Jacob to spend the rest of his day reflecting on what his father’s friendly eagle spirit guide had said. Bobo gracefully landed by the stream bordering the tribes village, yet a snake emerged rearing it’s head. With an alarming hissing in the background, Bobo said “Tell him the secret pass code.” “What is that?” muttered Jacob. “Hint, what did your mother teach you, what is the answer of life?” Immediately Jacob couldn’t contain himself, “Love,” Jacob replied. He jumped off Bobo’s soft feathers, thanked him for his ever giving wisdom and raced down the track leading to Enricho’s tepee.

“Enricho, Enricho,” shouted Jacob loudly outside the tepee. “Jacob?” gasped Enricho. “Here is your dreamcatcher, I am sorry for retaliating, that was not the way. We learn from each other. We teach each other. We challenge each other. We encourage each other. This is the way,” explained Jacob. “Yes, you are right my friend, here is your dreamcatcher, may you have sweet dreams and sleep well tonight.” Both boys hugged and their friendship was reunited.

“At some point, our paths may separate. We usually walk alongside a spiritual friend for only a portion of our journey, taking from the experience what we need to deepen and expand our own journey and give what we’re destined to give to the other person. The length of our journey together may vary from long to short, even a momentary connection, but the impact will be profound and long-lasting,” said Jacob as he left smiling at Enricho. Both boys felt warm in their heart, both had learnt their lessons and knew what true friendship was, much more initiations lay ahead of them. Life is the teacher, Jacob is the student.

What is the Hero’s Journey? The Hero’s Journey, or the monomyth, is a common story structure shared by cultures worldwide, in which a character ventures into unknown territory to retrieve something they need. Facing conflict and adversity, the hero ultimately triumphs before returning home, transformed.

Be the hero of your own story. Jacob is a hero.

~DiosRaw 10/04/21

~Written for you little Jacob, I love you.~

Short Stories {7} ~ Ego Delusions Amongst The Dogon

Amonst the elders of the Dogon Tribe in Central Africa a flurry of discussion was held by the Adrinki Tree, the main point of conversation within the community. The Dogon (or Kaador, Kaado) are an ethnic group indigenous to the central plateau region of Mali, in West Africa, south of the Niger bend, near the city of Bandiagara, and in Burkina Faso. The population numbers between 400,000 and 800,000.

Boko was watching from a distance within his hut whilst his mother was preparing his morning meal of goat’s milk and beans. Arrogantly he shouted, “Mother, when is it ready? I have to go and play with Hurani by the Adrinki tree soon once our elders have left this morning’s meeting.” “Boko, watch your manners, what have we taught you? Lord have mercy on us,” softly uttered Boko’s mother hurrying to finish her task. “Mother, you must make me this meal, I have to go, you know what, I will go hungry, since you cannot play the role you are supposed to,” Boko replied angrily. Boko ran out of the hut with his eyes still fixated on the elders by the tree. Boko’s mother tutted and mumbled words under her breathe.

Tribal elder’s noticed Boko run through the newly planted flowers without a care, he was to focus on this morning’s talks. “Boko, come,” a wise elder voice sounded. Boko stopped in his tracks and turned around sheepishly knowing what he had done.

“Boko today you will go with Narabi into the desert, you will find what you need there,” spoke the main elder. “Ok, but I was-” Boko churped. “You will go with Narabi,” the elder said sternly. “Yes, I will go,” mumbled Boko hesitating. Boko was itching to play with his friend and had no regard for finding what he needed, he knew everything he needed to know and that was that.

The hot desert sun made Boko’s forehead drip sweat onto his cloth dressing whilst flies bothered him, swatting his hand back and forth above his head.

“Ego is a formation of our identity crafted through our life experiences, the name we are given, the things we have been told about ourselves and who we believe we are. The God within us is who we truly are, the ego allows us separation to experience this incarnation and with a healthy ego, knowing who we truly are, we can flourish,” Narabi spoke whilst walking to collect water from the water hole nearby the village, they had followed a track into a clearing. Elephants, zebras and eagles went about their dharma seeking out nourishment from the heaven in the desert. Boko contemplated Narabi’s words, chewing his bottom lip.

“So, what I have created is not real?” shrieked Boko. “Yes and no, you see the ego is our sense of self; it is the illusory “I” story we carry around in the world as an evolutionary survival mechanism. Yet the ego is the source of all our suffering and our feeling of being separated from that which we truly are which is boundless, whole, and infinite. We might call this Spirit, God/dess, Life, Oneness, Consciousness, and so on,” replied Narabi twisting her braids observing and collecting water in vases for that night’s ceremony which Boko had yet to discover.

“So the more ego-based we are, the further we are from the Light of Consciousness which goes beyond the self? And if residing in the ego equals a disconnection from the Divine, living from a place of ego-centric God Complex goes one step further: it is like living in total darkness – the very definition of hell?” questioned Boko patiently awaiting a reply. “Father, was right Narabi, I have been silly and childish in my ways.”

“When a person is living in hell, they will harm others. This is basic knowledge that even a child like you can understand. When there is a total absence of light, there is only darkness – and how can a person see clearly, feel clearly, think clearly, or behave clearly in such a state? The result is suffering, both for the one experiencing the God Complex and those unfortunate souls around him or her in the village,” reasoned Narabi with her strong and wise words, an elder female within the Dogon tribe who Boko took seriously as she was the mother of wisdom, the nickname the tribe had given her affectionately.

Boko excused himself, thanked Narabi for her help in understanding the ego and ran through the village back to his hut and squeezed his mother tightly and didn’t let go. “Boko, what has come over you today? Are you ill?” Boko’s mother spoke. “Mother, I love you and apologise for all my wrongdoings, I have learnt, I am not my ego, I am the divine encapsulated within this body. Mother, I found something today and that is my true self,” whispered Boko still clinging to his mother. “You know Boko, you know,” smiled his mother with joy.

That night, under moon-lit savannah, the Dogon tribe initiated Boko under the Adrinki tree into the ascended ones and began Boko’s journey on the path of love, truth, knowledge and wisdom. For one day, Boko would be teaching another version of himself in another under the very same tree.

The divine disguises itself in us all, clothed in many dresses, yet the ego is naked, the true seat of self is the all, the fraction of the fractal within us all.

~DiosRaw 06/04/21

Short Stories {5} ~ Dead Sea Love Intoxication With God

The Dead Sea, full of minerals and health rejuvenation, a salt lake bordered by Jordan to the east and Israel and the West Bank to the west lies within the Jordan Rift Valley, and its main tributary, the Jordan River. Dynamo, a head strong, workaholic of a man, was taking a break from his life as a top wall street banker in New York City.

Dynamo’s sea sickness was churning up his stomach whilst sailing in the midst of the ocean. For two days he had been drifting in the salty lake not having bearings of his location. Materialism had consumed his life, but he had forgetten one thing and that was his conscience. Dynamo had focused more on bringing his top of the range sunglasses than vital nesseccities. Pleading with God, Dynamo cried out, “God, I beg you to gift me a miracle, I beg you, I thought I had all the equipment with me, I failed again, now I am drifting as my whole life has been due to my devious ways.”

Dynamo mumbled incoherently, words no one could hear except God, with a lack of food, his consciousness was sinking into a semi-conscious delusional state.

Words seemingly coming out of no where sinking and blending into his brain waves almost taking over his physical vehicle in a trance boomed out. “Recovery tells a story, the way out of self-sabotage, is self-love but you don’t need to hit rock bottom to gain self-love. You just need to stop beating yourself up mentally. You’ve been trying to find me in cocaine, a plethora of drugs, women, prostitutes, cars, material possessions, in coffee, in cigarettes, in conversations and in your work yet you have not found me yet.”

God carried on. “If you’re wondering what your purpose is here on earth, I can give you the answer. You are here to find yourself. To embrace yourself. To be yourself. And in order to do all of that, you must love yourself. You see, at some point, we all experience a pivotal moment in our lives that has such a devastating effect that we lose a sense of our own worth.

“For you,” continued God, driving Dynamo’s consciousness, “it happened quite early. When I look back now, I can see that in your soul contract you lacked self-love from around the age of ten when your father became an alcoholic and mistreated you. The years that followed were tumultuous and you stripped away your true self and became less and less ‘you’ until you reached your mid-twenties and there wasn’t much left of you – you chose to sell your soul to banking. Find compassion for yourself Dyanmo, you endured severe trauma, you were trying to find me in them.

“Prior to starting the process of self-love, I had no idea that I was sabotaging myself so badly,” Dyanmo shivered. “If you would have asked me back then if I loved myself, I would have answered no, the truth was that I was battering myself from head-to-toe every day of my life. I wasn’t physically beating myself up, but in my mind, I was tormenting myself for not feeling good enough.”

“Become the hero of your own story,” God shouted. “I AM the hero of my own story,” cried Dynamo regaining his consciousness. A sickingly euphoric feeling melted his body and mind, the shore line was in sight. Dynamo navigated his boat towards the wooden planks before him breathing a deep sigh of relief. Overwhlemed with God’s love and wisdom, he came to the realisation that life was about service and love. Not only did he quit his job that day, he used his millions to build a rehabilitation centre in Jordan for orphans, the mentally troubled and the homeless. Revelation.

Love is you, love is within you, when you start to look inside you, you will find the love you have been yearning for. Always remember that the most important relationship that you will have in your life is with yourself. You are God, yet a fractal of it – paradoxes galore.. Find him in you.

~DiosRaw 04/04/21

Short Stories {4} ~ Kyoto Magic

Running through the Kyoto mountain range through winds beyond the realms of his monastery, Tiko had been instructed to find the essence of magic by his Zen master, Gikyo.

“What is magic?” the young Tiko mumbled to himself whilst dragging his feet, overlooking cherry blossom trees crowding the peaks of the cliffs. To Tiko, magic seemed something enigmatic and mysterious yet so close to home. In myths and legends many of the monks in his monastery had heard of the concept of magic yet Tiko could not quite comprehend it.

Tiko could see his spirit guide, No Face, hovering in the distance, patiently awaiting this young boy’s arrival. No Face, Tiko’s spirit guide, was a dark shadowy and loving being with two white eyes poking out from behind his black veil. “Tiko, can you see it?” whispered No Face as his student arrived. “Well, I see the eternal universe,” exclaimed Tiko.

‘Magic is the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with will,” No Face told Tiko both sitting on the wooden bench atop the Kyoto mountain. Tiko was fixated on No Face, his beloved guide, seen since birth, flowing in and out of his life, he felt safe in this spirit’s presence.

“When I say “magic” I don’t mean the stage craft of disappearances, card tricks, and other illusions — impressive as they are. I mean the practice of magic and magical thinking, the ability to shape our lives and the world around us through belief, ritual, and the invocation of forces far greater than ourselves; forces we may not fully understand, and which “work in mysterious ways,” as is often said,” No Face reached Tiko. “Magic is a neutral term, not inherently ‘good’ or ‘evil’, the intent and morality behind it is up to the practitioner themselves.”

Tiko took a deep breathe in and out correlating all his past knowledge from ancient texts, his teacher Gikyo words and No Face’s teachings.

“Magic is life, magic is the spells we cast on one another with our thoughts, magic is formless yet form, magic is the essence of life. Magic is love. Magic is silent yet loud. Magic is nothing yet everything. Magic is the indescribable and can only be experienced,” Tiko gasped turning to look at No Face. “Tiko, you never fail to impress me with your young, yet old soul wisdom,” smiled No Face.

Gleefully rushing back to tell Gikyo all he had learnt, No Face faded in and out of the third dimensional realm, observing Tiko between spheres, he was never alone. We are never truly alone.

Back in the monastary, Gikyo grinned and patted Tiko on the back. “Are you ready for your next task Tiko?” Gikyo said sipping his green tea leaves resting in his wooden chair by the porch. “Yes, of course,” said Tiko knowing No Face would be there to aid him on his journey.

Tiko slept on the monastery floor knowing No Face was always there to help guide him on his path to enlightenment; warm and satisfied with his day’s work he slept sound within the magic that cradled him.

~DiosRaw 02/04/21

Short Stories {3} ~ Paradox Diffusion

Years after searching for God in psychedelics, Rumi had not wavered in her quest for knowledge. Without the benefit of a prescribed social role, she did what she wanted, when she wanted, which was to learn without regard for convention. Today, paradoxes were circulating around her mind, determined, she would not sleep without finding her answer.

At other times and in other places, Rumi would have been burned at the stake, hailed as a prophet, or stoned. The present time simply ignored her. Normal people treated Rumi as a public garbage can, light post, or stalled car, as an obstacle that could be moved but numbed by her surroundings.

“Take your pills NOW,” shouted the nurse down the corridor, from Texas’s renound mental hospital for the “insane.” Rumi rolled her eyes as Nurse Truchin’s sharp voice echoed and bounced off blood stained walls, she was sitting in room 23, her white washed room “gifted” to her by her parents, they could not cope with her cosmic mind anymore. Rumi had been in Senora Texas Mental Hospital for two weeks and she felt on edge, this was her first time in an asylum. Rumi paced up and down her abode, she had to take those dreaded sleeping pills or else they would force it down her throat somehow. Reluctantly she calmly walked down the hallway and was handed her pill through the dorms pill shutter.

Rumi swallowed the pill. “Good, now go back to your room, checks are at 11pm, make sure you are in your bed or you know what will happen,” said Nurse Truchin coldly. Rumi said nothing, she would achieve nothing by responding and quietly returned to her room blocking out the screams from the room beside her’s.

Shutting her door, relieved, she lay on her bed staring at the white washed walls that had become her friend. What were paradoxes? How could two opposing propositions exist at the same time? The sleeping pills were making her more and more drowsy. Lonely and with a heavy heart she pulled the duvet above her head. “A paradox is a statement or problem that either appears to produce two entirely contradictory (yet possible) outcomes, or provides proof for something that goes against what we intuitively expect,” Rumi reiterated inside of her mind.

Hallucinating as she usually did on these pills, she saw imagery quite like her visions on magic mushrooms a few months ago. Warping geometric patterns danced in a trance with eachother as her eyes flickered going in and out of consciousness.

I will sleep on this Rumi decided in her mind drifting off into the astral planes.

Upon awakening her answer had arrived, getting out her notebook she wrote “Paradoxes lead you to God.”

On her day of release, after all this time pretending to act normal to get out of this hell hole of an asylum, Rumi saw Mrs. Truchin as “insane” and Mrs. Truchin saw Rumi as insane. Rumi quietly knew that duality breaks down into formless consciousness; she was sane in an insane world.

“I know one thing,” Rumi said to Mrs. Truchin as she left the asylum doors. “And that is that I know nothing.” Rumi remembered studying ancient Greek philosopher’s such as Socrates years ago. Mrs. Truchin took one bewildered look at Rumi and walked away. Rumi smiled to herself and smelt freedom once again, her taxi was awaiting to pass through the doors into the insane world.

Time is a construct of consciousness and in higher dimensions has no meaning. but, in the lower dimensions it is used to measure changes and in the multitudes of parallel timelines all simultaneously existing. Paradoxes melt into the all, Source, Brahman, Allah, whatever name you stamp onto formless ether.

~Amber, DiosRaw 01/04/21

Short Stories {2} ~ Life & Death Conundrums

In the heart of the lungs of the planet, Drogo was sent by his shaman to retrieve the wisdom, from the plant spirits on his dieta, of the concept of life and death.

Drogo, a young tribal boy from the mayani tribe had been initiated into an shamanic apprenticeship by his medicine man grandfather. He went hungry as part of his initiation to feel the full effects of his dieta and consumed the fruit of the Mondura plant. Drogo wandered into the undergrowth to his hut made by his father to undergo his apprenticeship.

Laying back on his hammock a spirit lingered in the back of his mind tell him “A long time ago life and death were best of friends, death saw life as a gift and life saw death as a gift. When the time came when people spread all over the world, life and death began to criticize each other. People view life in your tribe as the most precious gift from God and people view death beyond this jungle as something that no one wants. People have lost touch with the truth of reality, that your spirit never dies and your soul passes on into the realm overlapping yours.”

Drogo was an intelligent young man and understood every word of what the Mondura plant spirit said.

Within the scope of Drogo’s dreams that night, death and life were conversing with eachother. Death: “Why is it people love you so much where in fact you are just a dream, a fascination. No one will stay forever. Life is short and no person will live forever. Why is it people like you?” Then Life said: “Yes you are correct with that Death, I am just a dream, a fascination and I know Life is not forever. What is important is the things or deeds that you do during your earthly life. How about you death? I know you are the reality of life. That everybody dies, yet they do not die.”

The next morning Drogo wandered into his tribes camp and met with his grandfather by the Mondura tree.

“Life and death, two sides of the same coin,” Drogo exclaimed in a simple manner.

“Yes, my grandson, it indeed is,” replied his shamanic elder. “Now you know this, what will you do?”

“I am not afraid anymore grandfather, I am dead already,” Drogo echoed through the jungle.

Roars of the howler monkeys shuddered the ground beneath them, they said their blessings to the plant spirits and thanked them for their aid.

The jungle holds many secrets for the ones who see, all is here now.

~Amber, DiosRaw 31/03/21

Short Stories {1} ~ River Ganges Insanity

Washing off the days reminants within the womb of the River Ganges, in the ancient lands of India, a young lady named Anadi, combed through her dark black locks wishing she had fulfilled her guru’s daily tasks. Worried reverberations tensed her worn out body.

Anadi’s guru had instructed her to contemplate by the serene waters edge on the concept of enlightenment. She was trembling at the thought of going insane. Throughout her journey on the path of enlightenment she had visions of past lives, angelic beings, prophetic dreams and doubted herself, were these visions true or a figment of her mind turning her insane?

Observing the river’s candles lit each night floating along the river, Anadi realised in her mind “for the mystic swims in the same waters as the insane.”

Guruji initiated her, “you have understood the point.” Painting an orange hue on her third eye she became one of Guruji’s enlightened deciples.

“Yes,” Anadi proclaimed.

Anadi was no longer afraid of turning insane, she realised that insanity and sanity are part of the duality of this dualistic world. By using her mind towards the creator, and only him, she would return to sanity through the insanity she was so worried of.

As she lit her candle, with empowering energy flowing throughout her physical vehicle, silently whispering a prayer her body aroused from the dream of the dream she was living in. In the hypnotic state she was in upon waking, she had met her dead guru in her dream reassuring her she was not going crazy.

That very young morning, when everyone was asleep and the birds were churping their morning symphony she said her daily blessings by the river Ganges. “For I am sane in an insane world” she echoed through the nearby caves.

“I have travelled through madness to find me,” she screamed.

Madness is somewhere between chaos and having a dream. Anadi made sense of the dream by plunging into it and moving with the dance. For those who did not hear the music, those dancing were deemed insane.

And the world kept on spinning and weaving it’s cosmic web…

~Amber, DiosRaw 28/03/21