SPRKS IN CSF: Mourn

SPRKS IN CSF: Mourn:  I mourn for all those dying, all those who died, None wished for the bombs, No child asked to be in this world for this , No one cares , wh...

Mourn

 I mourn for all those dying, all those who died,

None wished for the bombs,

No child asked to be in this world for this ,

No one cares , what horror we are , humans that don't care ...

Politics day in day out for some ,

Win or lose , they all play with lives...

Accursed lives to you all, the curse from all death shall follow you ,

Like your shadow , even as you slide to your sleep,

All of you , calling yourselves leaders ,

Curses onto you from the dead and the suffering ,from  those who never mattered to you,

Yes each day, see those curses multiply and wrap around you , unto your very end ... 

(Poem by PC-3, 10/19/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: Morning

SPRKS IN CSF: Morning: Wisps of sunlight streak  across the sky, Glow of the morn is hope to mourned depths of a night, Evanescing shreds of the dark, lost to the ...

Morning

Wisps of sunlight streak  across the sky,

Glow of the morn is hope to mourned depths of a night,

Evanescing shreds of the dark, lost to the day,

The glow , an uplift  for the weary neurons, to the body,

Smiles the leaves, glowing , still wet from yesterdays rain-shower,

All nature aglow with life , a mornings gift...

(poem by Pc-3 , 10/13/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: Despair

SPRKS IN CSF: Despair: ' Known as hibakusha, the survivors of the 1945  bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki  have been recognised by the Norwegian Nobel Committ...

Despair

'Known as hibakusha, the survivors of the 1945 bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki have been recognised by the Norwegian Nobel Committee for efforts to rid the world of nuclear weapons.'

War by any name still is war,

All just suffering and misery, just despair...

There lies no path to peace ,where disconnected weapons reign,

Where rulers just parrot their few words, devoid of life,

Devoid of feeling the drones and missiles become just a game,

All on a bland screen, but the weapons do move , for the seller : all just profits,

Political games where people are again just numbers..

Be it here or there ;words do not take away  the nightmares,

Do not remove the 'poothans', be it from a past life ,

Of flames creeping across the walls ,yes for this toddler,

Where you feel the sponginess in  the water, in your dreams ,

You fear the water, for the doughy bodies piled , 

Of those who never had a chance , at life or at  anything but death!

They were just numbers, just collateral damage ...

If only there is hope for peace, not the despair of todays and tomorrows...

  

(poem by Pc-3, 10/11/2024)

Despair in time of war

War by any name still is war,

All just suffering and misery, just despair...

There lies no path to peace ,where disconnected weapons reign,

Where rulers just parrot their few words, devoid of life,

Devoid of feeling the drones and missiles become just a game,

All on a bland screen, but the weapons do move , for the seller : all just profits,

Political games where people are again just numbers..

Be it here or there ;words do not take away  the nightmares,

Do not remove the 'poothans', be it from a past life ,

Of flames creeping across the walls ,yes for this toddler,

Where you feel the sponginess in  the water, in your dreams ,

You fear the water, for the doughy bodies piled , 

Of those who never had a chance , at life or at  anything but death!

They were just numbers, just collateral damage ...

If only there is hope for peace, not the despair of todays and tomorrows...

  

(poem by Pc-3, 10/11/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: The american Air

SPRKS IN CSF: The american Air:  There a  moon glides across the sky, the milky way sparkling on  its back, What about this american air, rising in waves, rank , in waves, ...

The american Air

 There a  moon glides across the sky, the milky way sparkling on  its back,

What about this american air, rising in waves, rank , in waves,

Deep notes of sweat , of tears  congealed in its depths, 

Volcanic ash settles in those up drafts , fall to the earth slow,

Settles onto the jebels of Sahara, 

From  the leaves high up , they drip down in the Amazon,

Yet what's with this american air, still rank ,rising , shifting ,rising

Shifting with  the stony land beneath, restless , untethered ,

Heavy lies its mantle on the souls , unmoors the souls into chaos ...always ...

Poem by Pc-3 ( 09/22/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: Looking at India, looking at the past again and se...

SPRKS IN CSF: Looking at India, looking at the past again and se...:   "India's doctors strike in protest at rape and murder of colleague",  I read the headings that has been in the news of late ...

Looking at India, looking at the past again and seeing the present...

 

"India's doctors strike in protest at rape and murder of colleague", 

I read the headlines that has been in the news of late and I am transported to the one  call duty day many years ago, on the near side of the 1980s . I was a newly minted Doctor, idealistic, trying to view the world around me with part naïvete and part self importance. There I was trying to catch some sleep after attending to a few patients who came in to the causality after  a fight and after them was  a young lady brought in by ''a neighbor saying she was found unresponsive ...

 I had  tried to get more info but the man who brought in this young lady  said that he 'will go get her family' and promptly disappeared .Later it turned out that were more twists to the story( may be that's for another time ).The young lady was pregnant and  had ingested paramer -a poison in an attempt to commit suicide .After all this there I was,  in the call duty room, trying to get some shut eye after having stabilized the young lady and  transferred her to the ward .

There was a knock on my door and as I slowly shut my eyes... so I got up and looked out through the window, but the corridor and the entrance to the causality area( the small ER of this hospital) stayed empty.

 Except for a wandering street dog there was no one astir  and the bare streetlights cast stark shadows of the banana trees leaning towards the road from the yard past the road. Here I was at three AM , trying to get back to sleep, yet again. I pulled up the hospital issue sheets over my head and closed my eyes . I felt the door to the call room being pushed , so I got up again and asked 'who is it', but all that i heard was silence interspersed with the snoring of the Nurse Madhavi who was  on duty for the night . I returned to the bed , but my alertness would not allow me to sleep .

As I slowly drifted back to sleep , there it was again.... a strong push , almost an attempt to force the door. This time I was more annoyed , and shouted out 'who is it , what do you want ' . There was the face of the senior doctor , Dr. Kurup, a middle aged man at the window insisting that I open the door to examine a patient . My innate sense felt that something was odd, very incongruent  and hence  I refused , I was threatened with very dire carrier destroying consequences, as he tried to break down the door . As he pushed against the door ,I pushed my whole weight against the door .In the tussle he got hold of the end of my saree pallu, pulled it and tried to disrobe me , but I was more determined , I  managed  to wrap the other end to the bed frame and  yet held the door with all of my weight against it. The force by this senior doctor pulled the  bed against the door. Despite all this commotion Nurse Madhavi snored even louder... At  the present time  as I look back, I see her as  colluding with this beast of a doctor.

As it got closer to the morning , there were movements in the street outside with people getting their coffee and breakfast from the 'thattukada' and the monster retreated . As  he left in the morning at the end of the shift he made a snide remark, as he passed by me while I checked the vitals of a  new patient, ' I know where you live'. It made me  afraid but a determination laced with outrage took over .

What is a young trainee resident doctor to do? ,face the society  which is always ready to blame the female , let someone  know about  what happened? ... ah the shame of it all .

I decided that I have to address it ( something no  girl will ever do , due to how the society at large  viewed it). Yet I had to act ...

I spoke to the chief medical officer, who was reasonable , he said "Dr. Kurup has high political connections, so you have to decide how you want to proceed, be careful whatever you do"etc ..

After the morning rounds, I went straight to the health directorate office and filed a complaint .

So, what happened after all that...an investigation was initiated, but quashed and tabled after a month, with supposedly a call from the health minister , per my  befriended inside source of a secretarial staff member  at the  health directorate . The very next day  after my complaint to the state health director our  chief medical officer got transferred to a 'god forsaken corner of the state' . My father who was also a government official had an investigation with a trumped up charge which got dropped after many months . There was also , may be an an attempt or two  on my life...one was a bike almost running me over as I walked from the bust stop to our house one day , yes at mid day and I just ran into a nearby shop .

We were  to have a send off dinner party at the end of the period for all us trainees after a few months as we completed the trainee  period. There was to be  a boat ride and dinner at the boat club . However I was advised by another colleague to not be  alone at any time , was warned there are  some dangerous elements involved .Despite all calls , taunts etc. to be on the boat I refused, and stayed wherever there were 3 or more people the whole time  .

'How dare  a young female doctor stand up to such politically powerful being' , wonder if this was how Dr. Kurup felt  as he made all those moves . 

I wonder how it would have evolved if I didn't have the courage that itself came out of the strengths of my growing up with the supports that I had from my own family, or if it occurred in another state in India. If this could happen in the much women powered and education forward state of Kerala, I dread to think how many such incidents happened and happen in other places .

I am glad that  I filed the complaint, and I am thankful that at such a vulnerable time I had a supportive chief medical officer who I felt I could ever so briefly inform of what transpired, despite all  the society imposed shame  .

The corrupt powers in all parts of the world pretty much functions the same way, may be the difference is how they each  make their  attempts to cover up somewhat differently, but outside of that it is all the same...

Did India progress when it comes to empowerment of the women? I doubt it , if the various chats and groups' take on the current strike for asking for a  bare minimum safety for female doctors at work is any indication, the there has been no progress ...

The male dominated societies forget that every male has a mother who is a female and if not for that  female's care  they would be naught. Can they offer a little respect where it is due to the females of this world , may be the societies have to re-learn  to value females more than objects. In India , despite all the progress the minds of people have shrunk and hence much progress is needed to open and allow the minds to grow , especially for a society that had so much lost learning that got dissolved with time and presently is limited to pandering of some form or another. I hold that hope especially for the land where once giant minds of learning  grew  and was a beacon of  tolerance and equality before it all was buried ...

( by PC3, 08/17/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: PTSD, another view

SPRKS IN CSF: PTSD, another view:  I read New York Times magazine article of 'the kidnapping I cant escape by Taffy Brodesser-Akner all in one sitting- yes its  very unus...

PTSD, another view

 I read New York Times magazine article of 'the kidnapping I cant escape by Taffy Brodesser-Akner all in one sitting- yes its  very unusual for me . However  if you ask me what the content really is , I may find myself somehow to  be at a loss. I also read 'Diddy and me '. I felt so glad that NY times have really brought out an issue that many face , an issue that one  rarely talks openly about- traumas  and related responses that we use .These responses take many a shape and are nonetheless very  distressing. Even those of us who go through it cannot put  it into words easily... They are just there, as shadows that follow you every day even as the clarity of our days are shrouded in a mist , a mist that sometimes disorients us , some times is suffocating us as it extracts every bit of impetus for life from us... Each time as the mind swirls in it or  the body itself breakdown and fights itself spewing inflammatory processes , you are left drained , confused, yet muzzled by invisible internal forces. You wish to break out, yet is left  frozen incapable to act, all you do is just exist...

At least I can give the essence of what I read in the above articles  at the present time .This would  have been impossible  just a few years ago .I may read and re-read  as words existed just as a group of letters ,but devoid of context or meaning. That seems like a time so far in the past that it seems unreal to me today.

The description of inability to focus may have been one of the last bits that I had shed... I digress, I think there are remnants of all kinds of things that linger in life for me  from my traumas , things that I think I have moved beyond which  on  occasion  will still show up un -invited . I do not check my doors and windows multiple times now , but I do consciously lock it , repeating to myself what I am doing lest I really missed the all important step of locking the door .

Yes I do like to sleep with no curtains blocking the light coming in through the windows in the mornings , to welcome the day , as I say. But I do know there are secret underpinnings even for that...its so I can be aware of the outside world even as I sleep, I no longer check them every hour at night as I used to do, scanning the outdoors from the side of the shades , with  a swelling  anxiety and  the racing  heart beats  drumming ever louder in my ears... I just look out once before sleep and can then be off to sleep. No more standing by the side of the curtains , peering out with lights turned off scanning for predators in the shadows and sounds.

I do not have nightmares that wake me every hour or  every half hour, which is a big plus indeed. I am even able to push back at the flashbacks when they appear. The best part  now is that these flash backs do not get attached to emotional under currents as in the past where I would  stay frozen and my day slips away from me without any use or recall  for the lost time . Now on the few occasions that these flash backs appear I have found ways to navigate away from them using some pictures or specific music pieces .I still periodically lapse into the regret mode  of wasted life paths, carrier moves and all other  lost possible gains that could have been. Now I am able to look at these and say 'here I am' and 'despite all things, its ok'..

I think the hardest part to shed (still struggling with it) is the feeling of guilt for all things under the sun, including the sun itself... I may feel guilty if ' the sun is shining and if  its not ' as if  all of this universe's moods are  my fault somehow .But if I can just get a strand of humor to hold on to, then I am able to swing away  from those feelings that plague  me like an oozing bubo of the real plague from humanities past.

I am still not able to discard things of distress, I have them  all in the basement , penciled in on the box  to indicate its contents ' irrelevant-things of upsets, misery etc'  and that box sits next to a box containing two things ' -old journal articles - to review when I have time' , and 'my rambling writings etc' and yet another   box of  ' children's drawings and writings' . My children want me to discard most of the  things , they say ' at least get rid of the things that bothers you ', or 'why do you have these old journals... you can look up online for these any time  , surely you know that...'

I do know that on a realistic cognitive level , yet I am not able to discard these journals. Some vestigial parts in my psyche holds on to them as there was a targeted  constant attack on my reading  in my past, a denial to my personhood  all part of the repetitive nature of the traumas  and I seem to hold on to these as if I will lose my abilities again  once I throw them out . I may finally be able to do it today...As i write this I am also thinking-' what is relevance of research from the 1980's to the field today '. The reality is there , clear before me, but something keeps those boxes un touched , may be because up until recently I felt the fear of loss of  'me ' as an entity. I am more me  now , but the difficulties are there spread out across the various aspects of my life  and hopefully they too will loosen and fall off  soon. I am hopeful as I become more of me , I will be able to discard old journals despite the fear of lost words and learning . I do not cry any more when I remember parts that were lost to me due to the psychological trauma I lived through. I do not cry when I remember playing as a child, or remember how the air smelled with a first rain in summer . I formulate coherent sentences and the words seem to flow with ease now . When I read now  ,words  dance on the page and become forms in my mind . I know the words and the joy of words  may have been suppressed by what I endured , but  I am sure what was within me and what is me is something no one could erase...

by Pc-3 (07/13/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: PTSD, another view

SPRKS IN CSF: PTSD, another view:  I read New York Times magazine article of 'the kidnapping I cant escape by Taffy Brodesser-Akner all in one sitting- yes its  very unus...

SPRKS IN CSF: Domestic violence

SPRKS IN CSF: Domestic violence: As I read the NY Times piece on domestic violence' a snap shot of domestic violence spread' my first urge is to go on an  educationa...

Domestic violence

As I read the NY Times piece on domestic violence' a snap shot of domestic violence spread' my first urge is to go on an educational route, next I think as a clinician would  and want to write part clinical...

Here I digress and want to follow my mind  and go to where it wants to go, any way that was the reason that I started the blog so long ago, to put it all on paper , to regain letters and words as I tried to re-group my mind , gather the piece-meal bits of my brain into some kind of a cohesive functional whole. I know I will never feel brilliant again, I will always seek out places to withdraw  to, to hide in, to be invisible, especially when  I am told how great somethings that I did is...

I will always remain wary, the invisible scars never fade .

I do not allow to be gaslighted, nor give up 'me' for some altered reality any more. I too remember calling the Domestic violence helpline , with the thought of seeking support, had called a few times from work and hung up after dialing the number, just  as the shame rose in waves... I had a facade of respectability and intactness to keep and to preserve these I allowed myself  to be  slowly decimated.

I felt  that with reasonable make up application and rational sounding explanations it could be contained , until it was no longer contained and it spilled out more and more towards the children .

As always no victim in similar situation is ready until they are ready  and that is the reality .

Looking back I can see clearly , and I can project to a variety of out come possibilities  'if  I had stayed' none of them  have me in  a living mode...

The lack of support one feels is  at times real, at times it is a distortion of our perception.

When there is a gun near the bed , it is an implied threat and there is no point trying to repeat to yourself that 'you are over reacting ' to this and 'it is all in your head'. The financial control  is no fiction, nor is marital rape , even when you try to rationalize it all with some religious piece or cultural  practice rationale . Looking back, I realized that the subtle  signs were there from those early days of marriage (thank fully those were days  before any cell phones and air tags) of quizzing about  your work interactions , of  telling you the color of a dress that  you loved is 'not good ' finding that dress you bought being have so many small cuts  as you go to wear it, were all early warning signs . After all you loved that dress because it was your favorite color... they  all pointed to the tsunami that was coming to swallow you as life  moved ahead...

Now I know suffering domestic violence to stay married is not a measure of success, nor a virtue. I may have thought of these , but with time you were denied any thoughts... You moved , a shell , an automaton, dull and controlled , alone as your universe shrank further and further . You feared the closing of the blinds  and curtains until one day you accidentally found out that an open window or door , or a neighbor  ringing your door bell  acts as a deterrent and so you learn to create some relief  on occasion from the constant threat...

Just like some elected  officials views when it comes to abortion, I was told at one point that I have to  go for a late abortion, even when I and my doctor knew it is dangerous, because  the father felt he has a right to a son next... Chance confluence of events helped and hence I am here to tell the story, along with the blessing of a great daughter. I feared  and worried for the  intergenerational transmission of abuse ,may be the post divorce stable environment I could manage  helped to keep those genes from switching on... I hope so.

The threats that he will call CPS on me , the stalking , the threat to call my work and make me  return to him, the threat to make me  and the children live in the streets  none of it ever  came to be , but it made me figure out how to live with canned black beans , eggs and some leafy greens/ frozen vegetables to provide nutrition for the children. It was not long ago that I mentally prepared to live in a shelter , wearing a hoodie and dark glasses (yes, my plan so others won't recognize me  at my job)thankfully never came to being . At times I think back , ever so briefly and feel I am just viewing it from the outside . I try not to dwell on what was taken from me... time, emptied out bank accounts, hid away assets  , career etc , as they are irrelevant at this time as I am still alive and here for my children. After all those are just things , I am here now and that is what I have to focus on... the here , the now...

I try to move away from the past as I know it is not healthy for me to go to the past as it is bound to trigger some thing and  re-start my nightmares  all over again . I do not need that  for me in my  todays.

I can also very clearly sense the victim of domestic violence when I come across one now . I understand the defensive stands  and the shame they  feel as they try to hide  behind their facades. It is a helpful tool for me .

by Pc-3 (06/23/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: GHOSTS

SPRKS IN CSF: GHOSTS:  The evening's slanted rays weaved their humid haze into tendrils . In those  ghostly wisps were memories that never got made... Those s...

GHOSTS

 The evening's slanted rays weaved their humid haze into tendrils . In those  ghostly wisps were memories that never got made...

Those stray shell casings that had dented time in a corridor , they had robbed the memories along with the lives that never even had a chance  for a grasp at life, nor for the memories to ever  form.

The pain that jostles  one awake in the ungodly hours of the night, just pulsates with the perpetuity of loss.

In the golden godly hours Robes deemed Bump stocks legal; in the corridors of virtue ,the shell casings stayed empty for they were emptied on life...lost lives... Still the Robes glistened in the gaslight, as they always did , may be more glowing with all that halo of power. There is consistency  in that glow of power.

Yet the memories could never form, they never stood a chance , never could they form from an erased life... 'Tragedy' the word lost its meaning when life itself became a caricature, of all the forms in us , of us , of humans , of the whole that could not even be .

However the  Robes , they changed forms, shapes, styles ,hue  and the gaslight added an edge of omniscience to those  robes.

Here in wandered the little ghosts, on the wispy rays of  the sun that sneaked in through a window , through some slanted shutters that failed to close out the light fully...The came in there and sat in the pews where sounds of a negation echoed , negation of their lost lives, negation of their 'being', as were their rights to being were dissected ,rarified and rendered into words. They do wander , wondering if any one will  remember or  ever take note , like so many ghosts who wander the land  on a ray of hope  in the mist, will you even know they exist?

The shell casings spew out more ghosts as bump stocks connect to its destiny, a destiny of destruction...

As shell casings rain on decimating even a small hope for life, all to evanescence into ghosts, ghost we are to be...

short story by Pc-3 ( 06/16/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: To Protest

SPRKS IN CSF: To Protest:  To protest , yes a right , but more , thus defines our souls , They are but  bleeding souls, drips , our souls ... not warring,  Not wary c...

To Protest

 To protest , yes a right , but more , thus defines our souls ,

They are but  bleeding souls, drips , our souls ... not warring, 

Not wary calculations, not the wrath of the soul less,

Our souls , feels for those , feel their torn hopes 

Even as you try to erase... drips collective humanity ,

Yes we collectively feel, and it's power of all our souls...

Drips collects  into a tsunami, for what is right , for all...

poem by Pc-3 (04/29/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: Henry ,the bunny

SPRKS IN CSF: Henry ,the bunny: You are no O henry, o little bunny, nor a king henry Your hutch your kingdom, watchfully viewing the lands beyond,,  Be that the dining tabl...

Henry ,the bunny

You are no O henry, o little bunny, nor a king henry

Your hutch your kingdom, watchfully viewing the lands beyond,,

 Be that the dining table , or those who pass by the room,

A short pause when you greeted me ,yes ; through it to my bunny,

Who had passed on years ago, for a brief moment ,

Yet your fluffy self  an image in my mind still, even when you breathe  here no more...

poem by Pc-3 (04/14/2024)

SPRKS IN CSF: Saint Navalany ...

SPRKS IN CSF: Saint Navalany ...:  I pray , to St.Navalany, along with all the new saints ,  All the new saints that go up  before God , no gates barring them,  All who I bes...

Saint Navalany ...

 I pray , to St.Navalany, along with all the new saints , 

All the new saints that go up  before God , no gates barring them, 

All who I beseech to, to  intercede for my earthly needs , for all my wishes ...

All these so presented ,I pray  for world peace too ,

Each day , so many more saints ;so many to carry my prayers ,

Yet my prayers  seem stifled , saints have been all around us;

There are the martyrs, of all denominations , all regions -

Those quietly suffering , those who pray and carry on ,then to die..

All who dared to hold true to their  depths, their souls ,

Those who stood up when asked to kneel, those who kneeled when asked to stand ,

All  colours, creeds , all who dared , all who lit the lamps in their hearts ,

New martyrs each day , this world has given, each  of saintly , yet human natures,

Courage of ethics , drives this flow to the heavens , an  un-ceased flood  to God , 

In our todays , in this so very modern era , they flock to the heavens ....

poem by Pc-3 (02/19/2024)

What maketh a saint- 'one who stands for what is right, despite all opposing forces, even despite one self ,for that is also  a soul's courage '

SPRKS IN CSF: Saint Navalany ...

SPRKS IN CSF: Saint Navalany ...:  I pray , to St.Navalany, along with all the new saints ,  All the new saints that go up  before God , no gates barring them,  All who I bes...

SPRKS IN CSF: Quiet

SPRKS IN CSF: Quiet: O little lamb, stay quiet just so; Not a peep, hold your bleat , a little while,oh do... The giant lumbers on the hills, A mantle of dus...

SPRKS IN CSF: Quiet

SPRKS IN CSF: Quiet: O little lamb, stay quiet just so; Not a peep, hold your bleat , a little while,oh do... The giant lumbers on the hills, A mantle of dus...

SPRKS IN CSF: 'Hind'

SPRKS IN CSF: 'Hind':  Hind-It's a name , names that means... 'some one', Yet names , they define one , they limits one, and we all have names ... The...

'Hind'

 Hind-It's a name , names that means... 'some one',

Yet names , they define one , they limits one, and we all have names ...

They are children, they are mothers, are fathers , brother, sister  , some ones' some body...

We never chose who we are , how we are  or where we were placed on this earth,

Yet again others want to destroy lives ... just because , just that ;for 'being'.

There are shapes, colors ,sounds , they differ ...

I pray again,  oh universe, oh let the might of nature  take over please ,

Yet again my prayer so the 'puny humans of war' be made to stop, 

By the wrath of nature , even as all Gods sleep, for Gods  an eternal  coma-

Has unleashed the demons of Men, here , there and over the hills too...

Demons of men ,theirs  an epilepsy  with chants of ' destroy all', theirs 'god given insanity' indeed...

So I pray , Nature do what you do, so the blinded men stop their wars, please....

Poem  by Pc-3  ( 02/10/2023)

SPRKS IN CSF: safety

SPRKS IN CSF: safety:  I read the news about the Japan earthquake, and my thoughts just go to the uncertainty we call life ... People of Toyama  I  pray that you ...

safety

 I read the news about the Japan earthquake, and my thoughts just go to the uncertainty we call life ...

People of Toyama  I  pray that you all are safe. I also recognize that the ties that connect us come also just 

by chance . My connection to Japan is primarily through my own daughter's connection  and some times I 

think we  may have some past life connection. I felt a connection of oneness when I visited  there  with 

my  daughter  who had been teaching there. There is no other way to describe the internal connection I 

felt breathing in the air   and feeling the murmur of the bamboos , I felt at home , felt  I belonged...

Hence I also feel with the people who are now feeling the stress  and anxiety. I know safety is a temporal 

sense that is there , but it is a memory that comes when uncertain events  take it away  or disrupt it.

We forget to feel it until it gets unmoored .I hope all the people on this earth feels safety, yet mostly by 

human actions that feeling gets broken , at other times Nature  makes disruptions.... 

SPRKS IN CSF: Moral implosion

SPRKS IN CSF: Moral implosion: Ethics lay by the wayside, Compassion has died steady and ,slow... In its ashes has sprouted dominance. I breathe , all around... the mo...

Moral implosion

Ethics lay by the wayside,
Compassion has died steady and ,slow...
In its ashes has sprouted dominance.
I breathe , all around... the moral implosion,
As breaths are extinguished...
Questions  struggle askance, for quests undefined-
Yet extracting lives, strife to life's horizons,
 Stars and gods gaze down insentient...
Words  disconnect, they are lost to me,
Meaningless , they have become chaff now.


    by
peace crane 3 (from july 2016,yet even more true today)

SPRKS IN CSF: Winds

SPRKS IN CSF: Winds: The winds, they stir in the desert, they blow hither and thither,  Shamals sneak in  to coats the days, I rise , floats on an updraft,  Yes ...

Winds

The winds, they stir in the desert, they blow hither and thither,

 Shamals sneak in  to coats the days,

I rise , floats on an updraft, 

Yes the wind beneath my wings have  shifted, 

The dust that coat me is  all that is left ,

Here it smells of death, the dunes have turned...

They have become craters, and now they  rust...

The updraft is just sorrow now, just sorrow is me.

the godlike ones calculate, lies for money, closed eyes ,

Not  to see ,yet the sand turns red all around ...

Poem by Pc-3 (12/09/2023)

SPRKS IN CSF: separated, at at at , tender age ...

SPRKS IN CSF: separated, at at at , tender age ...: words, sounds separated children,  man-made borders, shelter pets, crickets in a nuclear dust, cries , breaking souls, repeat again -- h...

SPRKS IN CSF: separated, at at at , tender age ...

SPRKS IN CSF: separated, at at at , tender age ...: words, sounds separated children,  man-made borders, shelter pets, crickets in a nuclear dust, cries , breaking souls, repeat again -- h...

separated, at at at , tender age ...

words, sounds
separated children,  man-made borders,
shelter pets, crickets in a nuclear dust, cries , breaking souls,
repeat again -- hate .. .control, laws, cruelties,
gloating laughter, backtracking words, sounds, crying children,
slammed doors... Bullies, laughable notes, music, sobs...
miller got soul envy,
hates a child that's ever been loved...
suckling pigs , sati on a pyre
paper white , ink that spread don't cry -only sulk to torture,
PTSD, return of the devil...time rewind, 1985 June , rules , laws...
untouchable, female, dirty, child, closed door ,
infant cries, pediatricians rules,.. dare to disobey?..
bully by any name is still one;
bully pulpits change, titles all shift shapes...
God weeps in children, in an infant,
love is not rules, nor dunes
dictator comes in all shapes, shape shifting demons,
beguiled masses...
oh so many years, traumas shadow all a life,
dare I question, raised eye brows,
oh nurse smith, one less moment of torture for my baby...
pediatrician, president or king-all shapes,
devils adorned in shimmer, mirage, life or oil vats..
Bibles- blades to guillotines,
dark days, dark shadows swirl inwards,
sorrow seeps to coat my soul,
soulless floaters, fake gods,
north star, plastic bit ,shimmer in the sky or the seas,
universe- reflected tar in our souls' images,
death, hell, life -all iterations of the same...

(poem by pc3-06/18/18)

consider donating -
https://www.aclu.org/
https://www.raicestexas.org/
or
https://actionnetwork.org/groups/raices-refugee-and-immigrant-center-for-education-and-legal-services

'I don't recall what triggered this poem, but  the content was a deep sadness for the cruelty meted out to my children by their father, especially my child born in 1985 with rules seperating him from me - his mother , yet was saved briefly by Nurse smith. I don't remember her first name , just glad she came by when she came to see  her consultant pediatrician's new baby ... the little miracles that happen even in the midst of hell called life , these are what one is thankful for ....wanted to put it out here as i recalled that miracle"

SPRKS IN CSF: Three religions... The three monotheistic religio...

SPRKS IN CSF:  Three religions... The three monotheistic religio...:  Three religions...  The three monotheistic religions had started  their life in a region that had held human thoughts in where they all bre...

 Three religions... 

The three monotheistic religions had started  their life in a region that had held human thoughts in where they all breathed the same air , yet how did the minds bend and shape it to navigate life with so much venom , spitting out so much hate towards each other . They all started out their course for reducing suffering in various forms , yet they have caused and continue to cause so much suffering through out human existence .When can any human see another as just that' another human...another who share the same space and breathe the same air, will human mind evolve and advance to that position ever?

All wars have sprouted  and had  been grown, fed on the hate for another, fueled by religion ,and they continue to do so...

Passover, Easter, Ramadan, or for that matter any religious observances and festivals are meant for one  to focus within , to make one better with hope and share burdens with one  another at the soul level, but  instead  in its place there is a wave that crests in hatred and denigration of another within the dark corners of our minds. Instead of trying to heal the soul every religion grow their zealots who has lost their conscience, and they claim to be leaders leading with vitriol ,furthering another's suffering. 

Similar decay has taken over every religion , be it Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism or Budhism, the  disruptors have worn the distortions that is convenient to them  and loudly profess their great faith , charging in to spew vitriol and cause more suffering for all. The din and chaos is not conducive to a self reflection and those loud ones only want their thundering sounds to be above all else . For a moment if one were to think, none of us had a choice of where we were born, nor which religion we came into practicing, a few genes  came together by chance and we came to be born into a certain family. Hence how can we claim our views to be dictated by faith , place of existence or where we happened to be 

It may be too much to hope in an individual human's capacity  to be reflective and uphold kindness to others and acceptance of one another  during all times, but I can certainly hope. There in lies the real hope for peace and growth of compassion towards another  growing from within our souls  nurtured by self reflection and acceptance of what is beyond the self....

( pc-3, april 2023)

SPRKS IN CSF: The Day after tomorrow

SPRKS IN CSF: The Day after tomorrow: Yesterday I dreamt of the coming of spring, Birds singing in the trees, And flowers dancing in the sun;      Today, I wake, and go to wo...

The Day after tomorrow

Yesterday I dreamt of the coming of spring,
Birds singing in the trees,
And flowers dancing in the sun;
     Today, I wake, and go to work.
 Carry my day in routines,
      Tomorrow I balk and stare,
  Into the day after,
  The day after tomorrow, I see,
   I see the future,
   I see it all crumble and shift,
   All my future children,
   Crumble into civilization's demise,
I see the day after tomorrow,
Rising into oblivion;
All life and time glide and lurch away,
All into the great oblivion, oblivious all still...
Into the day after tomorrows...
 

(poem by Pc3--01/30/2017)

I  post this again, as it seems so apt for our todays and tomorrows

SPRKS IN CSF: THERE ARE NO WINNERS IN A WAR

SPRKS IN CSF: THERE ARE NO WINNERS IN A WAR:  There are no winners in a war ........... ..................................................... Just grief  and misery........................

THERE ARE NO WINNERS IN A WAR

 There are no winners in a war ...........

.....................................................

Just grief  and misery...............................

...............................................

Prayers and tears ripple ,

Lives torn asunder......, "..."

..............................................

....no winners  ever in a war......

..........................................

SPRKS IN CSF: Care ?

SPRKS IN CSF: Care ?:   Numbers and letters, names and assigned tribes , groups,  sections , lost in these ,we are faced with the loss of human nature within us. ...

Care ?

  Numbers and letters, names and assigned tribes , groups,  sections , lost in these ,we are faced with the loss of human nature within us. It all fall into some words , illustrious  descriptions , all for war lingo...

The news media goes about vying with each other  as to who and how sensational any tragedy can be made for consumption. Lack of care for the suffering of people  must not be the criteria by which the ratings and hence the profits are measured, but that is how the caring news business runs. 

Just the same way that  political rantings go as well. But above all the humans are forgotten . The people did not choose to be born either Christian, Muslim or Jewish .The new born baby got the stickers placed on him or her , just by chance in the lottery called life. His or her life got placed on whichever geographical place it happened upon. The color of their skins got colored by the rate of melanocytes that was another slot on this lottery system. A few genetic material got mixed together and came into being , however the ones that create suffering  and war have their agenda and the human beings  who chanced to be at a certain place is left with  only suffering . 

There  is never anything right about any war, just what is left...a lot of suffering , a lot of humans who did not choose .. all left to suffer... and the utter despair knowing that  'no one cares'... no gods, no countries , no loud  ones Then it  all become  but days.. long days of  just quiet sobs, of children and slow whimper of destitution. just despair...Each morning the sun  sighs into being  and the heat of despair look on the days, giving  way to nights of  unimaginable losses.....endless days where no one cares  and no care can mend the broken...  

SPRKS IN CSF: to Mourn

SPRKS IN CSF: to Mourn:  Words have lost their sounds, in a vacuum they simply float, Soundless words , emptied they search, for heart... Comfort and Despair , pair...

to Mourn

 Words have lost their sounds, in a vacuum they simply float,

Soundless words , emptied they search, for heart...

Comfort and Despair , paired  to the same life,

Man -why do thee curse life  , with all emptiness,

Why  do thee make life  so unbearable , just so... to prove you can?...

poem by PC-3 (10/15/23)

SPRKS IN CSF: Three religions... The three monotheistic religio...

SPRKS IN CSF:  Three religions... The three monotheistic religio...:  Three religions...  The three monotheistic religions had started  their life in a region that had held human thoughts in where they all bre...

SPRKS IN CSF: 'Anon' at Gilgo

SPRKS IN CSF: 'Anon' at Gilgo: "support the UN's International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women.".... 'Anon"- I had imagined it...

SPRKS IN CSF: 'Anon' at Gilgo

SPRKS IN CSF: 'Anon' at Gilgo: "support the UN's International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women.".... 'Anon"- I had imagined it...

'Anon' at Gilgo

"support the UN's International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women."....

'Anon"- I had imagined it to be some  famous person, with so much credited to the name , until it collapsed under the factual knowledge of what it stood for...

But I am 'Anon', imperceptible like the air, stranded at the interlocks of a feather , I stay on the beach, in the air, in the spray, just there...

Some times, I am just in some ones thoughts, always 'Anon'....

  The waves lapped at the sandy beach, throwing up the sand, swirling memories of lives from the deep as it foams, form-less. Somewhere far in the Atlantic a storm churned and raged. The muddy foam slaps at  the shore, perhaps in its efforts to avenge the land.

Screams from somewhere on the shore leaned into the howling winds ,mixed into the spray and lost itself seamlessly into the universe.

One could say that the howling winds of the nights were all interwoven sounds- lives spilled into the vast oceans, periodically re-visiting the lands gathering up more of those into yet other storms; sounds of muted crying, heart wrenching sobs, screams of distilled fears and death , all woven into the air and sea, blowing over the land ,  to spill out as wind and waves...That may be why howling winds distress man and beast alike, moving all into hiding.

     Crisp air with the faint wisps of snow hung over ocean parkway. A stream of light pierced that darkness and turned right onto the driveway. She had met him at a bar some where in Queens. 

The only strand that clung to her memory was the curves of the SUV-sleek red Audi with break lights that glowed like red feathers..

Oaks island had a charm that lent itself to the scent of moneyed outcrops that varied between beachfront cottages and tidy little houses that nestled along that stretch of sand. Little marinas dotted the bay ,tidy boats swinging on the waves.

Her mind stayed  partly in queens- the bustling loudness interspersed with sweat and grime in the streets, where humanity's hopes and its hopeless pathos evaporated into the air .

The bar was loud and coarse with the pathos , for a brief moment she felt she had escaped into a higher plane, even as she knew it would be short...It was just life for the sake of living, You held those hopes -you took some and you lost some. Who indeed has any right to judge, about principles and rules, yes when life has to be lived with all its apathy and pathos that  churns up in the efforts for a grip at survival. 

She viewed her actions as momentary, but others may consider them consequential...A short sigh escaped into the cold air as those feather break lights disappeared into the garage . She was standing in the arc of a driveway. 

The air was chill and she shivered .He knocked on the glass panes of the window to get her attention. The front door opened and she floated in with her little silver purse by her side . The tap of her high heels echoed hollow through the house .

   Time has a way of sweeping out the present into the future, and at times it gathers up the past and dots the present with its ghosts. Yet it is this character of time which gives it that aura of undefinable ghost like quality...

She didn't have any way to define the present, except that she was in some floating cloud-

She was not sure of time or events any more, part was past, and parts present , real or unreal all mixed up and cloud like...

Yes, the Audi with break lights like red feathers, not some random dots or lines , glowing feathers , and its curves , graceful like the arched back of a nude sculpture...A room at the back...

The grey sports car purred to life and charged like a winged predator, all bared teeth and wings tucked by its side , as she ran into the sand bank...

  The air was crisp with snow falling in tiny wisps. The raw wind picked up and brought ashore the foam floating like scales of ash from the fire place where he burned her ID and things that mattered-there was a faded family photo tucked inside her wallet.. The wallet retained its shape in glowing embers , its charred form soon to crumble into flakes of ash to scatter like dandruff on the sand  as he threw it far.

All these forms have become a "non"

Nothing mattered any more as her screams were drowned out by the howling wind, her voice became part of the wind which will blow each winter howling against his conscience. 

Her choking gasps escaped raspy against the raw sea and died out like the embers at his fire place, as he pushed her  further into the water. 

The swaying lights of the beach houses and the line of the shore remained silent , as the air turned with her breath 

 (story by PC3- 11/25/18- ref- gilgo beach's lost)

Most Femicides occur in the homes, femicide  the ultimate violence against women

SPRKS IN CSF: Collective PTSD...just some thoughts

SPRKS IN CSF: Collective PTSD...just some thoughts: PTSD is a group of symptoms that affects individuals.  It may affect communities as a more collective response after disasters, However let ...

Collective PTSD...just some thoughts

PTSD is a group of symptoms that affects individuals. 

It may affect communities as a more collective response after disasters, However let me express my take on the world at large :there seems to be a recent phenomena that is akin to a collective PTSD like behaviors in communities  culminating in a wide array of symptoms that  seems to make people frozen in various ways in a collective sense. 

I am speculatively tunnel-scoping here, but it is more apparent to me that nations can collectively respond as if  large groups are affected by various PTSD symptoms , mostly in varying degrees .

There is trauma experience , and of course the whole world has experienced traumatic events , in fact people have had collective traumas experienced cumulatively, the most prominent and nearest being the pandemic . When you look back it seems that destabilizations that affects people elsewhere is collectively felt to a certain extent by all, more as a vicarious experiential event through the media news spin cycle , charging up their emotions . 

If one cannot separate the self from it , to look inwards to a point of calm within, the boundary of identity dissolves  and sense of self  feel assaulted , either affiliating with the victim or the aggressor or both in varying degrees at varying times... 

There is no  salve for the internal chaos that come from the absorptive external chaos . So what happens with this? Let's speculate using some of the symptoms described of PTSD, as if they are collectively felt .

The trauma triggers other recalls within the brain ( again what is one person's trauma is not necessarily the next persons' trauma or even trigger)

You feel triggered , which in itself  shows up as a variety of behaviors , thoughts or actions .You have flashes of events from the past which brings up irrational fears and loss of control.

You want to withdraw , you want to do something(right now) or just feel antsy, irate , so in an effort to calm those internal feelings , you surf the media some more, which gets you to more triggers. You feel no one is doing anything and blame a whole lot of people , still those triggers keep going and you feel ineffective  and frustrated ...your thoughts are no longer coherent as you are not able to differentiate where some events or thoughts end and others begin. You dwell on things and you stew , feeling less effective.

 As you withdraw more you also feel more disconnect, this leads to inaction , or wrong actions .You feel just dissatisfaction , and the outcome is more dissatisfaction and ' blaming the other'. Its always easy to target some others or whole systems instead of effectively managing what is within your control and reach, hence the effective actions to be taken are stifled and only chaos ensue . This internal chaos seeks out others and more chaos and disorganization in a group setting is then the outcome .

A community PTSD of this nature do not follow an identified trauma , hence it is even more  damaging for the whole community...

The collective effects are felt and internalized further and if each within the  collection of people do not try to quiet their minds  any loud mouth gets to spark and set off those wrong  actions, an avalanche of wrongs then comes forth with much disastrous consequences... There is need for leadership, strong leaders . They are not the loudest or wildest, but those with integrity of thoughts and calm thoughtful actions for the good of all in the collective group. It takes integrity and clarity of thoughts and actions to lead  and there are very few who are true leaders. 

(by PC-3 07/09/2023)

SPRKS IN CSF: SMOG

SPRKS IN CSF: SMOG:  This day dawns hushed, The red fruit of the haze Floats low on the horizon, Wisps of burnt nature smart my eyes, Nature's revenge ,its ...

SMOG

 This day dawns hushed,

The red fruit of the haze

Floats low on the horizon,

Wisps of burnt nature smart my eyes,

Nature's revenge ,its own singed skin;

Scars the earth though slow,

As you flay the forests bare in wider sweeps,

And soups the oceans in plastic,

Natures revenge , it coats my air.

Maybe I will remember it tomorrow,

May be I will stop to think again...

Poem by PC-3 (06/07/2023)

SPRKS IN CSF: Asthma, Flashbacks and Gods….

SPRKS IN CSF: Asthma, Flashbacks and Gods….: On  Asthma, flashbacks and Gods…. Flashbacks, they come un-invited. A little girl cowering under the covers, stuffing her shirt into her m...

Asthma, Flashbacks and Gods….

On  Asthma, flashbacks and Gods….

Flashbacks, they come un-invited. A little girl cowering under the covers, stuffing her shirt into her mouth to stop the sound that escape unannounced…Yet you fear ,trying to place a comforting hand on her, you fear that her attempts to gain air through the sobs will be heard beyond these walls, unleashing further wrath in the one in the next room. You again pray that sleep has  closed off that other parent in the next room.  Through her sobs she lets you know that which you and she knows inherently… “I cant help it, I am trying , but I cant stop crying”, and then bigger, deeper sobs…

The air that is trying to oxygenate the deeper far alveoli gets stuck, as the  mucus fills them, those airways stay tightly closed ,a wheeze is all that  can escape  along the interspace of those heart wrenching sobs…You silently pray, then you carry the frustration in you  that ‘God can’t hear’.

All the Gods cannot change is the reality before you, when humans choose to produce the suffering.

Natasha, Tony or Jana, none can escape that which is before them every day…that suffering, the suffering that which becomes part of them, they carry the weight of what they have seen and heard, they just walk one day to the next… Their lives are forever modified, they shake but no, that which left the scars deep within their minds can never be shaken off... Never will they shake off that heaviness…

Providence is just another misguided term for where the souls fall, who your caretakers in this life be , all set to chance  and that  same which  seals your destiny. As mothers, fathers, children and ancestors course through their lives, destinies are weaved in. Here we humans and all universe interconnect, all just a factor of chance …

By Pc-3(from around sept 2004)

SPRKS IN CSF: SPRKS IN CSF: A book I am reading

SPRKS IN CSF: SPRKS IN CSF: A book I am reading: SPRKS IN CSF: A book I am reading :  I opened the New York Times  Book review section , ready to toss it to the paper garbage , after-all I ...

SPRKS IN CSF: A book I am reading

SPRKS IN CSF: A book I am reading:  I opened the New York Times  Book review section , ready to toss it to the paper garbage , after-all I will never have the luxury of  time ...

A book I am reading

 I opened the New York Times  Book review section , ready to toss it to the paper garbage , after-all I will never have the luxury of  time to read. What is even the point of scanning at the grapes presented, preemptively knowing that they are going to be sour or just sit there and rot. Besides why spend thirty quid on some book that likely will looses flavor  in a few pages, just to add to the fattened pot of an author who when not writing  , may minister to the sick or infants of the profession ...thus went my thoughts as the page opened to the  heading 'family medicine '.

I scanned through the review, made a face and threw into the paper pile. In the evening as I made my next day's lunch ,a part of me go over to the paper pile  and read the review a little bit.

Some thing in the review irked me and I mutter to myself about 'some  Solomon guy who has no clue about places and people sit there and feel all mighty big  and judges a book's content...I bet he has nothing to do with India '  The phone rings and its my daughter...  so I express my annoyance about the reviewer . 

Thus I decide to buy the book and as I read , I am more annoyed at some random reviewer with no clue of the land or people or a past that is plausible( and true if you stitched together just the group of people and families  I knew in my infancy in a tiny village area ) had felt righteous to judge with his words . Move it another generation back and I see it all as really possible . The story flows and here I am reading it - the  covenant of water...

I change the names and move them like chess pieces and  I have my childhood vividly displayed  with all the dramatic flair of those days .There are  too many mishaps and terrible things  happen in the book, and possibly in a past not that far away , but  life did go on and people had an element of goodness and ethical ways to get through from one day to the next  as best as they could . I am not blind to the impact of caste system and the power of the landed over the poorer sections of the society , nor am I discounting that the corrupt systems' grapple-hold  and the powers be  created and made so much suffering , but the simple goodness despite it all in those around me is  what I recall . It has  changed now and  just like the dew drops  dies on a blade of grass ,the good in people have shrunk and the goodness dies daily and gradually... Just like the reaches of a cancer , quietly invading and eroding the goodness within people , in our Gods own country...yes God has been quietly slumbering , unable to heal our minds ,may be.

Back to the book - I am glad to be reading it , makes me skim to  the surface of a time that  at once makes me sad  and touched, for that which is gone  as it is part of the fabric of me... a person , part of my mind , my memories that makes me ,  the parts I hold dear  and those had moved me  through my life in times that would have felled some others under the strain it brought... I am glad to get back to that land through a book , so thank you book for getting to me through a confluence of chanced emotions and actions...I am certain some call that 'fate' and others call it 'god /deity in  action', but what ever name it carries  it chanced me to the book  and through that into a window that I can slide  into the past where with all the faults it was truly the land where God lived in its peoples minds perhaps..

by Pc-3 (05/15/2023)

SPRKS IN CSF: viewing

SPRKS IN CSF: viewing:  I am at once elated and concerned by the recent interest in my posts, I wonder who finds what I write interests them. (mostly I write... mo...

viewing

 I am at once elated and concerned by the recent interest in my posts, I wonder who finds what I write interests them. (mostly I write... more for myself) . I am glad someone reads them, hopefully not just a bot or AI generated readership. I am always hopeful that my writings are not used for creating suffering for anyone in the vastness of this world, however I am sure even my innocuous  words could shape and metamorphose into spears within some dark forces, hence my trepidation with the recent interest in my posts . If more good comes of it , then it will be gratifying that something that I wrote helped some one in some form. That all I have to say about the viewing of my random posts

( by pc-3   -05/03/2023)

SPRKS IN CSF: An Earth Day

SPRKS IN CSF: An Earth Day: The fog lifts  gently  as the land warms,  A log, once a tree, now on a journey, To oneness with dear Earth, I step, a poor judgment trip, O...

An Earth Day

The fog lifts  gently  as the land warms, 

A log, once a tree, now on a journey,

To oneness with dear Earth,

I step, a poor judgment trip,

On the ground, the earth smells me ,

Not mine to smell  the earth today ,gifts of  pollen, 

My nares' scourge , so reactive they block all scents ,

No breaks, no twists but for a bruised ego,

My fall cushioned on the softened leaves, 

Last fall's  gift to Mother nature, 

All nature  ,a gift for us too always

(poem by PC-3 -04/22/2023) 

SPRKS IN CSF: Three religions... The three monotheistic religio...

SPRKS IN CSF:  Three religions... The three monotheistic religio...:  Three religions...  The three monotheistic religions had started  their life in a region that had held human thoughts in where they all bre...

SPRKS IN CSF: Quiet

SPRKS IN CSF: Quiet: O little lamb, stay quiet just so; Not a peep, hold your bleat , a little while,oh do... The giant lumbers on the hills, A mantle of dus...

SPRKS IN CSF: SPRKS IN CSF: Reading books and my views

SPRKS IN CSF: SPRKS IN CSF: Reading books and my views: SPRKS IN CSF: Reading books and my views :  I am reading books again, as my days have spaces opened for them as I travel to see family. It i...

SPRKS IN CSF: Reading books and my views

SPRKS IN CSF: Reading books and my views:  I am reading books again, as my days have spaces opened for them as I travel to see family. It is on a whim that I bought the book 'Bra...