My mother tends to just watch me at times. Most do, with respect to their own children, I imagine. Still I find it curious.
I cut my hair, or let it grow, and then look in the mirror to find my reflection astray. A moment later it hits me. My beard, or whatever thereof, is now at an inappropriate level relative to my hair.
As I sat in my room, listening to the vague electrical’s of King Crimson, I thought of age and accomplishment. What have I added to the world? Should I have eaten fewer cookies (actually in my case, more cookies)?
I wouldn’t call it a block. I would call it a bottleneck. It’s not having nothing to say rather having too many things to say. As my mind fights to settle on an answer it becomes numbed in the skirmish of thoughts. Firecrackers, streamers and black holes.
It’s Ganpati at the moment. That is the both the name of and eponymous celebration of the god with the elephant head. For him we chant, pray and gift flowers in a colourful manner. Moreover we also observe the socio-spiritual-indulgent practice of ‘prasad’, as outlined below.