Saturday, December 29, 2018

Still Life - Flowers

They say it is easy painting still life!

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Thursday, December 27, 2018

A Todi and a Kriti by Spencer Venugopal

Shravanam at the end of 2018

Listen to an unparalleled artist

Sri Voleti Venkateswarlu

Let us enjoy Great Music!

Wednesday, December 26, 2018

A Scary Experience on a Covered Bridge - A Story

A Scary Experience on a Covered Bridge

It Was Dark and Emma Wimsey Was Alone

When I started teaching in a one-room schoolhouse near Black Creek, I lived with a farm family and had to walk three miles to school in all kinds of weather. I always went early because I had to make a fire in the wood stove and trim the lamps and wash the glass chimneys and sweep the floor.
One day in late November before snow had started to turn the brown landscape white, I set out for school in pitch-darkness. There was a covered bridge over the creek, and oh! how I dreaded crossing that bridge in the dark! On this particular day, as I entered the dark tunnel, I saw something that made my knees shake. There was a white object at the far end — small and round and white and floating in the air. I stood stock still with my mouth open as it came closer, bobbing gently. I wanted to turn around and run, but my feet were rooted to the ground. And then I realized it was a face — no body, just a white face! It started to make noises: “U-u-ugh! U-u-ugh!”
I tried to scream, but no sound came from my mouth. Then two white hands reached for me. “U-u-ugh! U-u-ugh!”
As the white face came close to mine, I was about to faint, but then I recognized it. I recognized a pale young girl from our church. She was wearing black garments and a black shawl over her head, and she was trying to tell me not to be afraid. She was a deaf-mute.

Monday, December 24, 2018

Warangal - Thousand Pillar Temple 2

Yes, It is me!

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Sunday, December 23, 2018

Paint Like Picasso

Yes, You can, If you try!

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Friday, December 21, 2018

The Tavern

The Tavern

Somewhere it is said this endless world is after all an old Tavern.


In the tavern are many wines—the wine of delight in color and form and taste, the wine of the intellect’s agility, the fine port of stories, and the Cabernet of soul singing. 
Being human means entering this place where entrancing varieties of desire are served. 
The grape skin of ego breaks and a pouring begins. Fermentation is one of the oldest symbols for human transformation. 
When grapes combine their juice and are closed up together for a time in a dark place, the results are spectacular. 
This is what lets two drunks meet so that they don’t know who is who. 
Pronouns no longer apply in the tavern’s mud-world of excited confusion and half-articulated wantings.
But after some time in the tavern, a point comes, a memory of elsewhere, a longing for the source, and the drunks must set off from the tavern and begin the return. 
 The tavern is a kind of glorious hell that human beings enjoy and suffer and then push off from in their search for truth. 
The tavern is a dangerous region where sometimes disguises are necessary, but never hide your heart, Rumi urges. 
Keep open there. 
A breaking apart, a crying out into the street, begins in the tavern, and the human soul turns to find its way home.

It’s 4 A.M. Nasruddin leaves the tavern and walks the town aimlessly. A policeman stops him. “Why are you out wandering the streets in the middle of the night?” “Sir,” replies Nasruddin, “if I knew the answer to that question, I would have been home hours ago!”

Try to read the real meaning of the sentences above.
Truth is very disturbing as always.

Thursday, December 20, 2018

Warangal - Thousand Pillar Temple 1

Are there a thousand pillars really? No,