I know. I know. I said I will be consistent with this letter. I know. I said I should have learned by now and if I forget, remind me… many of you did. The best part of writing a letter is someone asking you when is it the time for the next one?

I only came back because my space beckoned me. I love journaling my life on Instagram. But this space provides for me in ways that no other space can. I have some amazing humans who have aligned with my goals, my space, and my peace, here. That is paramount to me right now- waiting and to give back when I can. I have learned, met, and talked to so many amazing energies in the past month that you'll find my writing- new. My thoughts- are more stabilized. Whatever self-doubt I had, is no more. I feel like I am a child again. I feel great. I feel that I can make others feel the same. And that includes you, my dearest reader. Yes, you deserve your time on earth. You deserve a world. Nature. Animals. The unconscious is handling you more than your consciousness. Sometimes the best we can do is hand ourselves out to the universe and start accepting- the energy in pain, the emergence of pleasures, and life as it is.

When you are down, who do you go to? The last resort?

Think?

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Your parents? Do you have them with you always? Are they your friends? Are they available always? Are your dear best friends available always?

The dog you loved, died a while back

The singer who makes you cry is no more, today

The boy who stole my heart left it mangled like a lift hurtling downwards after a malfunction, lot many years before we decided that I was forever heartbroken

Who is?

The unknown artist from Belgium whose music you paused and regained after a moment of clarity, lip-syncing slowly

The illustrator who knows how to draw your scowl with her felt tip pen on a stone paper

The rapper who made you feel alive

The movies which you watch again and again and again

The little wooden key chain which sits in your desk drawer reminds you of the trails in the mountains which you passed by

These people who make art, stay with you, against everything, within, without each thing that does not make sense

These people who draw, dance, and sing- make you feel like you are not alone

even when you are- Ah, oh, hmmm

sometimes when you talk to people, all they can speak about is the show they binge-watched in a week and how they loved it and why- that’s all they know and rejoice in because life is hard, it is unkind to most. Yet people look up to them who don’t even care. Yet people miss out on others like them. Yet people never know what it is to be kind and to suffer in the kindness of all the things-

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With responsive strings, I sing of how

great Nature controls all things with her laws

and how she keeps track of the universe

with a steady attention that never flags

and looks after each tiny creature

held fast in necessity’s net.

There are lions in Carthage held in chains

of fine-wrought gold that are trained to feed

from a man’s hand, and they fear his beatings,

but once blood touches their huge jaws

they revert, go feral, break their bonds,

and turn on their master to slake their thirst

for blood and revenge from his torn flesh.

The bird that sang free in the treetops,

shut in a cage and turned into a toy,

drinks her honeyed food from her dish,

but let her, from the bars of that cage,

glimpse those treetops that used to be home,

and she will scatter her food and sulk,

twittering only songs of grieving

about those trees through which she once flew.

Take a sapling and tie its top

so that it is bowed down to the ground,

then cut the rope or let it give way

and the tree will point again to the sky.

Phoebus’ car goes down in the west

but rises again in its regular place

in the east to usher in the morning.

Each thing seeks its own return

to what it knows as its preordained

course, so that endings often announce

new beginnings in ordered cycles.

I have pasted this poem from Boethus’s masterpiece which I devoured a while back and it has not still left me. I look up at the ceiling which is my friend and the walls which contain my wreckage- and I see Boethus and his words ring in my wee ears. I have read how-to face-read, precious essays by my favorite authors, the history of witchcraft, human design, and Nonfiction pieces that start with books on solar eclipses to poems by Romeo Oriogun, Chris Abani- prose like the award-winning book- Sorrow and Bliss, Malidoma’s stories that talk in a tongue that I have missed- and not confessing much about what I am learning…I feel guilty. I have a project which started on October 21st. Around noon or a day before that, in Kodaikanal, Tamil Nadu. I cannot tell you how much I have learned about myself and the world, since. October 21st changed a lot. Some day the trip will beckon me to write about it.

Recently I read these five books which I am highly recommending to be read:

1. Ritual: Power, Healing, and Community by Elder Malidoma

2. Face Reading: How to Know Anyone at a Glance

3. Black Dahlia Avenger: A Genius for Murder

4. The Myth of Sisyphus: And Other Essays

5. The Last Time I Had To See You: A Poetry Chapbook

   You might also want to check out some of my new writings-

I have these two latest pieces to share:
1. https://www.outlookindia.com/culture-society/it-is-raining-in-january-and-i-can-t-fly-kites-news-194149
2. https://www.theelevationreview.com/shalini-singh

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Wrote this Newsletter listening to Lagaan Soundtracks!

This is a free newsletter but not cheap. If you love it, consider supporting it by liking and sharing this newsletter. This letter is reader-supported, hence the lack of ads and sponsors. I don’t get much feedback on my newsletters (I have approximately 2000 and counting readers) If you do read, please feel free to drop me a note or hit the “heart” on the newsletter-

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