The Golden Glow of Thursday: A Sacred Pause in the Indian Soul”

“The Golden Glow of Thursday: A Sacred Pause in the Indian Soul”

In the tapestry of Indian timekeeping, each day of the week holds its own spiritual hue and cultural rhythm. Among them, Thursday—or Guruvaar—shines with a golden glow. Sacred, serene, and soaked in reverence, this day is set apart in the Indian consciousness, not just by myth but also by millennia of meaningful rituals and gentle philosophical reflections.

The Day of the Guru and the Gods

Thursday is traditionally associated with Guru Brihaspati, the divine teacher of the gods in Hindu mythology. The very term “Guru” implies one who dispels darkness—gu meaning darkness and ru meaning remover. As the preceptor of celestial wisdom, Brihaspati is venerated as a symbol of knowledge, righteousness, and moral clarity.

In astrological traditions, Thursday is ruled by Jupiter—the planet of expansion, wisdom, and benevolence. It is a day when energies are believed to be high for spiritual learning, introspection, and acts of charity. The aura of Thursday is gentle yet profound, inviting individuals to realign with higher truths and deeper virtues.

In various parts of India, this day is also dedicated to deities such as Sai Baba, Lord Vishnu, Lord Dattatreya, and Goddess Lakshmi, depending on regional and personal faith traditions.

Rituals That Shape the Soul

Thursday rituals blend simplicity with sanctity. Devotees begin the day with an early bath, often adding a pinch of turmeric to the water—signifying purity and auspiciousness. Homes are cleansed with sacred intent, and yellow flowers or cloth are offered to the chosen deity. The colour yellow, linked with Jupiter, dominates the day—it’s a symbol of wisdom, knowledge, and sanctity.

Special pujas (worship rituals) are conducted at home or in temples. Devotees often read or listen to sacred texts such as the Guru Charitra, Sai – Satcharita, or the Vishnu Sahasranama. Lamps are lit using ghee, casting a gentle glow symbolic of the inner light of knowledge.

Fasting is observed by many, especially women, who seek blessings for the well-being of their families or inner spiritual merit. The fast usually allows only yellow food items such as bananas, gram pulses, or saffron rice—again, reinforcing the sacred symbolism of the colour.

Some observe a weekly vow (vrat) on Thursdays for 11 or 21 consecutive weeks, tying yellow threads or keeping a small piece of turmeric as a reminder of their devotion.

Philosophical Reflections: A Day to Align

Beyond ritual, Thursday is also a time for philosophical pause. It reminds the seeker to become a student again—to be humble before the mysteries of life. In Indian thought, the Guru is not merely a person but a cosmic principle—the force that leads us from fragmentation to wholeness.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna declares himself as Brihaspati among the priests—hinting that the highest spiritual teacher dwells even in silence, in reflection, in disciplined awareness.

Thursday, thus, is not just about outward offerings but also inward cleansing—a day to realign intentions, to replace pride with patience, and to shed ignorance in favour of enlightenment.

The Sacred Code: Do’s and Don’ts of Thursday

What to Embrace:

– Wear yellow attire or keep yellow flowers at your altar.

– Offer prayers to Guru Brihaspati, Vishnu, or your personal deity.

– Perform acts of charity, especially feeding the poor or giving away yellow clothing or gram pulses.

– Read or reflect upon spiritual texts or discourses.

– Practise silence, contemplation, or light meditation.

What to Refrain From:

– Avoid washing hair, as it’s believed to wash away good luck on this day.

– Refrain from borrowing or lending money—symbolically, it is seen as giving away your fortune.

– Do not cut nails or perform haircuts—such actions are believed to reduce the day’s sanctity.

– Avoid consuming non-vegetarian food or intoxicants—maintain bodily and mental purity.

– Stay away from gossip or unkind speech—Thursday asks for dignity in thought and words.

A Day of Light, Learning, and Letting Go

In a world frayed by hurry and hunger for more, Thursday whispers a soft reminder to return to stillness. It teaches that while we may not always have a temple to visit, the truest place of worship is within.

As the sun filters its golden light over the rooftops and trees on a Thursday morning, it feels as though the universe itself is wearing a robe of wisdom. May we sit under its radiance—not just with folded hands, but with open hearts.

Verses to the Day of the Guru

In saffron light and morning haze,
The soul prepares for silent praise.
A yellow thread upon the wrist,
Ties heart and hope in sacred tryst.

The lamp is lit, the mantras flow,
In Thursday’s hush, the spirits grow.
Not just in temples, chants, or hymn
But in the stillness, truth begins.

To every seeker lost or torn,
The Guru’s grace is Thursday’s dawn.
A pause, a prayer, a gentle way—
To greet the truth that hides in clay.

In the Quiet Light of Thankfulness”

“In the Quiet Light of Thankfulness”

In a world that tumbles forward in haste and noise, the act of expressing gratitude feels like an intimate pause — a stillness that speaks louder than words. It is the soul’s gentle bow to the beauty it beholds, often unseen by the distracted eye. Gratitude is not merely a polite gesture; it is an awakening. A deep and sacred awareness that life, in all its layers — the gentle and the grating — is a gift.

How do I express my gratitude?

At times, it flows through spoken words — a tender thank you, a phrase softened by sincerity and brightened by presence. But often, my gratitude is quieter. It dwells in silence, in small acts of kindness returned, in eyes that meet another with truth and warmth. A letter left beneath a book, a prayer whispered to the sky, a simple nod to the passing wind — these too are hymns of my thankfulness.

Gratitude, for me, is not confined to festive seasons or ceremonial gestures. It arrives unannounced — with the first light of dawn filtering through the curtain, or the fragrance of rain on dry earth. It lives in the ordinariness of moments made magical by awareness. A smile from a stranger, the rustle of trees in an afternoon breeze, the music of solitude — all become sacred when received with grace.

The great thinkers have spoken of gratitude as a spiritual virtue. In Stoic philosophy, it is considered the key to contentment. In Indian traditions, it is pratishruti — a vow to remember the grace bestowed by life and others. Rumi wrote, “Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life.” This isn’t just poetry — it’s a practice, a living philosophy.

Gratitude refines the spirit. It burns the excess of ego, softens the edges of complaint, and heightens one’s sensitivity to the interconnectedness of all things. It teaches us to honour both the giver and the gift — be it joy or grief — for each has a role in our unfolding.

Even suffering has been a strange teacher. Looking back, I have learnt to be grateful for losses that revealed hidden strengths, for rejections that re-routed me to wiser paths, and for silences that deepened my understanding of life’s music. Gratitude doesn’t erase the ache — it transforms it.

In the practice of gratitude, there is also humility — an acknowledgement that we are not the sole authors of our happiness. Nature, chance, people, time — all conspire quietly in our favour. Recognising this, I find myself offering thanks to the nameless, the forgotten, the divine.

Whether it is through lighting a diya at twilight, writing a reflective note, offering a song, or simply being still with the moment, I let my gratitude breathe. Not out of obligation, but from reverence — for life as it is, imperfect and radiant.

Let me conclude with a few stanzas — verses that rise from the still waters of appreciation:

Verses in the Light of Thanks

Gratitude is not a grand parade,
But moonlight on a field once frayed.
A hush that sings through broken stone,
A hand that clasps, though worn, alone.

It blooms in cups of evening tea,
In moments steeped in memory,
A smile exchanged, a door held wide,
The ache that taught the soul to glide.

It’s thanks not just for joys we keep,
But also for the trials that steep.
For every no that shaped the yes,
For silence that gave voice to bless.

So I bow to dusk, to the leaf, to the flame,
To all who passed and left no name.
And in this fleeting, fragile hue,
I live, I breathe, and I thank you.

To read more of such stories, please read the following books available at http://www.amazon.com

Exaltation: When the Soul Stands on Tiptoe”

“Exaltation: When the Soul Stands on Tiptoe”

There are certain moments in life that feel like the spirit itself has grown wings — moments of clarity, ecstasy, elevation, or awe. That feeling of profound upliftment, where heart, mind, and soul seem to rise above the ordinary, is known as exaltation.

But what truly is exaltation?

Is it joy? Is it reverence? Is it the splendour of triumph or the subtle thrill of transcendence?

In its essence, exaltation is the state of being raised high — not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. It is a word steeped in poetry, theology, astronomy, and philosophy. Like a chisel on stone, it carves deeper meaning into our experience of being.

Etymological Roots and the Depths Beyond

The word exaltation is derived from the Latin exaltare — “to raise high,” from ex (out of) and altus (high). It suggests a lifting up from the mundane to the majestic. In poetic use, it often denotes a moment when the human experience touches the divine — an ascent not of steps but of sentiments.

Exaltation is not always loud. Sometimes, it is the silent bloom of inner peace, the stillness after prayer, or the quiet joy of watching the sun break through stormy clouds. It may arrive in the humblest corner of a room or at the edge of a mountain cliff — when one’s soul bows to something greater than itself.

Philosophical and Mystical Dimensions

Philosophers and sages have long tried to articulate this ephemeral state. Plato, in his dialogues, speaks of a soul being drawn upwards toward the Good, the True, and the Beautiful — an act of intellectual and emotional exaltation. For the Vedantins, such elevation is the soul remembering its original oneness with Brahman, the Absolute. It is the shedding of ego and embracing of higher consciousness.

The Bhagavad Gita hints at exaltation when Krishna speaks of sthitaprajna — the person of steady wisdom who, unmoved by pleasure or pain, dwells in equanimity. Exaltation, here, is liberation through detachment and spiritual insight.

Christian mystics like Meister Eckhart or St. John of the Cross describe exaltation as a mystical union — the soul’s ascent through love and surrender to the Divine Presence. It’s less of a leap and more of a melting — a soft surrender to the overwhelming beauty of God.

Exaltation in the Celestial Skies

In astrology, exaltation holds a unique place. Each planet is considered to be exalted in a specific sign, a position where it expresses its best, most dignified, most beneficial nature. For example, the Moon is exalted in Taurus, signifying a place where emotional needs find grounding, and the Sun is exalted in Aries, symbolising the spirit of initiative and identity in its boldest brilliance.

Here, exaltation is not random — it is resonance. It represents a celestial harmony, a moment when cosmic energy sings in its purest form.

In Art, Nature, and Everyday Life

– One does not need to be a philosopher or mystic to taste exaltation. It is woven into the tapestry of daily existence.

– When a musician strikes the final note that echoes like truth through silence — that is exaltation.

– When a poet bleeds verses that lift another heart out of despair — that is exaltation.

– When lovers meet after years and speak no words, yet feel everything — that too, is exaltation.

– Even when standing under a canopy of stars, with the breath caught halfway between awe and humility — the soul is exalted.

The Emotional Alchemy

Exaltation is an alchemy of wonder, gratitude, and grace. It may come from faith or beauty, from truth or transformation. It is as much a stirring of the spirit as it is a remembrance of something eternal within.

In a world often weighed down by routine and realism, the capacity to be exalted is a gift — a sacred fracture through which the light pours in.

A Thought to Carry Forward

Let us then keep ourselves open — to exaltation. Not through pride or pomp, but through presence and perception. Let us notice the dew on morning grass, the smile of a stranger, the scent of old books, the echo of a distant hymn, the last light of the day — for these are quiet calls to rise.

As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke once said:

“Go to the limits of your longing… Flare up like a flame and make big shadows I can move in.”

Exaltation is just that — a flare of the soul. A moment when we do not walk this earth, but glide ever so lightly — as if eternity had brushed past us in the wind.

Beyond the Blackboard: In Search of the True Guru

Beyond the Blackboard: In Search of the True Guru
A journey through India’s timeless teaching traditions and today’s transformative educators

What truly makes a teacher great?

This question, ancient yet ever-relevant, invites more than mere answers. It evokes a journey—a journey that begins in the sacred groves of India’s gurukuls, winds through the corridors of modern classrooms, and touches the digital spaces where learning now often begins. A great teacher, in every age, is not defined by how much they teach, but by how deeply they touch a life—mind, heart, and soul.

To define a teacher in India is to step into a multi-layered heritage. Our scriptures and traditions distinguish between Upadhyaya, Acharya, Pandit, and Guru—each revealing a different aspect of the educator’s soul. And when these ancient ideals are mirrored in today’s educators—tech-savvy, emotionally intelligent, and socially aware—they transform from mere instructors into mentors, guides, and visionaries.

The Upadhyaya: The Knowledge Builder

The Upadhyaya is the instructor of structured learning—someone who builds the academic scaffolding of a child’s intellect. In Vedic times, they were the ones who taught scriptures, mathematics, and grammar. In today’s context, they are subject experts—the physics teacher who unlocks the cosmos, the language teacher who unpacks the human condition through verse and prose.

Modern Upadhyayas are no longer just blackboard scribes. They are digitally fluent, adaptive to changing pedagogy, and open to collaborative learning. They must balance traditional rigour with the flexibility of 21st-century educational needs—using AI tools, creating flipped classrooms, and engaging with students far beyond textbooks.

The Acharya: The Ethical Exemplar

Derived from acharan—conduct—the Acharya is the teacher who teaches by example. They model values, discipline, and humility. The students don’t just learn what to do, but how to be. The Acharya’s lessons are imprinted not just on notebooks, but on character.

In the contemporary frame, an Acharya is the mentor who speaks with actions. They advocate for inclusive classrooms, support mental health, celebrate diversity, and challenge injustice. Their greatness lies in consistency—in embodying integrity, compassion, and courage amid the complex demands of a changing world.

The Pandit: The Custodian of Wisdom

A Pandit is the deep scholar—one who embodies knowledge not only through study, but reflection. Traditionally, Pandits interpreted sacred texts, resolved philosophical disputes, and illuminated finer truths.

Today’s Pandits are the research scholars, curriculum designers, policy thinkers, and public intellectuals who shape the very philosophy of learning. They decode the complexity of knowledge for common understanding, promote lifelong learning, and often operate behind the scenes in shaping educational reforms. Their minds are libraries, but their mission is service.

The Guru: The Enlightener of Souls

Of all the titles, Guru holds the highest pedestal. Formed of gu (darkness) and ru (remover), the Guru is the one who leads from ignorance to illumination. A Guru does not merely teach, but transforms. They recognise the divine potential in each student and offer wisdom that is deeply personal, spiritual, and timeless.

In the modern world, Gurus are rare but not absent. They are those who speak the language of the soul while navigating modern chaos. Whether in a monastery or a metropolitan classroom, they awaken confidence, spark conscience, and inspire contribution. Their presence is felt long after the lesson ends.

Contemporary Attributes of a Great Teacher

The essence of greatness in teaching has remained the same: integrity, insight, empathy. Yet today, greatness wears new robes too:

– Digital Fluency: From Zoom to AI, the ability to teach across platforms is a modern must.

– Emotional Intelligence: Today’s students bring emotional baggage. Great teachers sense it and respond with care.

– Cultural Sensitivity: In a global classroom, sensitivity to diverse backgrounds is key to connection.

-:Adaptability: Changing syllabi, remote learning, neurodiversity—all demand for teachers who evolve.

– Life Mentorship: Academic success is just one goal. Today’s teachers are also counsellors, motivators, and guides.

-:Sustainability Awareness: Educators today must help students build not just careers, but a conscious planet.

– Social Responsibility: Great teachers help students engage with civic duties and ethical decisions in a fractured world.

These new dimensions do not replace ancient ones; they enrich them.

What Then, Makes a Teacher Great?

A great teacher is not simply an agent of knowledge, but a keeper of wisdom. They are a beacon—silent, constant, and radiant. They are not celebrated because they finish the syllabus, but because they begin a student’s inner journey. They don’t just teach the subject—they teach how to learn, how to think, and how to live.

Such a teacher weaves together the Upadhyaya’s clarity, the Acharya’s morality, the Pandit’s depth, and the Guru’s grace. They light many candles without losing their own glow, and in doing so, create not just scholars, but sages, seekers, and citizens.

A Poetic Offering

They came not with wands, nor robes of fame,
But with chalk and heart, and burning flame.
They saw a flicker in each shy eye,
And fanned it gently, till sparks could fly.

They stitched together head and heart,
They taught the science, but gave it art.
In crowded rooms or silent screens,
They birthed in us the boldest dreams.

So let us bow—not to those who teach alone,
But to those who help us find our own.

Let us, then, honour every teacher who carries forward the sacred responsibility of nurturing minds and awakening souls—on chalkboards, laptops, or simply in the stillness of their example.

The true measure of a great teacher is not how many pupils they have taught, but how many minds they have liberated.

Scars Beneath the Skin: A Fracture in Tim

Scars Beneath the Skin: A Fracture in Time

Some stories are etched not in ink or words, but in sinew and scar. They do not announce themselves—they wait quietly under the skin, surfacing in moments of reflection. Mine begins with a sudden halt, a jarring twist of fate on an otherwise ordinary day.

It was not an act of courage, nor a moment of glory—just an accident, unexpected and abrupt. A car swerved, metal groaned, and within seconds, the known world spun out of orbit. My left hand bore the brunt of it—a fracture not just of bone, but of rhythm, routine, and trust in the body’s silent service.

The Awakening Through Pain

Pain is a peculiar teacher—it teaches not through clarity, but through discomfort; not through calm, but chaos. As I stared at the mangled harmony of my hand, a thousand thoughts flooded my mind, but none coherent. Only the quiet, internal gasp of disbelief echoed through my being.

Surgery followed, swift and clinical. I was soon wheeled beneath the sterile lights of a cold theatre, where strangers in white became caretakers of my flesh. I surrendered to science, silently offering up my brokenness for healing. Metal met bone, and hope met uncertainty.

But true healing, I would later learn, occurs not just beneath the stitches—it seeps into one’s soul.

Science, Spirit, and the Soul

The surgeon’s craft is both precise and profound. In that delicate dance of incision and reconstruction, I witnessed not merely a medical procedure, but a quiet miracle—an interplay between human intellect and nature’s own intent to mend. What once seemed like a battlefield of nerve and fracture became a canvas of rebirth.

We speak often of the body in terms of mechanics—joints, levers, tissues, tools. Yet it is more than machine. It holds memory, emotion, and quiet intelligence. Eastern philosophy likens the body to a temple, while ancient Indian texts regard injury as a karmic pause—a moment to look inward. That idea gave me comfort. Perhaps this fracture was not punishment, but permission—to slow down, to listen, to grow.

The Silent Journey of Recovery

The days that followed were quiet but heavy. My hand—once agile, expressive, and confident—lay restrained, learning humility. Every twitch was an act of faith. Every ache, a whisper of progress.

And though the cast eventually came off, the real unravelling was internal. I had to untangle my own fear: fear of fragility, of dependence, of no longer being in control. I learnt that strength is not always about holding on—it is often about letting go and allowing time, nature, and tenderness to do their work.

Scars that Speak

Today, a faint line remains across my hand. It does not scream for attention, but neither does it hide. It reminds me not of the accident, but of the resilience that followed. Not of what was broken, but of what was rebuilt.

Each scar we bear, whether seen or unseen, tells a tale—not of defeat, but of endurance. It is through these quiet testaments that the human spirit reveals its most luminous grace.

Once cracked like porcelain in a stormy flight,
My hand now dances in morning light.
Where pain once whispered a fearful song,
Strength now sings, serene and strong.

Let every scar become a star—
A wound that healed to show how far,
The soul can stretch, the flesh endure,
And faith within us is still mature

Of Clay Pots and Cardboard Boxes: The Tale of a Changing Palate

Of Clay Pots and Cardboard Boxes: The Tale of a Changing Palate

There was a time, not too long ago, when the scent of curry leaves tempering in mustard oil or the quiet whistle of a pressure cooker was enough to bring a family to the table. That table—round or square, simple or ornate—was where stories were shared, values were passed down, and palates shaped by ancient wisdom found contentment in lentils, rice, and seasonal greens. Today, the aroma of samosas and halwa has slowly been replaced by garlic-soaked stir-fries or cheese-drenched pizzas arriving in cardboard boxes. The question arises—why are the youth of India turning away from their traditional kitchens and embracing foreign cuisines with such fervour?

A Philosophical Hunger

Indian food is not just sustenance. It is a philosophy simmered over slow heat. From the sattvic meals of yogic traditions to the rich thalis of Kerala or the temple prasadams in Odisha, every bite is embedded with a sense of purpose—spiritual, medicinal, or celebratory. Ancient texts like the Charaka Samhita remind us that food is the first medicine, that digestion is central to health, and that spices are not merely flavour but function.

Yet, the modern generation, adrift in the fast-paced corridors of technology and consumption, seems to have lost the patience to absorb such depth. In a world ruled by ‘on-demand‘ services, the slow rhythm of grandmother’s cooking loses to the buzz of a delivery app.

Science of Seduction: Why Junk Wins

Processed and restaurant-prepared foods are often crafted with scientific precision. Sugar, fat, and salt—combined in specific proportions—create what’s known as a “bliss point”, an irresistible trigger for our dopamine circuits. While traditional Indian meals emphasise balance—sweet, sour, bitter, astringent, salty and spicy—the palate conditioned by industrial food production craves instant gratification.

Moreover, the youth live in a paradox. On one hand, they seek six-pack abs and clean diets, but on the other, they are tethered to the cycle of hyper-palatable snacks and late-night bingeing. Scientific studies reveal that such behaviour is not just about taste, but habit-formation and emotional conditioning. Food becomes a comfort, a rebellion, even an identity.

Culture on the Back Burner

Food is identity, memory, and belonging. A plate of khichdi on a rainy day, kadhi chawal in summer, or saag and makki roti in winter is more than nourishment—it’s a cultural bookmark. But in many urban homes today, the kitchen lies silent, its fire dimmed by the lure of convenience. Microwave meals have replaced hand-ground masalas; social media recipes trump age-old family secrets.

This is not to say Chinese or Italian food is inherently lesser—it has its own philosophy and integrity when authentically prepared. But the irony is that much of what we consume in their name is far removed from their traditional roots—replaced by deep-fried adaptations, synthetic sauces, and frozen ingredients. Meanwhile, the legacy of one’s own cuisine gathers dust.

A Poetic Rebellion

Where once turmeric was the golden thread that stitched health and harmony, now it is exoticised in global cafés as “turmeric latte.” Ghee, once ridiculed, returns to shelves as “clarified butter” at premium prices. Ironically, the West has begun to appreciate what we are discarding.

In a strange reversal, the Indian youth are discovering their roots through the eyes of the world. Perhaps the rebellion will come full circle. Perhaps there will be a return to clay pots and copper utensils, to the crackling of cumin in ghee, to food that speaks not just to the tongue but to the soul.

The Middle Path: Tradition Meets Modernity

All is not lost. A silent movement is afoot. Food bloggers are reviving heirloom recipes. Wellness enthusiasts now swear by millets, once dismissed as poor man’s grain. Mindful eating, Ayurvedic diets, and organic farming are turning heads. The answer, perhaps, lies not in rejection but reconciliation—of blending the old with the new, the rustic with the refined.

A modern kitchen can still be the sacred temple of nourishment. The act of cooking, like prayer or poetry, is a conscious offering—a reminder that what we eat today becomes our thoughts tomorrow.

A Song of Fire and Fragrance

Let not the song of traditional Indian cuisine be silenced by the noise of fast food wrappers. Let the roti still puff over open flames and let the tadka still sing in iron pans. As Tagore once wrote, “Let my country awake”—may we, too, awaken to the value of the food that grew with our soil, our seasons, and our stories.

In the kitchen of our ancestors,
There simmered more than stews—
There bubbled love and patience,
And wisdom’s ancient hues.

Let’s not lose to cardboard comfort,
What clay once proudly bore—
For – in every grain of lentil,
Lies – a truth we must restore.

Rituals of the Soul: Daily Habits Across Cultures and Consciousness

Rituals of the Soul: Daily Habits Across Cultures and Consciousness

Each dawn, wrapped in the translucent shawl of silence, greets me not as an alarm bell but as an invitation—an ancient whisper to rise not merely from bed, but into being. Daily habits, to me, are not mechanical rituals to tick off, but sacred threads in the tapestry of existence. They are not dictated by digital diaries or productivity gurus but by the organic rhythm of breath, thought, purpose, and soul.

Across civilisations, the soul of a day has always been gently held in the palms of philosophy. In the Zen monasteries of Japan, monks begin their day with zazen—silent meditation to still the mind and awaken awareness. In India, the ancient sages started their mornings with Brahma Muhurta—the hour before sunrise meant for introspection, learning, and prayer. In Greece, Socrates spoke of the “examined life,” and morning walks in the Lyceum became the gymnasium for reflective thought. Even the desert fathers of early Christian tradition lived by ora et labora—”pray and work”—a balance that has echoed across time.

The Dawn Dialogue

The first act of each day begins not with a rush to the washroom, but a hush within. I lie still, not idle, but listening—to myself, to the universe. It is a quiet communion with the divine, a spiritual conversation that neither requires words nor ritual, but only presence. I breathe in gratitude, breathe out yesterday, and give a nod to the unknowable wonder that is today.

This mirrors the Islamic Fajr, the pre-dawn prayer that aligns one’s being with the rhythm of the cosmos. Or the Shinto practice of greeting nature at sunrise to honour the divine essence in all things.

Writing My Mind Open

Words visit me early. Perhaps the muses prefer the morning chill. I sit with pen or screen, not to preach or produce, but to pour. Poetry, reflections, unfinished thoughts, notes of learning—all flow like a sacred river. Writing is not merely a craft to me; it is a way to survive the noise and carve silence into sculpture.

In Native American cultures, oral tradition and storytelling at dawn served a similar role—anchoring identity, values, and remembrance in the rhythm of each day.

Movements with Meaning

I walk, not to burn calories but to kindle clarity. A measured stroll amidst trees or beneath open skies is where ideas bloom and confusions fade. Birds become philosophers. Leaves become pages. And the wind scribbles answers I wasn’t even seeking.

Every step is a prayer without syllables, echoing the Buddhist walking meditation or the Maasai warriors’ silent sunrise trek—a communion with earth, sky, and spirit.

The Ritual of Reading

I sip from books as one would sip chai on a winter morning—slowly, reverently. Fiction, philosophy, science, scripture—they all speak in different tongues but tell the same tale: the journey of the soul in the labyrinth of life.

A line may arrest me for hours. A phrase may unlock a chamber in my heart I didn’t know was sealed. Reading is how I allow others to walk my mind—and how I wander theirs. In the Jewish tradition, the daily study of the Torah is not merely educational—it’s a way of walking with God. In Confucianism, the study of texts forms the moral backbone of a day well-lived.

Of Food, Focus, and Flow

Meals are humble—seasonal, modest, grateful. I do not eat with haste or distraction, but as one would listen to a beloved’s song—attentively and gratefully. In Taoist philosophy, even the act of chewing is seen as a conversation with nature.

Work, when it arrives, is approached with the respect of a ritual. Be it a consultation, a write-up, or a moment of creative ideation—it is entered like a temple: shoes of ego left outside.

A Twilight of Thoughts

Evenings are slow rivers. The light dims like a theatre curtain drawing to close, and I let myself reflect—on the little triumphs, unnoticed joys, and silent lessons of the day. I light a candle sometimes, not because I need light, but because my spirit does.

In Persian Sufi tradition, the evening is the time for the heart to whirl inward, like a dervish returning home. It is the hour of Rumi’s silence, where everything unsaid speaks.

Sleep: The Soft Surrender

The final rite is sleep, not as an escape but a return. I do not count sheep. I count blessings. I do not worry over tomorrow. I wash my soul with lullabies of memory and forgiveness. For sleep is the night’s prayer, the body’s poetry, and the soul’s rehearsal for eternity.

I live not to fill the day, but to feel it,
Not to rush through time, but to kneel in it.
Habits, yes—but of the soul, not of speed,
Rituals that water the roots of need.
Each day, a verse in the poem of breath,
Where life dances just beyond death.