Cheryl Snell's Blog, page 16
February 20, 2012
Shivaratri
On Shivratri, Lord Shiva's throat turned blue with poison from the churning milky ocean. Even one drop in his stomach(the universe) would have annihilated the entire world, so he held it in his neck. The 14th sloka of Shivmahimna Stotra says: "O three-eyed Lord, when the poison came up through the churning of the ocean by the gods and demons, they were all aghast with fear as if the untimely end of all creation was imminent. In your kindness, you drank all the poison that still makes your throat blue. O Lord, even this blue mark does but increase your glory. What is apparently a blemish becomes an ornament in one intent on ridding the world of fear."
There are many other legends associated with Shivratri. One of my favorites describes the union of Shiva and Parvati. You can read about the legends here.
February 19, 2012
February 17, 2012
Work in Progress
"She's gone," my mother said; and I felt a snap, a loss-of-limb sensation that can happen when a sibling is in trouble. I tried not to betray my panic as I assembled the story from Mother's Alzheimer-riddled recitation. "Did she say where she was going?"
"She went to see a group."
"A group of what?"
"I don't know, but she needed money."
"Did you give her some?"
"Yes, but she said it wasn't enough."
"Did you give it to her from your purse?"
"Maybe. It was quite a bit. $100. $1000." She put the phone down and opened her purse. She began counting the bills in her wallet. I waited until she picked up the phone again. She was crying. "I didn't know what else to do. She got in the car and waved. I didn't know what to do."
"Don't worry, Mom. We'll find her."
Time flowed around me, its pulse throbbing in my head. I should do something. What was it, again? I was 350 miles away from my mother, and who-knows-how far from my sister, my vulnerable little sister. Possibilities lined up like ducks in a fairground shooting gallery: maybe she had told Mom where she was going and Mom simply hadn't registered it; maybe Mom, with her quirky relationship to Time, had no real idea about how long her daughter had been gone; maybe there was an appointment to be kept, a traffic jam to navigate, a flat to be fixed. Too ordinary, these scenarios – each one popped like a balloon in my mind.
The phone was still in my hand. I called my brother, waded through his electronic message and left my own: Our sister is missing. Call her doctor. Call the police.
February 13, 2012
A Kiss for Valentines
from Don Juan by Lord Byron
They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow
Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;
They gazed upon the glittering sea below,
Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;
They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low,
And saw each other's dark eyes darting light
Into each other — and, beholding this,
Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;
A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,
And beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above;
Such kisses as belong to early days,
Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,
And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake, — for a kiss's strength,
I think, it much be reckon'd by its length.
Heaven knows how long — no doubt they never reckon'd'
And if they had, they could not have secured
The sum of their sensations to a second:
They had not spoken; but they felt allured,
As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd,
Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they clung –
February 12, 2012
Cupid et al
In keeping with the Valentine vibe, I give you a painting of Kamadev and Rati.In Indian mythology, Cupid is known as Kamadev. He once shot Shiva with his arrows, and was burned to ashes by Lord Shiva's third eye. Kamadev's grief-stricken widow, Rati, begged Shiva to restore her husband's life. He did, with the stipulation that Kamadev would live without physical human form. The day Shiva burned Kamadev is commemorated on Holi, next month's big festival. And there you have it.
February 11, 2012
Leif Ove Andsnes - Shostakovich: Polka
Gotta love a Grammy nominee who would rather play a recital (Strathmore Hall, tomorrow) than rub elbows with Beyonce, etc.
