Shaambhavi > Recent Status Updates

It isn't cruelty or shame that characterizes the human race, it's forgiveness that makes us who we are. We live because we can love, and we love because we can forgive.

Nations neglect no men more shamefully than the heroes of their wars.

Sometimes we love with nothing more than hope. Sometimes we cry with everything except years. In the end that's all there is: love and it's duty, sorrow and its truth. In the end that's all we have - to hold on tight until the dawn.

When we're young, we think that suffering is something that's done to us. When we get older - when the steel door slams shut, in one way or another - we know that real suffering is measured by what's taken away from us.

One thing if you know,
Our desires never end.
You follow a thing today,
Tomorrow changes the trend.

She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever known. It was the beauty of a desert at dawn; a loveliness that filled my eyes, and crushed me into silent, unbreathing awe.

One of the reasons why we crave love, and seek it so desperately, is that love is the only cure for loneliness, and shame, and sorrow. But some feelings sink so deep into the heart that only loneliness can help you find them again. Some truths about yourself are so painful that only shame can help you live with them. And some things are just so sad that only your soul can do the crying for you.

But the soul has no culture. The soul has no nations. The soul has no colour or accent or way of life. The soul is forever. The soul is one. And when the heart has its moment of truth and sorrow, the soul can't be stilled.

Most loves are like that, from what I can see. Your heart starts to feel like an overcrowded lifeboat. You throw your pride out to keep it afloat, and your self-respect and your independence. After a while you start throwing people out - your friends, everyone you used to know. And it's still not enough. The lifeboat is still sinking, and you know it's going to take you down with it.

"You see?" the Blue Man whispered, having finished the story from his point of view. "Little boy?"
Eddie felt a shiver.
"Oh no," he whispered.

But all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time..

Hope this beginning turns out as good as Tuesdays with Morrie. ❤️

Thinking of him, of the anguish of his final days, and my own helplessness in the face of it, makes everything I have done, everything I want to do, seem as unsubstantial as the little vows you make yourself as you're going to sleep, the one's you've already forgotten by the time you wake up.