Sai Balaji Cancer Clinic Women's group.

SBCC Women's group is a group with a difference, where cancer is not discussed but one that takes away the stress of life. These meetings help us  cope with the emotional aspects  providing a safe place to share  feelings and challenges by discussing a lot of topics allowing  us to learn in the process. We meet the fourth Saturday of every month. Unlike other cancer support groups, cancer is not discussed. We have learning, fun and frolic. Every month it is different and unique in some aspects. 

This meeting started off with a guided relaxation and meditation for the members. Then we had the birthday celebrations followed by a cake cutting. All of us revisited our childhood enjoying every minute of it. Dr. Kalarani discussed on the vast topic 'controlling'. Everyone stated their own views on the topic and then a discussion ensued on it......with a small lesson for each to practice on a day to day basis. 

The beauty of thorn.

I have always loved thorns and been fascinated by them. I can't really explain why I love them; could be because I have tread a thorny path always and then enjoyed the roses. All of us have defense mechanism to help ourselves......so are the thorns for flowers. We fail to see the beauty in the thorns. They aren't pretty and often painful at touch....but they have a rare beauty in them.....far away from perfection and always attached to plants and flowers. There are thorns attached to everything in life......truth is that we avoid them. 

"Roses and thorns are parts of the same plant. Somehow though, some people are concerned mainly about the roses. The rose is not on the plant for more than a week, but the thorns are there forever.
Roses are teaching that the beauty of life will bloom, once you have taught yourself the lessons given by living with the thorns."

Grigoris Deoudis

Be it a frozen thorn or a bare thorn........it has its own beauty.....a frozen thorn is protected at least for a while....but a bare thorn is a vulnerable beauty. The frozen thorn has to break free.....break free of its shackles and liberate itself......to be free and itself. In life too many choices are like that.....you can be bogged down or break free and let go. Isn't it an anchor for life? 

The nightmare

Deep down a veil of black clouds and an endless sea of silence Reena felt herself falling down a bottomless pit. What was it that was happening to her? Why was she falling? Her thoughts were in tumult as she kept tumbling endlessly.  All of a sudden everything went black and she couldn't fathom the what’s or the why’s of her current situation. After a few minutes she landed with a thud. She had no idea of her whereabouts. Slowly she got up, feeling dazed. An eerie feeling engulfed her. A few streaks of light dimly illuminated her surrounding and what she saw in that wispy light froze her blood. 

Reena abruptly woke up in cold sweat, still shaking with the after effect of her nightmare. Why was this dream still haunting her even years after it had actually happened? She got up and walked to the fridge and gulped down a bottle of cold water. She sat down at the table shaking and with a palpitating heart that refused to calm down. Her forehead was swathed in sweat and she gently wiped them, her thoughts going back to her college days when she was living in the hostel. Those were carefree days of her initial college life.

Staying away from home in a hostel for the first time in life, it was a different kind of experience for Reena. A life understood only by those who have experienced it and had a whole lot of fun, a bag of mixed experiences that took one from one’s comfort zone and exposing oneself to the realities of life. It was enriching in so many ways. The hostel and college being new, there were no qualms of ragging. It was situated amidst mountains and scenic landscape, with the only drawback being a graveyard in the front, though that didn't mar the enthusiasm for many. There was a vineyard too close by that the boarders visited the warden as their chaperon.

Hostel life has its own charms; entering a new world with total strangers who undergo the same dilemmas as you makes it a memorable experience. I believe that true knowledge comes from living in a hostel all the while learning to overcome the fears in life, be it being on your own or meeting all kinds of people adjusting with them and bringing out the real you. Reena reflected upon the strangest and scariest experience of her hostel life. She felt a shiver course down her spine. Her thoughts took her back to that night when she had witnessed the most insensitive and scariest sight of her life. 

She had been sick that day and after sleeping for a while she woke up to drink water but couldn't go back to her sleep, try as she might. She wondered what the time was and not wanting to disturb her room mates, went to the window. She was drawn in by the moonbeams that fell on her face. What she saw in the graveyard froze her blood and Reena felt as if she was being whipped with umpteen lashes while worms crawled all over her skin. That evening a lady had been buried in the graveyard. She had seen a corpse for the first time in her life. The body was placed in a bamboo chair and decked with flowers. The deceased was a beautiful lady who looked nothing less than a goddess even in death. 

She was ritualistically buried by her relatives who later left with heavy hearts. Usually the graveyard was deserted. Now under the moonlight Reena saw some men digging the grave and take out the corpse. What followed after that made her hate men in general and especially those perverted animals that didn't even spare the corpse of a woman. She felt like puking her guts out. The retching sound had woken up her friends and at the sight of the graveyard they screamed. How could a man be such an animal! Even animals don't do that. The diggers raped the corpse one by one. Reena thought perhaps the poor woman’s soul had cried out at her cruel fate. 

Reena was very upset. She had always been the one who questioned the plight of women. She kept away from men in general after that scary night. She always kept a safe distance from them because the sight of a man brought back that memory to her mind. The sight had tormented her for months; she would get up in the middle of the night breaking in cold sweat. It haunted her even now.

Reena made herself a piping hot coffee. She sat sipping it with her favourite music on till she was sleepy again and went back to her bed hoping she would never ever see that horrifying dream again. 

A solitary boat.

In a sea of silence
I row a solitary boat into the ocean 
beautiful yet terrifying,
 it's depth so mysterious, yet predictable.

I set my sails to an unknown land 
in an empty boat 
anguish sets it afloat 
letting the wind steer me out to drift far, 
far away from the depth of sunken emotions.

Silence of solitude

Silence and solitude:  

Sometimes silence is so comforting and speaks for itself. Silence caresses like a cool summer breeze, bringing solace to the soul and  surrounds like a fresh, pristine, white blanket of snow on a winter's day. Sometimes it enters the soul like a mother's lullaby. Fragments of thought, splinters of words, and droplets of silence spin  into a kaleidoscopic puzzle, falling into  an incredible new pattern.

There are days when, even a feather would fall without drifting one way or the other,  the grass straight and silent, the leaves dangling more and the only sound is the hammering of your heart against the ribs cage and I can feel the  beating of the wings as birds fly, everything  still, utterly still.....absolute stillness. No air stirring  the grass or leaves,  no clouds drifting.... . Even my own breath dies with an eerie tranquillity,  soothing my senses.  For me the stillness of my soul comes then.  Then I can rest with  my muscles all burnt out,  sit, unwind my mind and let my thoughts flow. And I let life  do what it will; even in the greatest of storms I am still inside, waiting, to rejuvenate and spring back. 

A limited version rebel.

She was a lost soul, broken and weak
with no resistance,
then came a light through the crack
to awaken the rebel in her.

She was different with scars all over,
daring unlike others
sometimes silent and distant,
in her own world.

A rebelling solitary soul,
with a tower of strength,
She   flaunted her scars defying all the rules,
knowing   pain was a challenge  through  everyday,

A born fighter,
she knew she would win the war,
but  a little sore...
fighting pain day in and day out.

A fire in the soul.

I read somewhere that a  lamp's wick, flame and oil resemble man's body, soul and source.

"The soul, like the flame, is a flame of yearning and inspiration, that  burns brightly within ,  inspiring  to connect to nature. It desires fiercely to break the shackles that bogs it down. Yet, like the flame of the candle,  illuminates the inner spirit within.  The body of a man, like the wick of the candle, is both grounded and physical. With all  limitations, many real needs and desires, the body entraps and enslaves the soul within it. Yet, while imposing its restrictions, the body also houses the soul and provides an outlet for its unique expression. The soul can only feel, perceive and savor reality through the body's senses; it can only move about freely with the body's limbs; and it can only think and analyze with the body's mind. The body's very groundedness, then, provides a means and opportunity for the soul's relationship with creation."

Whenever  I go through lot of adversities in my life I always take inspiration from the 'Pheonix' that resurrected itself. Time and again when I am faced with the pains that outnumber all other aspects, I derive inspiration from this bird..
All the wonders you seek are within yourself.” ~Sir Thomas Browne

"History claims that the phoenix began as a common bird that’s nest caught on fire by the hand of a God-like figure. As the fire started to consume the bird, instead of suffering, she decided to dance in the flames. Eventually, the fire reduced the bird to ashes. However, this was not the end of that wise bird, for she knew her ending was only the beginning—the beginning of something greater than what she ever thought possible, a resurrection.The  bird emerged, more powerful and more beautiful than ever. The phoenix represents a rebirth. A rebirth of the body, mind, and soul, that unleashes itself when the spirit is set free from its self-inflicted shackles." I believe it possible, and can relate to it in a lot of ways.

I do believe in this quote, "All the wonders you seek are within yourself, " by Sir Thomas Browne.  I always wondered if this fire burning inside me would find its way out and lead me to live life fully. I learned it the hard way that the fulfillment I desperately sought was in my passion, regardless of what the passion is. I can do something with that I enjoy doing, and it will eventually lead me to a place I never dreamed of. I know I owe it to myself to put to use my  gifts.

The phoenix: she’s in all .... just waiting to be unleashed, that fiery feeling inside,   feeling as though something has to be done to heal .. not wallow in self pity...
It is the passion within that's  waiting to be expressed, and ultimately finding the lost soul. . Of course, one of the scariest things in life is change, but to embrace change is to embrace life. To be true to the feeling inside , urging  to take another road  is to be true to yourself.....and sing along its thorny path.

I know no one can know what truly makes me happy and alive except me. Eventually, my happiness will be enough to make  my yearnings come around—and my joy will be enough to heal me.... be it cooking, decorating, being with nature, or playing music, I find a way to awaken that spark within me , and that will make me glow.....and with this I awaken the phoenix within me,  inspire and become stronger.

A butterfly moment.

I danced in glee
wild and free,
as a butterfly fluttered,
alighting on my shoulder.

I closed my eyes,
in rapturous ecstasy,
of a moment that,
created a magic in my soul.

A brief spell of,
its fleeting beauty and love,
a rush of wings,
and then it was gone.

Brush of a miracle,
etched in my heart,
a butterfly moment,
to last forever in my soul.

Wisp of breath

In a  wisp of breath,

beautiful yet vibrantly fragile,

you unchained my soul,

with a love so breathtaking

revealing the magic of the moment.

Magical messenger.

Butterflies that flutter around in nature always amaze and fascinate me.  I started observing them keenly after my experience with them in Yercaud where they taught me the magic of 'the moment.' I  just love the way they flutter  around, not being in one place for too long,  still adding their beauty and colour to the surroundings they touch even though they don't live long.

Last night a butterfly visited my kitchen, it was fluttering above the stove, and my heart was in my mouth. What if it fell on the stove?  I placed my palm near it, but it fluttered away. So I caught it and left it in my balcony near the money plant. After a while I went out to check on it but couldn't find it...so was happy that it fluttered away. For me those were "butterfly moments" - short but meaningful moments in my  life that actually made it worth living valuing life.

Morning when I was watering my potted plants, my heart skipped a beat to see the butterfly lying near it in a puddle of rainwater. For a second I thought it was dead, but when I touched it moved. I was really overjoyed. It's wings were heavy being wet and it couldn't flutter nor fold it's wings.  I picked it up very carefully and placed it on my palm, but it just flitted away down. One side of the balcony wall was dry and the sun was shining on it. So I picked it up,  placed it there carefully and went away to finish my work.

After finishing all my work, I went back to the balcony I was really happy to see it seated at the same place with its wings folded. I just kept my palm near it.....to my joy it just moved on to my palm and started moving it's legs and antenna as if showing its gratitude to me. That really moved me, yet again it reminded me of the "butterfly moments." I placed it there and went away as I had to go out. But when I came back it was gone.....leaving me with some beautiful feelings.

I learned that moments  like these may be just moments; though unexpected ones that  nonetheless take away  the daily drudgery with more meaning of the moments of colour, moments of appreciation and most importantly, moments of value. What does the word "value" really mean?   I guess the beauty of it is that it brings me closer to the realization that "perceived value;"  it's how much value I  wish to give something. It's more about enjoying the journey than reaching the destination.

I  see butterflies almost every day of my life. And when they hover around me, I feel blessed and fulfilled adding  more "butterfly moments" to my life, by  simply following  my heart's passions.

Pain a messenger.

It is one thing to feel empathy for others, but something totally different to be in pain. Each person, own pain is most difficult until one goes through chronic pain day in and day out or an illness that calls for sheer grit to go through it. Chronic pain is pain that continues for weeks, months and even years. The experience of acute pain is excruciating and traumatic.  With chronic pain, however, pain signals continue abnormally that can be both distressing and exhausting for chronic pain sufferers. To understand chronic pain sufferers, you should learn about chronic pain, be supportive and know what to say and what not to.

When I  embrace pain, making it burn  as fuel for my journey, i learn to live with it though it can be crippling at times.  I prefer walking bravely through pain’s cleansing fire, although it does scare me at times  burning  so brightly that I  walk in knowing it will hurt me a lot. But I know I  will come out on the other side stronger and more complete. There is a beauty in pain that  even happiness cannot touch, because I risked myself letting  myself feel it. Pain is what  brought me back to myself .

Pain is a part of my experience, not something I  run away from, to escape. Pain will find me somehow, and to go through its cleansing fire is one of the truest things that can happen to value  life.

The gift in pain, because it makes me find a meaning for life.
I have come to realize the importance of pain in protecting myself  and the gift inherent in pain. Within an understanding of pain, I  find the gift that pain is a warning of harm to the body. Pain is a also a messenger, an expression in a  very straight forward way.   It says my  body has approached the limits of its endurance. The pain is present and I respond to that pain even before I can think about what is happening, a mechanism to tell me something can be potentially injurious to my well being. Without pain my  body would not be warned of any danger. Had I not felt the stabbing pain in my breast I would never have known that cancer has invaded my body. Today it is the pain that warns me knowing that pain is a messenger  warning me   that something is being taken past it limits of endurance.  There are the myriad types of pain that don’t seem to be so straight forward to this simple analysis.  There is the pain that comes because a part of my body just stops functioning properly.  It is a warning, a messenger, an alarm.  Ultimately the pain is a fact  of endurance of a truth of my being.....wading through life with a complicated body of complicated pains.

The healing grays.

 I wake up early to go for a walk, but it is the drizzling rain that welcomed me, would have loved to walk in that drizzle....my health prevented me. The morning sky is cloudy,  deep steel blue-grays that mirror the hues of my mind.  Everything is a muted shade, like a matt photograph in a dimly lit room, everything except the street lights that glow into the heart of the city shining unabashedly brilliant, and hypnotic in the drizzling rain.

Today the sky is nothing at all,  it is like a child beginning to  draw on it with a pencil and then erasing it in a way that smudges and spreads the gray. And all the while the rain streaks down, invisible until it hits the ground. The sky, low and dark with thick cloud, gray as the granite stone  giving the monochromatic world outside a claustrophobic feel. By this time of day the birds should have been singing and the horizon tinged with reds and pinks, oranges sometimes. But the weather accountable to no-one is in no mood to change its hues.  There is no sky only a rough woolen blanket of mottled gray covering to block out the sun and the sea too reflecting the ashen sky......but it rains into my heart taking away all the blues of negativity cleansing my soul to spring back with a bounce in my step. 

Unwrapping a new day.

The  stillness of the night gives way to dawn,  with a musical silence except for  the pounding of my heart as I walk. There is something in each dawn that makes it  a gift easing the night gently unwrapping a new day.  Everyone is same under a sunrise by the sea......gazing at the soft amber glow of the sun cut through the hazy dark clouds. The foggy effect at the horizon and the chill t ran through the spine as the cold waves caressed my feet  making me wrap my arms around myself. Then the glow of the sun pushes through the clouds mesmerizing me as it invites me to stare deep into the horizon. The sun, very subtle as if there's a fear to rise, covers the early morning haze with a pale pure light, radiating its rays into the clouds. The air felt fresh and new as a gentle breeze caressed me and I draw a deep breath.

Daybreak brings glimmers of warmth, the golden light softly brightening up the surface of the sea, igniting the birds into a melodious chorus. The gray clouds move in the sky kissed by the sun's rays into brilliant white, widening and closing the gaps between them as the sky turns into a sensuous blue taking away the gray and the clouds slide under one another to change shapes. They just move away lazily scattered over the blue without any purpose or destination dominating the morning sky, contend to just drift along and I walk back home.

In the sunset of life.

To me, a glorious sunset is the epitome of fleeting beauty that stays for a few minutes with  a spectacle of colors and then it’s over. Yet its effects  persist long after the colors fade bringing in the darkness of the night. I love to be captivated by a sunset in the sunset of my life.

 It’s hard to beat the connection to nature by simply sitting outside and getting  soaked up in  a stunning sunset. In short, it isn't  just looking at nature, but  perceiving that beauty of nature — a sunset the beauty that enriches life. It is an appreciation for the beauty of nature,  so powerful because it’s instinctual rather than forced or learned. There’s a natural tendency to stop and stare at a breathtaking sunset. When I do so, it is  likely to be caught up in the moment, and my mind gets a break from the pains that bog me down.   I  feel refreshed, and   find it easy to lose myself in an awe-inspiring sunset.  The instinct to stop and stare is stronger by the day, and I feel sad when I miss a beautiful sunset,  yet  I  slow down to enjoy a sunset,  to really see the sunset and capture the moment-to-moment experience, not create an artistic image. It is a connection to life for me.

Watching a sunset is in a way deeply  connecting with a part of myself,  somewhere in the core of my soul. There’s a sunset within  my soul.....be it breathtakingly beautiful or just an ordinary one. I sometimes listen to my own soul...in silence.....when I really feel vulnerable .....wanting to withdraw into myself...away in my own shell...cocooned so that I don't feel the pain of the wounds inflicted upon me.  Is it because I have been strong for too long and stretched myself more than my own capacity?  I really down know.....right now I am comforting myself from everything...finding answers for all my questions.

My sunset is in a full-fledged storm....searching for myself that  got lost somewhere yet again. The sunset to me symbolizes the completion of a day’s work and shows the passage of time and a hope for another new day.  The awesome beauty of the setting sun is also symbolic of the beauty and mystery of life itself. The setting sun is nature’s way of reminding to take a break....a break from the rush of life after having toiled more than I really could. I have bottled up my emotions and feelings lest I hurt others or trying to be strong for what I go through. In my roller coaster ride of life, I kept everything to myself , being strong and never ever giving up neither on life nor on those I hold close.

Autumn of life.

Autumn comes in and fades  like a softly sung melody.  The land is  aflame, a riot of gold, red, yellow, and brown. For that brief time, my eyes are on the  beauty above, watching each leaf as it makes its final dance to mother earth, the carpet to be tread upon.The trees look skeletal and  their branches are  so bare that it is possible to count the leaves on each and everyone as I  pass by. The trees are  skirted by leaves of autumn gold and rust color and in the breeze   animatedly falling in  the air with an elegant dance, pirouetting around the tree trunks to their own orchestral rustling.  As the breeze calms, the dance ends and the leaves land on the ground  to form a beautiful tapestry woven carpet frolicking with the ones that are already there. Autumn has a sweet breath that chills the sleepy land: misty hills,  and meadows.  The lingering sun kisses outstretched wings, bound for warmer shores.

I am thankful for the colors of autumn that are the end of a beginning as the summer petals curl and fall to mother earth's bosom, soon to be hidden beneath  for without them the autumn would be a time of sadness, to watch what was new and green become one with  the soil,  a gateway to rebirth, to renewal. Long after the beauty of the leaves has enriched my heart, their goodness enriching the soil, ready for the spring to come.

Autumn  is a season that enhances the human aspect of letting go, and accepting the impermanence of things.I love this season for a lot of reasons. When I watch leaves fluttering to the ground I am reminded of  nature's cycle that is mirrored in life. The autumn of life is indeed a strange mixture of nostalgia and blessing, a way of just aging gracefully and allowing it to be.
When life’s autumn arrives, I look back and understand I  still have work to do to my  best and fullest,  a good transition time.  Seasons are used as metaphors for life and autumn is the harvest season, when it is time to reap the fruits of sweet labor..... the autumn of life in reality.

An autumn breeze blows
on  the trees
the leaves blow away
in a final flight as they dance
beautiful yet dead.

Rebelling dandelions!

I love dandelions for the very fact that they are weeds, unwanted by all  but one with high medicinal value.   I love the puffballs and also blowing the  dandelions   It is considered a weed, much hated by most, yet,  so beautiful as a flower and  after it transforms itself into a mist of minuscule white flakes, I call it parachutes of life. It is a joy for me to just see them and run after the flying tiny parachutes. Though a weed much hated the puffball are loved by many for the sheer joy it gives. After all a weed and why did it change? Why is it beautiful and full of happy memories when it becomes a puffball?

Turn towards myself and maybe the pain will actually give me something beautiful in return. I make myself strong, by choice, with my heart,  mind, and will!! Then why is my situation, my life, my 'self', vulnerable when only I  have the power to choose what will eventually bring me happiness?  The things I went thru in life, makes me learn and grow  but why am I in a state of   convincing myself? Is being strong a boon or a bane? Today I love being alone and in solitude with nature, to reignite my inner strengths and be human again.

Dandelions will always be a symbol of hope,  a symbol of thankfulness and the power of choice, the ability to see the best of myself.  I choose to blow the dandelion, a beautiful feeling to see them flying free at will and it's a mesmerizing  thing.

I prefer to be a weed,
standing alone,
loved by few who,
come close enough to notice
the inner beauty,
like awkward puzzle pieces
falling into place.

Flowering life.

Flowers are nature's poetry. The sweet smell of flowers cut through the soft scent of the morning's rain-drenched  grass and I can never be tired of their sweet fragrance. Each   delicate bloom, no matter where it is, they charm my heart with petals as delicate as  works of art and beauty;  their hues  medicine for my soul. Perhaps it's not just me who feels that way, though, there is something about their beauty I need for my whole self , to feel and be  fully human, I wonder if anyone feels  a bit like that. Without the flowers, it would only be concrete world and I think that  it would freeze my heart.

Weeds are the most beautiful, but unloved flowers and I  love them.    There is a kind of beauty around them that many fail to observe. A flower that has been a tight bud, begins  to open, with a deeper blush in  the kind of gentle breeze I  would have failed to  notice, had I not  been present 'in the moment.' I stretch my fingers to touch the silky  petals  to see and feel  the beauty that I  know is inside. But nature has its way, it's timing, and  isn't ready yet. A few more days of warmth and it would bloom into a captivating beauty. It buds, blooms and then withers off giving pleasure and joy to everyone around and once it falls it is trampled upon and just left to its fate of being thrown away.

Flower are often reminders of the bounty of nature along with the fact about life's transient nature. Flowers  often symbolize  awakening, or blossoming, giving happiness and delight even if they are covered with sharp thorns. For me they impart a feeling of freshness and soften  my heart when   I am feeling blue and fatigued uplifting my inner spirit,  empowering me by their energy and forever  awe-inspiring  beautiful and colorful hues.  To witness a flower blossoming, petal by petal, is a real wonder that no artist  can replicate.

My passion for life.

Passions for life is simply something that you love to do. Something you make time for alone or with somebody. It is a passion for writing, painting, photographing, traveling ....there are a lot of things one can have a passion for.  “Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love.” ~Rumi. It is something that makes me feel alive. I know I am doing something I love when I find  deeper meaning, and feel  really passionate about it.

Being brutally honest with myself embarking on some serious soul-searching and I discovered what I was really passionate about, but following my passion is emotionally challenging. Slowing down in solitude, I am trying to quieten down the voices outside and listen to my inner self. There are a hundred of queries and stories within me as to who I am, what I want to be and what I really deserve. It is a haunting introspection to reflect upon my  unique blend of talents,  strengths, skills, and creativity. It is a question of finding that special aspect and connecting to it with all my passion.

Thoughts flow more eloquently when I write and it is a great inspiration and easier  to connect the dots. I find a sense of fulfillment spending time in solitude with nature and then putting down my thoughts with a pen and paper allowing myself to process my thoughts without influence from the world around me. I love spending time with myself in solitude penning my thoughts.

It is something known,  maybe it’s been just a shadow in the fog, or it’s crystal clear and  amazing in technicolor before my eyes. Either way, it’s been there, sometimes stinging me with a numb sense of denial. Whatever it is, if it’s not still just a shadow in the distant haze that I can’t   fathom, I can  coax myself to do what I love and where my passion lies. I have learned  to say no for the purpose of freeing up my energy finding time to in solitude with nature and pen my thoughts. 

The charm of captivating moon.

I love watching the moon as it waxes and wanes....observing the changes it shows and its mysterious charm with unimaginable power. Its florescence and dominance can never be hidden even behind the creeping gray clouds, the moon shines intimidatingly on the land beneath it  straight into the soul playing peek-a-boo.

The waxing and waning of moon is like the two sides of a coin or the two faces of a man. Everyone has a dark side that is known to none or a selected few.  Another aspect of moon is the fact that you know it is always there whether you see it or not. It is believed to be an embodiment of loyalty.... always present whatever may be the condition or circumstance. The moon though has no light of its own and is reliant  on the sun, still has a great influence. The moon has a subtle but empowering nature representing the rhythm of time and the cycle of life itself.

The moon is in glory in the midst of darkness,  a vessel of unknowable power and strength.  The lunar cycle has, in time, also been attributed to the various mental and emotional states of people. Sometimes the behaviour is compared to the waxing and waning of the moon. The moon is a metaphor for a lot of human aspects.  With an air of mystery and magic, the moon is also associated with love and is  often considered as a symbol of unattainable beauty with all its flaws.

"The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.”  Tahereh Mafi.
Gkp

Interlaced web of resilience.

To find a wet spider web, covered with fresh raindrops is amazing. It is a moment to freeze, watching a spider's web covered by a raindrops. It is very fascinating to look at it   after a rain, to notice spider webs glistening with water droplets. Silently a spider weaves its  web with infinite artistry. Spitting out a silken thread, you wonder, what it is doing and  how  it makes ?.
The rain drops are stuck in the spider web creating beautiful shapes and patterns.  Rain ... Raindrops....both create magic around. A real life picture of morning raindrops on the tiny plants, giving life to keep them going is a magical sight. Rain drops can make a spider web look extremely beautiful. To look at a wet spider web, covered with fresh rain drops is amazing. Spider spins a web of stunning intricacy and profound beauty; when it rains the raindrops enhance its beauty with the glimmering strands of the Spider’s Web.

A deeper insight to a spider, makes me realize it's resilience. A web with the raindrops makes it more beautiful. Even after it painstakingly weaves an artistically beautiful web, and is destroyed, the spider doesn't get perturbed, it goes on to make another one, perhaps more beautiful than the earlier one. Such is its resilience. Raindrops which, crash into it from every side, catch on the silken threads and trickle slowly down. The web might shake and shiver, it will twist and turn into various different forms.  Nevertheless, as long as its anchor points hold , it  will resume its former shape as soon as the wind dies down and the raindrops dry up.  A spider’s web is flexible enough to cope with  disturbances and  over a time damages to the web is  repaired by its creator, the spider; patience and resilience to time and circumstances.

Spider's web intricately woven,
laced like a luminous necklace
dangles from leaf to leaf
an artwork of threaded silk
with studded diamonds.

Raindrops quiver precariously,
as the radiance of awakening sun
shines upon the web
sparkling in splendor
swaying gently in the wind.

The artistically woven web
twinkles with raindrops
a whirlpool of desire
like a never ending spiral
creates a chandelier of emotions.