Art

'They were the most ancient of spirits. Accursed. Unruly. Demented.
Guilt, shame, perversion, humiliation, pain, filth, tragedy and dear old insanity. They violated the very soul and impregnated you. Spread their vile tentacles until their seed was deep within.

And there it festered, my child. It thrashed about, plundered and feasted until the soul could take it no more.

And on stormy dark nights (when Master danced about in ecstasy), it slithered out of the womb. For the sake of the weaker ones, they named it Art.

The mother alone knew what a monster it was'

Of Gita and intolerance.

In the very first line of Gita, Dhritrashtra asks,
'Sanjaya, after MY sons and the sons of Pandu assembled in the place of pilgrimage at Kurukshetra, desiring to fight, what did they do?'

His usage of the word 'my' represents his ignorance. And the reason for the downfall of the Kauravas.

And what are we fighting for?
'Our cow' (Aka 'our' holy animal)
The cow is not yours. Nor theirs. Its an animal. In ancient times, it provided milk for home. It's dung provided fuel and purified the home. It's urine was used for it's antiseptic property.
In short, life was impossible without the cow. Hence, it was revered as holy.

Its not the same today.

Have you ever read Ramcharitmanas? It's poetry. It's a ballad of love.
Tulsidas transformed his unadulterated love into words.

And, some years ago, people upheld the same words to bathe a holy city with blood. That piece of land was neither yours. Nor theirs. It was (and still is) just a piece of land.

Wake up.

Depression

That's the thing about depression. It drapes itself in black and never lets you see how fragile and serene it is.

It's perfection. The absolute nothings come together and play a concerto. You cannot move.cannot think. Cannot feel.

In that one hollow vaccum of a moment, you are dust. Nothing. A pile of sobs, smelly clothes, crumpled sheets, stinking dishes, scattered moldering junk. The world loses it's power over you. You lose your power over you. Thoughts, emotions, opinions, expectations, motivation and bullshit.

Hopelessness strums in the background and pain fiddles with the strings. And before you know, you are the puppet dangling from those strings.
And what a macabre performance you give. Your uninhibited unadulterated best!

Remember. Serenity, not sanity.

Of ISIS and Voldermort.

Of ISIS and Voldermort

Disturbing as it may seem, ISIS is running it's reign of terror along the same principles as Voldermort.

With other terrorist organisations, you knew who your enemy was. A deluded man ( probably with a beard) in army fatigues carrying a weapon in hand ( in black robes with a wand and a darkmark on the arm? ).

ISIS has penetrated much deeper. Using internet as it's imperius curse, it's spreading fear. Distrust and suspicion.
You no longer know if your neighbour is one of 'them'.

Distrust will breed more hatred and discrimination. Discrimination will push more and more innocents towards them. And the vicious cycle will never stop.

The answer ( as Dumbledore clearly stated), is love. Hold on to your beliefs and love old friends with more conviction than before. In time, horcuxes will be found and destroyed. But hate will linger forever.