Madhu Goteti
Bio
The thrums in the strums and the delights in the humdrum of life have always fascinated me.
It’s that feast of reason and flow of soul; in all that I see and all that I shall behold!
I am an avid lover of art and philosophy!
Stories (120)
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Lightening ⚡️
A Candor alights For the ebullient to rise Whence in thence shines bright!
By Madhu Goteti Exclusive • about a year ago
Wind's Vaudeville: Will !
𝑶 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍…𝑨𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑼𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔, 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆—𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒐𝒐𝒛𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 … 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒆𝒇𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒘( 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚) 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 © ✍️ 𝑴𝒂𝒅𝒉𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒕𝒊, 🍂 🎃🍁𝑺𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝟑𝟎𝒕𝒉, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 🍁
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Poets
𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊! 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖌….𝖔𝖚𝖙!
𝓐 creative train of thought is set off by the unexpected, the unknown, the accidental, the disorderly, the absurd, the impossible.... and certainly, the most mentionable— the crucibles. Like me, every person has a train of thought ,upon which, they choose to travel wherever, whenever and in whatever order they happen to advance. In recalling or for that matter —reading what others have done or said, my mind, prefers to come up with no permanent fixity of thought. Such so, I choose to confine myself —here—to give a brief explanation of thoughts; the name by which it can be called—Rumination. These are cogitations by themselves and I choose to make a character sketch of them, although intending to propose “freedom,” (thro’ them ,) in its most spiritual sense. To that, I will simply mention this for sure : Never let hate chain to these trains 🚂 of thought; and if, equally,all statutes of liberties 🗽must be rightfully preserved. So here goes a trailing thought of expressive speech, by what means so ever, graciousness is being brought at your service … Also, herein, dutifully, I raise my hands to confer my gratitude (like this : 🙏,)towards that greatest author of goodnesses— the almighty! Dear Reader, See how transient are these words, after which, we toil do hard to express day in and day out. And ,as such, the weary day passes into the night, amassing the effects of some illusive order. Miserly silent or audaciously vocal these words are ( piggybacked over lines,) for your kind perusal. Tread carefully else yea shall be ranked disorderly over 🫵🏼 these woven lines. Now, just imagine the plight of those who fail to express —as though, squandering about, and shunned to scorns. That always shows up as the chilling neglect of mankind. Look 👀 ,ever apt, here goes this trail of thought 💭 whence each gay turn captures thy moves. The Trailing Train 🚂 hooted and it was laboring along an endless path. It was on a prolonged run moving across many cascading turns. Everything was ensuing upon this unwinding path of no returns. Needless to say, in all this, the tracks were abruptly vanishing, and vaguely—the sensation was a total gooey amalgam. It was no illusion! The quasi in such a context was noticeable. But, in some connected sense, history was leading into a personage of ghastliest lineament. Quite literally, the scene was breathtaking to discern, but it was posing a philosophical issue. Meaning —an absurd situation was emerging and it all felt far from settling. The path that I was lain upon was a sort of a grand repose, so much so, held over a headless void, but still, I sallied forth ,as if, in a “time-tunneled syncing,” problem. And alongside,working together, was this bare fact that humanity —more specifically, my impulse, was undergoing a deeper transformation. To understand this properly —merely assume me ordering time in a reflective sense. And all this is to bring about an experience that shall remain unrealistically closer to life yet it isn’t. It’s time —tiding through mind’s eye and treading through the Year 2080 AD. Therein, my mind gets possessed with artificially induced intelligence. And justly bearing the critic noble name of a erudite scholar : I was chipped. This was a situation where great many were quivering in or for that matter, loosing ‘consciousness. Launched beyond their depths, this was evidently discreet. So such so , on every turn, a miasmic glum enveloped many all around me. I was stuck (as well,) on this baffling road, where nothing c’d ever be held together as cogently close nor far flung to be less than rejection unbound. But, so on and so forth, gradually, I was emerging afloat, much over a distant origin while magically suspended in this mysterious and languorous reality. Everything was emerging through this clunky iron-clad roof of the locomotive called “The Thought Train.” However, What was happening with me, in fact, was precisely this —I was slowly sailing off into an eternal spun. The imagery can be provocative,I know! But stay with me and you shall know -“What’s for What ?” What’s in a matter, after all …. So, flailing against all this ( timed) escapade was my heart beating against death while my mind refused to sink into sleep. And tugging at my soul was this raging emotion drawing its essence from the otherworldly vestiges. Perhaps, the most convincing touch was this inexorable feel that everything was to go up in flames. Clearly, things were burning up all around me, yet, my instincts were very much alive to feel imputed through it. So, on my shoulder was this unknown realm, bearing me as a voyager —almost rowing me through the galaxies on the other end. And from my point of view, situations were questing to seek no particular destination. For a moment, it felt so untrue to face those spans of enormous plains of eternity. Yet there I was —literally, wondering as to what I was doing amidst such distant galaxies. Fleeting ! Maybe …But far through it, I had arrived into this void of deep mist. Construing through the stairways of emerging forms, I saw something there. …. A stillness and a cold shore of died down seas—a sort of a ledge to look back into the past. Upon swift turnings of sight , there again, I found this —vast stretch of time, ending in this ancient scene. “Whose life is this and why am I passing through this,” I wondered. Abruptly, there were terror guns blasting right over my ken. And when I looked upon, some objects were boundlessly scattering lightenings in all directions. Neural firings ! Ah! Look! How far can learnings go! Across those fields, apparently, many people were paying premature tributes to this land of “oblivion.” Over those lucid grounds many people were about to amass so many joyless days and so many sleepless nights, quite at once. Such so, in succession, all were passing thro’ entry doors of thoughts and climbing aboard unto an elusive retreats. It was ,as though, they were crossing over to the other side of the living world, to face an ominous journey quite upfront. In actuality, people were stepping into a place, marked by an “observers chimera,” wherein, experiencing everything was like tying sand-ropes down onto seeping (imaginative) seas. Now …now …now… Don’t say “thought f*ck ,”yet! Be with me and I shall show you what a phenomenal ride through these “highs and lows,”actually bring. So out there….thro and thro, I was making a “grace call,” into a mystical sojourn. It was an inexplicable phenomenon of sensing paradise,and then to go on—in continuation, faring thro’ those strange wildernesses —taken upon, so unexpectedly. Was this a time traveler’s helm or does ascension truly feel like this in return. I wondered ?! But dispatched so, from the earthly ordinances of humanity, I was all allied with the flowing stream of concatenation. And going into such a passage of time wasn’t easygoing at all. In another sense, everyone was being doled out whereby, none seemed real, yet, everything was common in terms of the chilling ways in which humanity was being casted off and burnt. And when one looks upon it through the impetuosity’s eyes it was evolutionary magnificence…. But …all said … A worst massacre had befallen. And quite unimaginably, it was year 2080 AD. Luminously unbound, and invariably exuding smiles of that marvelous sun , each one of us was jaw dropping to watch what each was to ultimately become —a beam or a bubble, or simply reared to perpetuate into the ruins of this otherworldly shunt. And, all this was happening in an orderly fashion and I was one among them. Our whole bodies—(souls , minds and spirits, ) from here as “distinct,” to there —in a fuliginous form , dismally congregating into heaps of junk, and then, disappearing as a “bleary gone.” In glumness … We were much like instantly consumed in the locality of marginal things and vanishing into the perpetual extinction of nothingness. There was no return! Yet busily, with the hope of a new world to come, some people had their mind’s eyes fully open , while some others held their hands outstretched , as though, to welcome the next person, who was being befooled into such a mirthful transportation into logics. And to that I say— “come, come with me to stay in such an array.” It’s a rare providence only a few can hold…. Everything —there—was being subjected to the same-“melancholic pun.” Now, Dear reader , don’t ask where once again …all in all, the answer to it is: It was a providence afloat over some riding spells. Set up in a sober sense, I wasn’t distinguishable as anything in particular. My entity wasn’t to be framed in a letter nor a word. I was that variable to be mentioned as in a syllable-d hoot 🦉 —much like a whizzy sound emanating from an “atom.” And as though in a deaf toned shout, I was jumping and skipping many spiral turns. It had been a serious assault of mind over matter as a consequence of my zeal,I suppose?! Something echoed through those realms asking: Have a Heart?! And I remember saying this to self…. Why must one take upon such an endeavour that springs up from the absolute unknown. It was ,literally, from nowhere; much as much as some ordained missionary propelling to legitimize the conceptual order of the metaphysical world. In there, it was like being on a miserable journey, unbound towards hellish conditions stuck at Pharos guidepost. I wanted to be free … Out there, in all this, unawares, many were perched upon winged lunges; more so, like merely seated upon their bosoms, and twirling around in whirligigs to humbly meet endearing heartiness. At this hopeful retreat, I existed momentarily -at least. Dear Reader .. don’t ask where?! Where could that be?! My answer would be : It’s somewhere-where, Aether was flowing through cross fields , I suppose ?! Yet, at that sight,something was infecting souls very deeply. In succession, one by one, our seats ( remember —we were all chained to trains 🚂 of thoughts) were spinning around in nautical turns, and within minutes, everything was consumed in the horizon’s blazoning sun. “Swirly whip, Swoosh,” —-ah! I said to myself, totally mystified by the wonder of not knowing what would happen next in the subsequent churns. And within all this, there was no dawn nor dusk. People were found gallantly grunting to seek and adjust their seats to their adjacent fields. Aligned to a single hyper-baronial journey but disembarking on a different point of symmetry. Could that be synergy … I wondered as I was being provoked once again …. In ways, it all felt like a contraption, unraveling as a mystical lead that each —justly—had to invariably confront. Yes, we were on a voyage —whereof, a train was eventually overturning itself towards this “other worldly,” sojourn. Everything was descending into a peculiar inferno, seething and boiling from the bottom. It seemed everyone had fallen prey to a worst holocaust devised by the worst of men. A time or two, a lovable cherubic child w’d climb the train 🚂 in an anticipation of some newly discovered things. A genial prospect indeed ! But forthwith came this temporary joy, as if, it was desperate to seek some ultimate—“group shunt.” It was more pronounced than anything that happened in history. It was much more than that earthly—“Salem witch trials,” to concur greater denominations. Sometimes patterns of families w’d hurdle together in turns; quickly making their way in and out , as though they were never to return. Following which , a dead vast was borne over those fleeting moments of travels. An array of passing redundancies slowly crept into silence. Unyieldingly, a dingy darkness prevailed. And all this showed no signs of halting until the next bleaker —like sun, shone up to meet the horizon. Yeah, it was an intergalactic Amazon ! Or some such sorts at least! All in all, with all the timelines melded together, (one beside the other, )we were embodying sheer transcendence —that oneness of spirit, completely slung over fortunes arrows, ‘totally outrunning each other onto those higher grounds. An Elevation or an elevated thought, I suppose ! And we were all in it together. Strangely,as nothing like the image nor like any estrangement could ever dictate, yet faintly, everything exuded a thousand natural shocks. But crossing by in such electrical fleets, everything was devoid of affliction. I had surpassed it like aeons ago… But consumed so, perhaps, in such an antithesis, (time and again,) the surroundings suddenly turned swankily garish and somberly brilliant. Like geodesic domes everything was spreading all across those glistening scenes. It was mind bogglingly magnificent. There was a flashy spillage across the blazing skies, much so like the hooded crests of the train which had melded into that miasmic glum. Now, everything was finally bent in one grace wherein, all the three realms ( heaven , earth and skies) naturally merged and the railroads took the ultimate progression. Again , it was like a thought teased by a fuzzy emotion and roaming into mansions of commotion. But even though , the finality of “ashes to ashes, dust to dust , “ had just arrived and the scathe of total annulment was yet to begin, people were watching,(equally mesmerized,)as to what was left (of them ,)amidst those edifying burns. There was nothing —in there —to see,feel , believe nor even learn. Thereupon, “once upon a time,” had all grown into a desert form. And the MIND along with its MATTER was floating under such a situation. All this was to face all sorts of illusive courses to be first —lost ,and then, to be ultimately found. And in the end to realize the lightness of it’s nature in the following sentences decree …. Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, To realize this ephemeral truth : “I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.” But then something in the wind bespoke —yet again : The voice of your soul is breath —walk gently, he said ! And Even though the unregarded river of life was indiscernibly flowing through me over those🌵 deserted planes. The grit in my quartzite existence said to me: is there a way you can escape to make your way to that ultimate destination—the sea. Thence … A buried stream slowly formed beneath the desert sands and steadily it caught apace with me. Clouds were catching up grayish hues and the blues seemed vanishing in the crimson views. Then a ray of hope was born. The myriadic oasis though remote —far thrown—far gone—was actually close to my heart . I was feeling rested in peace! 🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 © ✍️ Madhu Goteti, September 24th, 2024
By Madhu Goteti Exclusive • about a year ago
𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊! 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖌 ….𝖔𝖚𝖙!
𝓐 creative train of thought is set off by the unexpected, the unknown, the accidental, the disorderly, the absurd, the impossible.... and certainly, the most mentionable— the crucibles. Like me, every person has a train of thought ,upon which, they choose to travel wherever, whenever and in whatever order they happen to advance. In recalling or for that matter —reading what others have done or said, my mind, prefers to come up with no permanent fixity of thought. Such so, I choose to confine myself —here—to give a brief explanation of thoughts; the name by which it can be called—Rumination. These are cogitations by themselves and I choose to make a character sketch of them, although intending to propose “freedom,” (thro’ them ,) in its most spiritual sense. To that, I will simply mention this for sure : Never let hate chain to these trains 🚂 of thought; and if, equally,all statutes of liberties 🗽must be rightfully preserved. So here goes a trailing thought of expressive speech, by what means so ever, graciousness is being brought at your service … Also, herein, dutifully, I raise my hands to confer my gratitude (like this : 🙏,)towards that greatest author of goodnesses— the almighty! Dear Reader, See how transient are these words, after which, we toil do hard to express day in and day out. And ,as such, the weary day passes into the night, amassing the effects of some illusive order. Miserly silent or audaciously vocal these words are ( piggybacked over lines,) for your kind perusal. Tread carefully else yea shall be ranked disorderly over 🫵🏼 these woven lines. Now, just imagine the plight of those who fail to express —as though, squandering about, and shunned to scorns. That always shows up as the chilling neglect of mankind. Look 👀 ,ever apt, here goes this trail of thought 💭 whence each gay turn captures thy moves. The Trailing Train 🚂 hooted and it was laboring along an endless path. It was on a prolonged run moving across many cascading turns. Everything was ensuing upon this unwinding path of no returns. Needless to say, in all this, the tracks were abruptly vanishing, and vaguely—the sensation was a total gooey amalgam. It was no illusion! The quasi in such a context was noticeable. But, in some connected sense, history was leading into a personage of ghastliest lineament. Quite literally, the scene was breathtaking to discern, but it was posing a philosophical issue. Meaning —an absurd situation was emerging and it all felt far from settling. The path that I was lain upon was a sort of a grand repose, so much so, held over a headless void, but still, I sallied forth ,as if, in a “time-tunneled syncing,” problem. And alongside,working together, was this bare fact that humanity —more specifically, my impulse, was undergoing a deeper transformation. To understand this properly —merely assume me ordering time in a reflective sense. And all this is to bring about an experience that shall remain unrealistically closer to life yet it isn’t. It’s time —tiding through mind’s eye and treading through the Year 2080 AD. Therein, my mind gets possessed with artificially induced intelligence. And justly bearing the critic noble name of a erudite scholar : I was chipped. This was a situation where great many were quivering in or for that matter, loosing ‘consciousness. Launched beyond their depths, this was evidently discreet. So such so , on every turn, a miasmic glum enveloped many all around me. I was stuck (as well,) on this baffling road, where nothing c’d ever be held together as cogently close nor far flung to be less than rejection unbound. But, so on and so forth, gradually, I was emerging afloat, much over a distant origin while magically suspended in this mysterious and languorous reality. Everything was emerging through this clunky iron-clad roof of the locomotive called “The Thought Train.” However, What was happening with me, in fact, was precisely this —I was slowly sailing off into an eternal spun. The imagery can be provocative,I know! But stay with me and you shall know -“What’s for What ?” What’s in a matter, after all …. So, flailing against all this ( timed) escapade was my heart beating against death while my mind refused to sink into sleep. And tugging at my soul was this raging emotion drawing its essence from the otherworldly vestiges. Perhaps, the most convincing touch was this inexorable feel that everything was to go up in flames. Clearly, things were burning up all around me, yet, my instincts were very much alive to feel imputed through it. So, on my shoulder was this unknown realm, bearing me as a voyager —almost rowing me through the galaxies on the other end. And from my point of view, situations were questing to seek no particular destination. For a moment, it felt so untrue to face those spans of enormous plains of eternity. Yet there I was —literally, wondering as to what I was doing amidst such distant galaxies. Fleeting ! Maybe …But far through it, I had arrived into this void of deep mist. Construing through the stairways of emerging forms, I saw something there. …. A stillness and a cold shore of died down seas—a sort of a ledge to look back into the past. Upon swift turnings of sight , there again, I found this —vast stretch of time, ending in this ancient scene. “Whose life is this and why am I passing through this,” I wondered. Abruptly, there were terror guns blasting right over my ken. And when I looked upon, some objects were boundlessly scattering lightenings in all directions. Neural firings ! Ah! Look! How far can learnings go! Across those fields, apparently, many people were paying premature tributes to this land of “oblivion.” Over those lucid grounds many people were about to amass so many joyless days and so many sleepless nights, quite at once. Such so, in succession, all were passing thro’ entry doors of thoughts and climbing aboard unto an elusive retreats. It was ,as though, they were crossing over to the other side of the living world, to face an ominous journey quite upfront. In actuality, people were stepping into a place, marked by an “observers chimera,” wherein, experiencing everything was like tying sand-ropes down onto seeping (imaginative) seas. Now …now …now… Don’t say “thought f*ck ,”yet! Be with me and I shall show you what a phenomenal ride through these “highs and lows,”actually bring. So out there….thro and thro, I was making a “grace call,” into a mystical sojourn. It was an inexplicable phenomenon of sensing paradise,and then to go on—in continuation, faring thro’ those strange wildernesses —taken upon, so unexpectedly. Was this a time traveler’s helm or does ascension truly feel like this in return. I wondered ?! But dispatched so, from the earthly ordinances of humanity, I was all allied with the flowing stream of concatenation. And going into such a passage of time wasn’t easygoing at all. In another sense, everyone was being doled out whereby, none seemed real, yet, everything was common in terms of the chilling ways in which humanity was being casted off and burnt. And when one looks upon it through the impetuosity’s eyes it was evolutionary magnificence…. But …all said … A worst massacre had befallen. And quite unimaginably, it was year 2080 AD. Luminously unbound, and invariably exuding smiles of that marvelous sun , each one of us was jaw dropping to watch what each was to ultimately become —a beam or a bubble, or simply reared to perpetuate into the ruins of this otherworldly shunt. And, all this was happening in an orderly fashion and I was one among them. Our whole bodies—(souls , minds and spirits, ) from here as “distinct,” to there —in a fuliginous form , dismally congregating into heaps of junk, and then, disappearing as a “bleary gone.” In glumness … We were much like instantly consumed in the locality of marginal things and vanishing into the perpetual extinction of nothingness. There was no return! Yet busily, with the hope of a new world to come, some people had their mind’s eyes fully open , while some others held their hands outstretched , as though, to welcome the next person, who was being befooled into such a mirthful transportation into logics. And to that I say— “come, come with me to stay in such an array.” It’s a rare providence only a few can hold…. Everything —there—was being subjected to the same-“melancholic pun.” Now, Dear reader , don’t ask where?! Once again, all in all, the answer to it is: It was a providence afloat over some riding spells. Set up in a sober sense, I wasn’t distinguishable as anything in particular. My entity wasn’t to be framed in a letter nor a word. I was that variable to be mentioned as in a syllable-d hoot 🦉 —much like a whizzy sound emanating from an “atom.” And as though in a deaf toned shout, I was jumping and skipping many spiral turns. It had been a serious assault of mind over matter as a consequence of my zeal,I suppose?! Something echoed through those realms asking: Have a Heart?! And I remember saying this to self…. Why must one take upon such an endeavour that springs up from the absolute unknown. It was ,literally, from nowhere; much as much as some ordained missionary propelling to legitimize the conceptual order of the metaphysical world. In there, it was like being on a miserable journey, unbound towards hellish conditions stuck at Pharos guidepost. I wanted to be free … Out there, in all this, unawares, many were perched upon winged lunges; more so, like merely seated upon their bosoms, and twirling around in whirligigs to humbly meet endearing heartiness. At this hopeful retreat, I existed momentarily -at least. Dear Reader .. don’t ask where?! Where could that be?! My answer would be : It’s somewhere-where, Aether was flowing through cross fields , I suppose ?! Yet, at that sight,something was infecting souls very deeply. In succession, one by one, our seats ( remember —we were all chained to trains 🚂 of thoughts) were spinning around in nautical turns, and within minutes, everything was consumed in the horizon’s blazoning sun. “Swirly whip, Swoosh,” —-ah! I said to myself, totally mystified by the wonder of not knowing what would happen next in the subsequent churns. And within all this, there was no dawn nor dusk. People were found gallantly grunting to seek and adjust their seats to their adjacent fields. Aligned to a single hyper-baronial journey but disembarking on a different point of symmetry. Could that be synergy … I wondered as I was being provoked once again …. In ways, it all felt like a contraption, unraveling as a mystical lead that each —justly—had to invariably confront. Yes, we were on a voyage —whereof, a train was eventually overturning itself towards this “other worldly,” sojourn. Everything was descending into a peculiar inferno, seething and boiling from the bottom. It seemed everyone had fallen prey to a worst holocaust devised by the worst of men. A time or two, a lovable cherubic child w’d climb the train 🚂 in an anticipation of some newly discovered things. A genial prospect indeed ! But forthwith came this temporary joy, as if, it was desperate to seek some ultimate—“group shunt.” It was more pronounced than anything that happened in history. It was much more than that earthly—“Salem witch trials,” to concur greater denominations. Sometimes patterns of families w’d hurdle together in turns; quickly making their way in and out , as though they were never to return. Following which , a dead vast was borne over those fleeting moments of travels. An array of passing redundancies slowly crept into silence. Unyieldingly, a dingy darkness prevailed. And all this showed no signs of halting until the next bleaker —like sun, shone up to meet the horizon. Yeah, it was an intergalactic Amazon ! Or some such sorts at least! All in all, with all the timelines melded together, (one beside the other, )we were embodying sheer transcendence —that oneness of spirit, completely slung over fortunes arrows, ‘totally outrunning each other onto those higher grounds. An Elevation or an elevated thought, I suppose ! And we were all in it together. Strangely,as nothing like the image nor like any estrangement could ever dictate, yet faintly, everything exuded a thousand natural shocks. But crossing by in such electrical fleets, everything was devoid of affliction. I had surpassed it like aeons ago… But consumed so, perhaps, in such an antithesis, (time and again,) the surroundings suddenly turned swankily garish and somberly brilliant. Like geodesic domes everything was spreading all across those glistening scenes. It was mind bogglingly magnificent. There was a flashy spillage across the blazing skies, much so like the hooded crests of the train which had melded into that miasmic glum. Now, everything was finally bent in one grace wherein, all the three realms ( heaven , earth and skies) naturally merged and the railroads took the ultimate progression. Again , it was like a thought teased by a fuzzy emotion and roaming into mansions of commotion. But even though , the finality of “ashes to ashes, dust to dust , “ had just arrived and the scathe of total annulment was yet to begin, people were watching,(equally mesmerized,)as to what was left (of them ,)amidst those edifying burns. There was nothing —in there —to see,feel , believe nor even learn. Thereupon, “once upon a time,” had all grown into a desert form. And the MIND along with its MATTER was floating under such a situation. All this was to face all sorts of illusive courses to be first —lost ,and then, to be ultimately found. And in the end to realize the lightness of it’s nature in the following sentences decree …. Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, To realize this ephemeral truth : “I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.” But then something in the wind bespoke —yet again : The voice of your soul is breath —walk gently, he said ! And Even though the unregarded river of life was indiscernibly flowing through me over those🌵 deserted planes. The grit in my quartzite existence said to me: is there a way you can escape to make your way to that ultimate destination—the sea. Thence … A buried stream slowly formed beneath the desert sands and steadily it caught apace with me. Clouds were catching up grayish hues and the blues seemed vanishing in the crimson views. Then a ray of hope was born. The myriadic oasis though remote —far thrown—far gone—was actually close to my heart . I was feeling rested in peace! 🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 © ✍️ Madhu Goteti, September 24th, 2024
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Writers
Life: A Gimmickry awakens over staged insight
🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 © ✍️ Madhu Goteti,May 28th, 2022 Where minds’ musings scatter o’er the day’s light None the less a prelude to the provisional spirit flashes upon those quivering eyes And as the night’s stillness pauses the WILL , to wait and minister it’s needs for a while Tentative upon the soul, a limbo fondles upon notions, deeply mystified Thusly, merely dispatching and attaching new meanings to that perseverance called I When changes come in ,duly suffixing and affixing, thro’ this pageant life Thereupon, only known for what it does, and not nearly enough for all those purposes, a gallant morn promisingly arrives ! And as for which, we trust a glance to spy, That for which one bears that virtuous eye; Upon such disciplined probes are cultivated for that future to rise and ,as ever, surprise Appealingly ... heretofore spangles a new status quo (fully) undisguised! But then , In rue, the arch enemy of intellect derides … As if, unasked for, legions of chimeras, insist to pass by Perhaps from genesis a (Phantom,)a new fantasy of oneself awaits to be contrived Such so influenced, the mind hiccups to the “egotistical sense,” fully trapped and held upon its own exile Falling apart or emboldened so, it’s all about that journey—to find “oneself,”all in the inside! O! Is that —Ironized decadence declaring progressivism’s aesthetic delights! O! Such impinging joys and challenges both lain together side by side ; but in effect, a sort of override ...yet totally ephemerally disguised ! Therein, reformed in determination and not to be classified ; a crude common sense, (not found in places so common,) emerges otherwise And forthwith, thereupon, everything mixes in amalgams, systemically aright, In unison , as though, perfectly — fitted to that human strife To that, rebirthing, the one in many, smiling wistfully to the mind’s mime For against choking trivialities, willingly renounced , a custodian ,so ecstatically, arrives For me ,at least, it’s the … Mind’s eye 👁 or is it me in myself translating the I … You decide 😃🙃😜 Or so as it seems, am I preoccupied Or as some w’d believe —mortified , stupefied or ethereally justified ! It’s Me to my unknowns subjected to those turning tides But, thereof, bringing new birthings to this life …. My Life ! Or is it a renewal we duly device ..... None the less an airing of the provisional spirit brought upon the eyes As the night’s stillness spills out a silent night Where destinyʼs lingo thrives to plunge in 🗡 daggers 🗡 over the hind sight There’s strife in sharing,with no single bearing to light 💡 O! That’s Life! Where word chains tell us their own inner meanings —standing alone —yet closely tight Thereupon those endless trailings .....go.. by n by Over the tracks, where trains run nonstop, …. slowly trailing out of sight Somewhere spreading is the destitute desire dwelling with ease —much wider than skies Ah! upon longings to come forth with it’s own rights And within , as I in them, or who knows, by them in us , who actually reveal themselves to the light 💡 Perfectly enthralled and repositioned on that —again —a rebirthing fondles itself to get pulverized…. Yeah simply mesmerized —showing thee in thine … A sort of effervescence fills me completely with light Perhaps now we have become something of that conscience to answer that question 🙋🏻♀️ —Where am I ?! Here, I am … Where wisdom streams to dispel all the agonies rolled out in cries ! Yes, here I AM …. Passing by ! Just Passing by! Just to watch — this marvelous thing called “Life” P.S: Now please don’t say : HOW CAN YOU SAY THINGS LIKE THAT 👍 😜🙃
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Poets
Plausible Construal :A Desideratum
I was on a winged flight to the far east, soaring high up in the clouds with an anticipatory prospect of meeting a replica of me--someone outwardly-inwardly, identical to me. To believe such a miracle existed was to suppose and transcend earthly space and time theories.
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Fiction
EBBING SILENCE
A cryStalline wave wander’s around As the moon soars hIgh up the ground And the timbers aLong the creek howler in a new tongue Swooping hEavy on whites, a drowsy billow, settles down This hour in slumber marches o'er the midnight ruN While the Creepy cold venerates to launch a haunt .... O! Look! Slow in motion, the mEadows, adjunct to unknowns 🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 © ✍️ Madhu Goteti August 25th, 2024
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Poets
Whistler’s Wilde
It was a stormy night! A strange kind of darkness enveloped the skies. The wind was visibly skirmish to distract any wanderers steed. Through those whirlwinds, a sailboat, “Whistler’s Wilde,” mounted up into chaos and appeared drifting away into the unknown. Captain Oscar Smith was stationed at the bridge, tightly holding the wheel between the winds and the waves. He frantically steered the boat to strike a good balance with the rough seas. The yacht crew, for a long time, had indeed been so accustomed to taking voyages that they could hardly remember the count. The seasoned sailors as well as the rookies, were often deployed to sail through those mighty oceans. But this time, they ought to have known better. What they were about to face was extraordinary. Among them was Miss Sylvia Stevens, a young journalist, hawkishly determined, to discover, some truths of her own. Every now and then she had come to hear about some strange happenings at the deep seas. And so she had set sail to uncover those mysterious secrets,alongside, an uttermost attraction towards Captain of the ship. At first glance, Sylvia had been smitten by the Captain’s appearance: His radiant face, chiseled nose and roughened looks were impressively imploring. His eyes — remarkably brilliant, never failed to catch her attention. Most suggestively, his overture was ,apparently,very mesmerizing and Sylvia couldn’t help but dig deep. But on that day, she was there to make an investigation, and go through it all, to seek answers to the most pressing, and the most wiliest of her queries. Unexpectedly, all of a sudden, a storm begins to create a hell of a rage. Splashy sprays of water, rush into the chambers, lashing and bashing, before they retire into obscurity. The boat comes to the verge of collapsing as it goes—lower and higher, ducking into the deep seas. Captain Smith’s first mate, Jack, a little vexed and distressed, calls out-“ Ahoy, Captain! We have to head back soon!” The Captain tries to respond to him, but the gusty winds muffle his voice. Instead of trying to speak over the howling gale, he spins the boat around. The sudden torque keels the boat sharply, throwing Sylvia off of her feet. The waves turn barbarically abrupt ,as though, inclined to snarl at her. Sylvia struggles to gain her balance, but in vain. Within moments she gets irretrievably trapped in the raging turbulence. And a huge wave thrusts up and pushes her overboard! Captain Smith invariably gazes at the sight of Sylvia’s disappearance. In a desperate attempt, he tries to ease the mainsail until the boat stops all forward motion. Then, he turns the rudder hard, taking care that the boat doesn’t topple head long. For a fraction of a second, the Captain tries to steer clear of the waters,but the booming tide roars at him ferociously. Unperturbed by the mysterious sounding storm, the Captain plunges deeper. Just then, a stump of the “top mast,” falls off and rolls over the bridge. The crew notice Sylvia scrambling and sliding away from the boat. And after a while, she arrives back in a semi-conscious state , bobbing in the lines of waves in front of the yacht. Baffled, the crew’s reaction varies between suspicion and wonderment. As for them, something doesn’t seem right. As they scourge through the weird wreckage, a whole new phenomenon erupts at the oblivion sea. By then, the storm claimed Sylvia ,once again, and the foaming walls of waters above her had another story to tell. As the sailboat, “Whistler’s Wilde,”battles over the currents, its crew, start doubting the situation to be a foul play. They uncannily scrutinize the secrets that had gone overboard with Sylvia. “Did she fall off or was she pulled in ?" one of the crew says sadly to the other. "I don't know, but I think we're in trouble," another replies. There upon, the Captain’s past starts to collide with his present ; threatening to destroy everything that he had built so far. The storm had claimed Sylvia but it also exposed the dark truths that the Captain was holding in secrecy, for a long time. Frightful disappearances had become common at the seas. But that hadn’t deterred him from taking up the voyages. "We'll find her, Captain," says Jack in a redeemer’s voice. Captain’s eyes narrow and he remarks —“I hope so, Jack. I hope so." As the yacht battles against the myriadic strangeness, a pulsating light appears at the horizon. The crew exchange nervous glances, unsure of what to make of it. "What is that?" Sylvia’s feeble voice (barely audible,) echoes from nowhere. Suddenly her head bobs above the waters as she clings to a piece of debris. "I don't know, but I don't like this,” the Captain mutters, his eyes fixed upon the light that encircles Sylvia. Then, a gale freezes up in the air and an eerie kind of gloom surrounds them. “It’s a portal opening into the other realm, a little farther forward,” yells Sylvia struggling with the weight of the effect dragging her in the abyss. Within moments, the boat capsizes and everything gets enveloped in an ominous green glow. In the meantime, one by one everything gets swept into the heart of the light, and all gets wallowed in the broad tumultuous expanse. At once, the fabric of reality gets warped around the crew ,and all, disappear like a vapour. "What's happening?" Jack screams wistfully with his voice laced in panic. "I think we're being pulled into some kind of...rift," the Captain cries out, his unblinking eyes hooting sinister at him. The yacht, along with the dust, fluff and smoke, get whisked in, as well. The ambiance transforms into a crystalline beam headed towards a celestial terrine. When the crew open their eyes, they find themselves in a realm ,unlike any other they had ever seen before. There, the skies revel upon a burning crimson, and the spurring seas bathe in sombre mantle of smoky viscous fluids. All around everything seems pulsing with a life of its own. But to the mind’s eye the illusory shift in view becomes very intense. The crew, through the shrieks and twists, realize that they are in an unimaginable plight. Casting mental alertness into the aether, and thence, Sylvia gathers strength to speak—“Where the heck are we?" "I don't know," Captain Smith replies,his eyes scanning the horizon, and instantly he blurts—“ we are a long way from shores ; a thousand light year thro’ this ethereal opening, I guess.” Then, coming out of the seething tumult , the crew further explore the strange surroundings. They encounter many things that defy all earthly logics. As it turns out, nothing holds clear of their understanding,even though, no formal patterns exist in terms of any time scales, forms,sizes or shapes. But, one thing that they all share in common is an intuitive ability to merge their thoughts and emerge through their ideas as one. The prevailing drift seemed like a dream sequence. Then there were creatures coming off as beings of pure energy sending forth ever changing themes to their dream. Peculiar as it seemed, these creatures,at times,mirrored their own entities. Springing up from the unknown vagary ( literally, from nowhere); much as much as some ordained missionaries, they propelled to legitimize the conceptual order of that metaphysical world. Sylvia feels ,as if,she’s sent off as a first hand reporter of some sound vibrations coming out of the “other worldly,” regimes, only to discover, whatsoever,it meant to bring. Then she experiences a droning —upon her ears 👂, and drowning upon its tunes, she gets redirected from those dying hours of gloom towards magical resonance of sounds. Planting her mind deeper into the recitations she leaps into a process of imitation and dissolves in the pool of interacting field of energy. Looking forth, into the gleaming yonder, the entire crew find themselves gazing through similar piercing lightsabers attuning them insolvable mysteries. "This is madness," Jack mutters, his eyes widened in fear. "I think it's just the beginning," Captain replies with his voice laced in a sense of wonder. As they continue to journey furthermore into the deep, they gain recourse into a new supernatural realm. That’s where they feel that they are not alone. A figure, shrouds in shadows, watching over them from a distance. "Who are you?" the Captain asks in a commanding tone, his voice echoing across the strange landscape. "I am the guardian of this realm," the figure replies in a thundering voice. “And you, mortals, are trespassers." The crew of the “ Whistler’s Wilde,” now know that they have to find a way back home, but as they turn to leave, they realize that the guardian has other plans for them... As the crew of the “Whistler’s Wilde,”navigate the surreal landscape, they encounter a series of bizarre challenges. They start feeling as though they are on a winged flight, soaring high and low between the clouds and seas alternately. However, as they continued so, they had no clue of meeting a replica of themselves; someone outwardly-inwardly, identical to them. But then, that happens! To believe such a miracle exists —was to suppose and transcend, all space and time theories. In fact this is a reality that presents itself to them. They get redirected to find someone ditto as themselves. A carbon copy of their prior physical entities. How could they be so blinded by this-“other worldly,”factuality. They think to themselves. But within moments, they find themselves treading from no body to a mega soluble state of existence with elusive and subtle qualities. “ Unbelievable,” the Captain thinks to himself as he prepares to face this voyage of new discoveries. . But certainly, he knew not that, up until that point, he was ,fundamentally and presumably, so wrong in his conception of realities of the universe. All the while, he believed in a simplistic finite notions of reality and habitually drawn towards it —like —opening a door and moving into familiar surroundings. But, in a whiff, everything had changed and all this was striking him as a beam of light, compelling him to swiftly suffuse into things. “Caution mortals, this is the “Realm of the Entangled," just then the guardian declares, with its enigmatic voice. “To escape, you must solve the “Riddle of the Quantum Twins." "What riddle?" Captain Smith asks ,narrowing his eyes. "Two particles, entangled in a dance, yet separated by vast distances. Tell me , how will they communicate, when the laws of nature dictate otherwise ?"the guardian queries. "That's impossible," Jack responds back, shaken up —amidst that —“as above and as below yonder.” "Ah, but that is where you are ," says the guardian, glinting beyond the arrays of yon’. "The answers lie in the realm of the entangled. Seek out the “Oracle of Superposition." says the guardian serenely and disappears. The crew, now, forever gone into an ever-land journey, start to dig deeper into those realms, encountering further strangeness along their ways. Thusly, unchained to any form, the motley crew reach the abode of the Oracle; a pure point of energy, emerges from nowhere. "I will give you the answer," the Oracle announces with its voice echoing through the multiple dimensions. "But first, you must solve my riddle: What can be in two places at once, yet never be seen?" "That's a classic," Sylvia says with a smile spread across her face. "The answer is a quantum particle in a state of superposition,” she blurts instantaneously. The Oracle nods with its pulsating energy and gives its approval -“You are correct!” “And now, I will give you the answer to the Riddle of the Quantum Twins,” the Oracle continues to announce. “Quantum twins communicate through the power of entanglement, a connection that transcends space and time." As the crew ponder over the answer, the guardian appears from nowhere. "Well done, mortals, You have unlocked the secret of quantum entanglement. But be warned: with this knowledge comes great power and great responsibility." As the crew of the “Whistler’s Wilde,” emerge from the Realm of the Entangled, they find themselves back in their own world, forever changed by their surreal journey. One by one, a new awakening-springs up from the sea of their thoughts. The foundering boat had capsized in the dingey darkness and one by one, as schooners , they were coasting the shore. Holding their oars high, they were getting waking up to awakenings. "We did it," the Captain reclaims with his eyes shining in wonderment. “We unlocked the secret of quantum entanglement." "And we discovered something even more profound," Sylvia adds .”The power of human ingenuity, curiosity and determination." The crew nod in agreement, their minds still reeling from the surreal adventure that they had just witnessed. Now they knew that their lives would never be the same, for they had glimpsed the hidden mysteries of the universe. After a few days the crew of the “Whistlers Wilde ,”reflects upon their surreal journey in a consortium and they begin to ,once again, notice strange synchronicities, coincidences and happenings, time and again during their lifetime on earth. Revived and restored by such cataclysmic experiences, the crew find themselves “double -watching,” many opprobrious moments and emerging through many “vision -logics,” in the following years. And such so, gradually, they gravitate towards their own soulful transcendence. Years roll by ! But still, some replicating phenomena in the outer universe has a hold on them. “Is this earth?!” such fleeting words, tug at them, as and when, many hard and easy moments tap into their souls ,as if, to validate their presence on earth. Then, one by one, their lives halt at nothing, and keyless,they transcend this earthly existence. Their physical entities burn up in flames but, something of their’s remains. Slowly years roll by and everything shifts into the future. It’s year 2090 AD .. it’s when humanity is anthropomorphically jumping heaps and pushing through the AI world.. It’s a time when inanimate objects are taking on a new meaning. They start attracting humans at different levels of “possession.” Humans themselves are at the cusp of immortality and flailing through their own “brain implants.” Their thoughts emerge as a construct to map ,anything and everything, that serves them well to deal with nature, transcending the plains of eternity. Recognizably, the spans of enormous alternatives accessed in terms of times , connectivity, objectivity,and perspectives, was turning too dangerous. It was like humans were becoming conduits, to move ,almost instantaneously, into space and time. What just was happening was like heaven and hell —ever expanding without any ends in all directions. Something like a tropism in terms of soul regeneration had been triggered, and to which, souls were connecting with the distant galaxies. Such a questing was ,unknowingly, leading into the creation of megalithic bodies that bore the spirits at large. Somewhere on earth a sailors conference manifests itself and it holds a mirror to a point in time —where—the souls of Captain Smith, Sylvia , Jack and many others of that time, whirls back in a flow of their continuing journey through the deep seas. Along its course, a ceaseless motion of time roves up ahead. A mysterious figure called “Mantraa ,” appears and connects with the crew at that sailor’s convention. Then on, vagrant turnings of the past events start unfolding again. In a steady course, many years whirl back. "Mantraa, what do you know about quantum entanglement?" the Captain asks with his eyes widened. Mantraa smiles enigmatically. "It’s an ethereal Realm. And let’s just say I've had my own share of experiences with the entangled realm." As the crew presses forward for answers, Mantraa reveals a shocking truth about the concept of “quantum entanglement,”and how their lives were soon to get intertwined in ways that they had never imagined. The discovery sets off a chain reaction, leading the crew down a rabbit hole of mysteries and revelations. They begin to unravel the threads of their entangled lives, exposing both secrets and mysteries that threaten to upend their understanding of reality. Following that the crew of the “ Whistler’s Wilde,” are sent on a mission to guard the coasts at the subseas. Subsequently, they reach a point in the oceanic depths where they start to experience the mysteries of “quantum entanglement, “ and there, they stumble upon an ancient text hidden within the “ Realms of the Entangled.” It’s a text that has an inscription in a script unknown to the crew. Just then, the Captain blurts out a lofty remark- “how fleety and uncertain is this world of delusion. This surely must be a feat of mankind to gain laurels through withered texts of the past forever blighted in the hands of time. “ Then, over the silence of the oceanic depths, a remarkable eloquence is heard. It appears ,as though, the voice had emerged to supplicate its effect on the text. Unexpectedly, Mantraa, with an enigmatic smile, reveals himself and explains to them all about the “Upanishadic texts.” Additionally, he marks himself to be a guardian of the cosmic strings, tasked to maintain the harmony of the universe. To that, the crew get spellbound! "The strings vibrate at different frequencies, giving rise to the particles that we observe in our reality," Mantraa explains further, with his eyes gleaming in an “otherworldly intensity. But then, there are those, who seek to disrupt this harmony. They are exploiting the power of the strings for their own purposes." saying so, Mantraa vanishes. The crew soon find themselves entangled in a battle to protect the cosmic strings from an ancient entity known as "The Discordant." This “being,” seeks to shatter the harmony of the universe, plunging reality into chaos. With the fate of the universe hanging in the wild, the crew of the "Whistler’s Wilde,” embark upon a perilous quest to defend the cosmic strings. Along the way, they encounter some more strange creatures—born from the vibrations of the strings, and their they alternate between many simulated realities. Further on, as the crew dwell deeper into the heart of the oceanic depths, they discover a world of cosmic strings that randomly vibrate, orchestrating complex symphonies ,and perhaps, like unseen forces,producing effects, as it seemed. "The music of the spheres," Sylvia whispers with her eyes wide open in wonderment. "The harmony of the universe," Mantraa corrects Sylvia, with his hints striking at her intuitive levels. This again, unravels, an observation ,apparently, birthing, the rills and rivulets of “thought seeds ,” yet unknown to all. Gradually and steadily, the crew of the “Whistler’s Wilde,” succeed in defeating “The Discordant, “ and thus, seemingly, they restore the balance of the cosmic strings. After that, the crew return to their own reality, and realize that their journey had changed them drastically. Their earnest wishes to perfect themselves at the seas, was an entanglement that had led their lives into a “forever mode,” with other dimensional matrixes unfolding into the multi-versed fabric of the universe. Strikingly, the crew had readily gained ,mind and heart, to what was important in their life and existence. In short, it was a mind seeking matter’s sanctuary. Apparently Mantraa, a messenger from the cosmos was breaking an enigmatic code of the string theory, and his presence was fathoming to reverberate specific frequencies to connect the earthly bodies with some unimaginable phenomena. Indeed, the crew had heard of “Solfeggio sounds, “ but they had no clue about the way it worked to stir up a bodily resonance. It was like they could “person-sonically and kinetically” get charged ,and then, scale up to merge with the fundamental resonance of the universe. It was a deep excursion into the “mind-soul-spirit,” amalgam. Against an enigma that was most fundamental and much more rudimentary to their own origins , the crew, automatically entered a zone of clarity in their thoughts. Unknowingly, they start to recall the description given in the earthly ancient Sanskrit texts of “Upanishads.” The light of truth effused by “Mantraa,” enlarges their minds. Their views start getting extended and they witness ages of gathered wisdom showered onto to them. Thusly, they realize why they were made so —likewise. Elementally, they had suddenly discovered the richness of being “in it and of it ,” for their survival and existence. And, to where their reasoning was held to see, there, the miracle signalling of the “Mantraa,” came to be. "The strings vibrate at the frequency of a sound called “OM, 136.1 Hz, and that is the tone of creation," Mantraa reveals “This is the sound of the universe, “the naada,” which gives rise to the ultimate divinity; a manifestation of miraculous possibilities of the “Pontific-per-sonitics.” ‘Twas an out right —meta-logic. The crew then learn all about the “Solfeggio frequencies,” and their role in stirring up —different states of consciousness. All is described in the Vedic texts of the eastern philosophies. Striven to unite them all together, “Mantraa,” gives the crew an understanding of the upper current, that justly so, leads them to a noiseless evolution , subliminally affecting varied levels of their thoughts. He then apprises the crew of the “under and upper,” pinnings of the currents —taken under the influence of such resonance. Saying so and through further deliberations, Mantraa lays down an explanation about the “sound scales,” and the way they weave a sort of direct effect —bending down the cochlear channels to confide an affirmed intentional relief. In any case, the following gets revealed as the crew perch themselves over the “seventh alleyways,” of “SAT-CHIT-ANANDA,” zone. Mantraa announces further saying:“ Here’s how one can coexist with substratum’s of sounds. “ “- UT - 396 Hz - is associated with the state of jagrat, the waking state, and the root chakra. - RE - 417 Hz - is associated with the state of svapna, the dream state, and the sacral chakra. - MI - 528 Hz - is associated with the state of sushupti, the deep sleep state, and the solar plexus chakra. - FA - 639 Hz - is associated with the state of turiya, the fourth state of consciousness, and the heart chakra. - SOL - 741 Hz - is associated with the state of turiyatita, the state beyond the fourth state, and the throat chakra. - LA - 852 Hz - is associated with the state of absolute consciousness, and the third eye chakra.” Then on , by tuning to those sounds and their associated “frequencies,” the crew are able to access the different states of consciousness, and thereby, they realize their true nature as pure consciousness.. Then, out of nowhere, a “prayer of quiet, starts reverberating. “Om Aim Kleem Sau; Sau Kleem Aim," starts reverberating in the air . As the crew prepare to dig further deep into those mystical sounds — Mantraa quaintly harmonizes the strings, and aligns the crew to some more scriptural works —preserved amidst those hidden temples of the far east. "The cosmic strings are the manifestation of the ultimate reality— Brahman," Mantraa declares in a sharp shamanic voice. “Which part of the world is this exactly happening,” the crew members queried Mantraa. Thusly, the crew understood the profound importance of shamanic voyages ,and perhaps, they were part of an archetypical —exploration ; hunting and gathering shamanic societies. And,in this manner, they were discovering an insight into a “transpersonal evolutionary,” world by journeying through those unknown realms. But still, there is no denial about the fact that they weren’t devoid of any biases. Their own subtle bodies with their inner dimensions were,somehow, getting strung together as one ; unified at this point. There they were looking at the disasters (faced at the seas,) as some sort of casualty —vis-à-vis, subjecting themselves towards their own subtle awakenings. Each time they set sail on the high seas, they start to feel ,as though, it is a homecoming without home to be. It is like a paradise prowling along the saber edges of a distant coast, perhaps, craving to rise out of the horizons of the illumined lights. And continuing so, they often find themselves stepping into the “land of ancestors, “ but each time, they feel different from what they had known themselves to be. At times, they feel , as if, they are like shoddy wicks,glimmering in the embers of satanic verses ; moving towards chambers of bottomless pits. That is to say, they were treading into unchartered territories, beyond the marks of prohibitions, running headlong into the caprice of strange reveries. It was all dark there! or at least as their ignorance made them feel so. For decades, they remained ignorant, and now, they were stepping into ranges beyond others’ understandings. They did not realize that taking these causal journeys ,at the seas, would be so varying in rhythms, and apparently, they would be brought to the immediate reputation of “blinded sentinels,” —stranded over the sabre edges of guarded destinies; witnessing their own facade-like identities. All the while , they were conscious of only small parts of themselves. Now, they were like invisible, out of sight, normally unaware, unseen for ages by their own, but then, evermore so , they getting unknown to the cursory glances of their own sight. But, time and again, they were —somehow—getting closer to the ancient hidden truths, that of which, they had become cognizant of lately. Yes, these truths revealed much more than some mind idling over vagaries. 'Twas the reality of witnessing self-- casted over vivid new beginnings, which then — gradually revealed the splendors of lighted veneers. In the end, the crew of the "Whistler’s Wilde,” realize the true power of resonance and learn to embrace their own outlooks instead of overlooking the secrets behind their own “trans-rational,” thoughts. And just for that reason, they know that the key to unlock the secrets of the universe was to realize their own true nature and connect it with the unrelenting powers of the evolving consciousness. © ✍️ Madhu Goteti August 21st, 2024
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Fiction
