Stream of Consciousness
Life Lessons from Panchatantra Stories
Most of us grew up reading Aesop’s fables, but you may or may not have heard of the Panchatantra, a collection of ancient Indian stories. I learned the five tantras of the Panchatantra are: Mitra-bheda (The Loss of Friends), Mitra-lābha (The Gaining of Friends), Kākolūkīyam (War and Peace), Labdhapraṇāśam (Loss of Gains), and Aparīkṣitakārakam (Ill-considered Actions).
By Seema Patel10 months ago in Fiction
His heart (was) charcoal
I've met a man the sun filled his heart. The kind of man a woman in her 20's fantasizes about, a man with golden locks of hair and a golden soul, with a mind clear like a transparent sea, with depths that can go beyond you've ever thought possible. He was always kind and friendly, his words could warm your heart. Small verbal gestures like, "I hope you've had a great day today", or "how's your grandma lately? I heard she was feeling ill." Or big words like, "the light of day is fleeting and eternal all at once, actually" – spoken with a soft, bashful smile. He was considerate, an aura behind his head like some kind of saint. But. He was not a saint, not ever, because his mind was hiding a secret. Carrying it inside of it like a fetus in a womb, just waiting to come out of its' hideout. He had cruelty inside his heart. A charcoal heart waiting to come out. Someone once said to him cruelty comes from pain, that a sickened heart is indeed a heart that cannot let go. And he couldn't let go. Yet. His soul was equally divided in two, the kind hearted guy and the cruel guy, and both sides were equal in their value. He was highly good and highly evil. People around him noticed his evil side, but he could cover it up so well people just said "eh, whatever" – and ignored it. Indeed a clever man was he. But with his darkness there was a strong sorrow. A deep rooted pain, sadness, despair. A huge regret. He WAS TRULY a good human being who's lost his way. A lonely soul, a blinded, confused, little boy, trapped inside of this broken man, screaming over and over for help – with nobody hearing. No one seemed to know, and for him, nobody seemed to care, though they deeply cared for him. Examples for his maliable behavior: uncontralable rage occuring in the borders of his own head, wars of devils and angels inside his mind, bad intentions like wanting for people to die because they hurt him, getting insulted by people and holding grudges for them for years, anger, anger, anger – fear. The thing is, there's not black and white in this world. There are greys. Silvers. Golds. Rainbow colors, hues, nuances. There is not a lot of completley dark-minded people and lighthearted souls. There is a spectrum. But the man's narrative won't end in tragedy. Tragedies already happened in his life, with caustic pain burned out to his soul. In a dream, they said "you've hurt us" and he said, "but I am good, really. Really…" - a result of a being tortured by guilt. Because there is one woman he hurt the most. His loved partner, Zoë, who tells her friends about his behavior. But she only has two friends, who do care about her, but also resent her for something she did In the past, so they don't help her. Though he was oh-so kind to Zoë some time, he had fights with her, with the "you don't understand me!" And the "fine. I'M the one who needs to grow. What about YOU?" he'd change for 4 days, than stop. Than again for a week, and then ceased. But change is inevitable, and constant is his desire to let go. To change. Hidden underneath, but constant. Steady. He was Sometimes quiet, introspective, brooding. Sometimes loud, social, happy go lucky. He was a spiritual guy. He could look into your eyes, you could feel him staring right at your soul, but not In a bad way. In a I-try-to-understand-you kind of way, a you’re-a-beautiful-being. He had Pinterest boards of black and white pictures, poetry quotes boards, a board named “light” and a second one named “light 2”, fatherhood board, humor board. Photography board. He’d go to the beach with his friends Thomas, they’d take photos in Tom-tom’s polaroid (Tom-tom is how our main character called him). On thursdays he had a course about motherhood and psychonalysis, he’d raise a hand one to three times a class. Sometimes, he won’t at all. The story really begins with Summer. The girl of his dreams, the second love of his life (after Zoë, but they both hold the same value in his heart). Zoë have had enough, and broke up with him. He was devastated. He’d cry for a whole 2 hours morrowing her leaving. There was a nightstand near his bed with 100 tissues in one week, gathering up like a tissue-castle. Yikes. But miracles like miracles tend to happen. The bright day of summer was yet to arrive (His words, not mine). It was a cold December afternoon, he was in a book festival (Oh, the irony. Summer bursting into your life in the cold season). He told me Summer looked like a gush of wind: sparkling, black eyes, a brunette. Average height, only approaching to his chin. A beautiful smile (gosh). “Practically”, he said - “she looked like a fairy.” She told him that when she met him, he looked gloomy. Eyes oh so serious, a sealed face. He said, “do I know you from somewhere?” She said, “would you like to?”, he said “yes” “ok, let’s go.” Just like that. Without a warning. “What do you mean?” ”let’s go on an adventure. We’ll drive all Oregon, from east to west, and then from south to north. I’ve been wanting to do this soooo bad for soooo long, but I’ve never found the right company. But this company is you. And we can talk. I can listen.” He was speechless. “… what makes you think I’ll say yes?” “Oh. Your smile, for instance,” she said, “and the zest of curiosity in your eyes.” “Ya crazy, you know that… what is your name, again?” “Haven’t I told you? It’s Summer.” “Ah, like that movie, “500 days of Summer?” Summer raised her brows. “Umm… yeah, I guess. I dunno this one. Is It a good one?” He chuckled, “yeah it is. A very cute movie. Not in a disrespectful manner,” he smiled, and so did she, “in a good way.” And so they went on an adventure. She wore, in the first day, a lavender skirt that went down to her knees, a galaxy t-shirt, he wore a plain t-shirt with khaki pants. They listened to music, rock music and pop music on his end, indie on their both ends (but very specific kind of indies) and spanish (but a very exhilarating kind of songs) and irish on her end. They were happy. Like jet sky high happy. Blissful. They’ve seen the beauty of nature, had a funny experience of a squirl trying to snatch Summer’s camera, they laughed, laughed, laughed. Some day he said to her, “you’ve changed me, you know that? I’m a healed man now. That’s the power of summer, I guess." Summer answered shyly, “You changed me too.” They took a photo together, in love, in the Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum. They kissed firstly at night, at Summer’s friend’s house which they spend some of their days (or nights) in. It was electrifying. This kiss was very special to summer, because he was the first boy who hasn’t broke her heart to million pieces. They understood each other. His darkness, she understood it. She understood the pain in his eyes. His dissapointment. He did talk. And she listened. And she talked too. Things she never told nobody, secrets lain down in a basement in her heart, locked tightly in the shadows of her soul. And one day, they looked into each other’s eyes, and they made love. With a gentle hunger, with a desire for each other. They made love, and she cried. “What’s wrong?” He asked softly. And she said, “nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right. That’s why I cry.” And he smiled and kissed her head. “I love you,” he said. She was silent for a moment. A big, big moment for him. “I love you too.” She said quietly. They traveled for a month, and a month afterwards he proposed. In eiffel tower. They went there for a weekend because that’s what he could with his university then beginning its’ second semester. She was filled to the brim with joy. Of course she said yes! They went to cafés and restaurants, they were laughing in the rain. They lived, fully, with all their hearts and mind concentrating in the moment, trying to sanctify each moment. They were ecstatic, sometimes sad, but satisfied. They were lovers. She changed his charcoal heart, he told her, she solved his issues, in a way. Though sometimes those would swim up to the surface and she healed them, meditated with him, analyzing his deepest wishes. He’d do the same with her. He’d bring her flowers, dark choclste, make her black coffee with rosemary. he’d watch TV with her, analyze books with her, cuddle under the blanket with her and make her laugh. They healed each other.I know all of this because I’ve experienced this, and those other details of the beginning, he told me. He told me everything. Well, everything important. I’m Summer. And his name is Forest. And now he is full of life, unstoppable. My husband to be. And now it’s our time to (continue to) shine.
By Maya Or Tzur10 months ago in Fiction
My Heart's Field
My heart's field is narrow, slipping along the undulating grass and crying over the snipped flowers of my soul. I house a garden that is ill-formed and barely tended to, with little specific purpose, other than to cope with my own momentum of time. In staccato, my breathing shakes as I jog along the bare backed road. Raw and emotional, I scrape myself along the road, black mascara streaming down my cheeks. Eyes fogged, I misjudge my steps, my broken high heels scraping mercilessly across the harsh bitumen, tripping me up.
By Susan L. Marshall10 months ago in Fiction
My friend Sara. Content Warning.
When I was young, I was very serene. Quiet. Always hiding myself from people with my sallies in nature. But as years passed, something in me became reckless. Something has shifted. I have become someone I do not recognize, something I do not recognize. I still love nature. And that's the reason. That's the reason why I'm so frustrated. My favorite place has been taken away from me. My life has been shattered to pieces, scattered all over the place. My one friend has died there, and it hasn't been the same ever since. I'm filled with grief. With anger. I loved her. I loved her. I - I loved her... so much... she was my best friend I-I... She was such a kind soul! so beautiful... When everyone asks me "Hey, how are you?" Which no one does, but I want them to – my real answer would be, "I'm unwell." I can't go to this place anymore, to my real, chosen home. Ahhh such nostalgia... such magic, such beauty! Was there. Experienced there. Lived there. I go there in my mind, though not physically. I soul travel. I can see it so clearly: the comulonimbus clouds, golden when the sun sets. The azure skies. Those poplar trees, so amberish in autumn. I counted three near the lake. The rain came down in silver drizzles in autumn. In winter, soft snow fell slowly. In summer, the sky was filled with birds. Robins, fluff chested. Songbirds, of all kinds. Bald eagles occasionally, singulars each time. That place was magic. Pure magic. And bliss... it was like some kind of an earthly heaven, a haven. A place so stunning it leaves your mouth fall to the ground. And Sara made it better. Even - even better. So much life she infused to that already lively place. Laughter, common jokes, sharing her beautiful, quirky thoughts, her ideas. Who she was. Sara always used to say, "I don't belong here", referring not to our sacred haven, but to Alabama in general. "I mean, I like the people here. Even love some. But I don't completely fit. I'm like a piece of a puzzle that almost fits, but one bit is not where it's supposed to go. It's not my home. It's not where I belong. I belong where the sky is vast and the birds are always chirping. I belong here, with you. With my awfully shy black headed boy," she mussed my hair, "this will always be my home." Softly she said it, smiling gloomily. She was my forever home. I think of her German parents often. They were so nice and welcoming. I loved them as if they were my own parents, as if I was their own blood. I was, and still am, a misfit, a lonely kid. But not with them. With them I felt like home. Less lonely. Much, much less. They welcomed me unto their home. They have given me warmth, care. Sara always made jokes with me at their table, like we were siblings. And we were. We really were chosen siblings. But Sara died from a lightning strike near that lake at our sacred haven. I was almost struck, too. Almost went to heaven with her... if I even DESERVE a heaven. But Sara was an angel. She is already in heaven. In heav... *sobbing* Why does everything has to be SO DAMN HARD?!why am I losing my one person in life when everything else is so bad?! Gosh... I sure hope she's in a good place. She was an angel! She was an angel. An... oh my god... I feel so terrible. First my abusing parents, now this... GOD, WHY DID YOU ABANDON ME?! My God...
By Maya Or Tzur10 months ago in Fiction
Lily
Gum drops rained from cotton candy clouds. She rode her unicorn through the fields of Dream land. She came across a bandit and charged at him, but he held firm, no flinching. He sat upon his mighty steed. His nose was high in the air. “I’m the Time Bandit,” he said. “What do you want?” Lily asked. “I am here to steal your youth,” he declared. “You visit me once a month and tell me this all the time,” Lily said. “You’re right child,” he said. “But you’re a mother now, correct?”“You know this,” Lily muttered. “This dream representation of yourself is just you as a child,” the Time Bandit said. “You no longer believe in unicorns and such childish things, correct?” She turned her back on him and he let out a divisive laugh. “You cannot escape me girl,” he mocked. Clocks filled the skies and they ticked away. “The flow of time only flows one way child,” he said. “It only flows forward, not backward.” “So let me play now. Then I’ll go back to worrying about my mortgage and getting my daughter to school on time, when I wake up. But for now, will you let me ride a damn unicorn through dream land during a gumball thunderstorm?” she said with her eyes burning with fire. He smiled and shook his head. “That is no way to talk for a young lady,” he teased. She rolled her eyes and the unicorn trotted past the smug time bandit. She passed events of her life. There was graduating college, getting married, and her daughter being born. She could even hear her own mother calling her home for supper. She listened to the ticking of the clock. She wanted her mother to have brown hair and be young again, but when she reached her,
By DJ Robbins10 months ago in Fiction
Knew not confinement (Vignette ). Content Warning.
The word you might use to describe me would be: lesbian, a charting author, or something in between. I was drawn by the way she was moving on her feet, yet I knew that alone did not set her apart. She pushed quick shifts like a half breath that never became steps. Her shoulders were perched high, covering her neck with a kind of guarded confidence. The candy coloured crystals held in the jewelleries, blinked a glint in the light; They finished the question her lips wouldn't speak.
By Caitlin Charlton10 months ago in Fiction
Forgotten
I sit alone, as I always do. In a corner where everything is seen and I am seen by everything. Fear rushes through me as someone enters the room. I cannot see their face and I tremble at the thought of what they want. Words, sounds, speech, a question... a conversation. I thought I had forgotten how to have a conversation but it seems, as the draftiness in this room persists, so do old habits.
By Silver Holly Hope10 months ago in Fiction
Safe is where you choose it to be.
The key is still in the lock. It seems I was in a hurry to get out. I grasp onto the handle, as I have done every time before. My knuckles white, I rub at the ornate filigree tip. Glancing down, I can glimpse my reflection in that sliver of brass. Polished to gleaming from my every attempt. I note the notches along the doorframe. Two, four, six and eight.
By Sarah O'Grady10 months ago in Fiction
Gayatri: A Spirit awoken !
Gayatri had long been under a spell —a point at which her heart 💜 and brain 🧠 had ceased to function. Living and its real sense of meaning, had taken a toll —much like —taking a new direction in her mind. A major portion of her previous life had been spent amidst Hindu 🕉️ and Buddhist ☸️ religious teachings. Although, at first, she was skeptical about beliefs but soon she realized that there was more to it than what met her eye. However, crowning all and in preparing for life, she perused the field of theoretical physics as her life’s learnings but a peculiar tie to the occult kept bidding her close to the otherworldly. Not becoming insensible to those aspects she somehow brushed them aside in order to take pleasure in such reflections at a later time. Thinking so, three years had passed before a change finally came over her senses.One night, in her dreams , Gayatri experienced a deep humbling feel. Her mind was ruminating deep and she had reached a point beyond doctrines, much like the great awareness leading into a rippling vision. Inclined to seek more, she wondered about the matters of soul -spirit that had already intrigued many humans for centuries. Yet the main stream science kept pulling her back into routine. Oblivion detours were a “no-no,”for the mainstream researchers. But, of lately everything around her was showing signs and she was feeling different. And then, on another successive night, she experienced a chronic pain in a dream. She felt as though she had been stabbed. Then on, subsequently, the dream portrayed her as a soldier who was killed by a 🗡️dagger . Faint glimpses of the past life kept flashing every now and then, and she didn’t know what to make of them. In dreams, her mind kept visiting a hill and a forgotten room , earlier accredited to training Shaolin monks. Somehow, the day routine hauled her out and Gayatri steered away from those haunting dreams. But those dreams came back in the night as if to anchor ⚓️ themselves in the dark. Then one wintry night in December of 2060, following her return to the study of theoretical quantum quest (physics, ) Gayatri felt an urge—a strange pull to understand the reality of her life and schematic dreams. A sort of experiencing a sense of purpose to seek unity between the real and the unreal —as if something was beckoning her to return to a soul home at quantum fields. The subject of matter, mind and the nature of reality ( which she had come to believe so far,) seemed somewhat different now. Soon she realized that her skepticism could either build or break a plausible explanation of life especially in such an artificially contrived world. The steerage in which she had lived up until now was providing a steady anchorage to her thoughts. Yet things were turning in a totally different direction. From such reflections as these and in such stretching of mind, she set out on a voyage which impelled her to look beyond. After a few years and tired of the tedium of exploration, she set out on an arbitrary trip. The destination design was set to the far East where she stumbled upon an amazing phenomena. The realization came off as a “deja vu,” moment while she visited a monastery during her visit. There, witnessing the lives of the monks seemed like a plain matter of fact —at first—to Gayatri. But a closer look at their habits revealed many more aspects that had remained dormant in her mind. With enthusiasm and want of their acquaintance, she adhered close to their customs and observed every particular detail of their life. She noticed their daily rituals of rising early, arduous quest for knowledge and mastery to play in the evolution of higher consciousness. Their firm faith and belief in knowing their place in the larger scheme and their disciplined efforts guided by order, purpose and wisdom moved Gayatri. A few among those monks were known to show wonders of past lives. They had evidenced the existence of past lives and life between lives. Gayatri had almost got a passport into that forgotten realm. Passing over in various ways, these souls had ascended and they were like spiritual guides providing opportunities for people to make contact with higher wisdom. into the nearby mountains. Those views of mountains suggested deeper reflection, giving (as though) real information for subsequent introspection and reflection. This state of mind continued for a few days. Then one early break of the dawn, calling more attention and giving more details to the real situation, was a faint dream highlighting—a forgotten room atop a hill. The eastern horizon was rising above the indistinct lights, boundlessly appearing to stretch across the deep river that was flowing downhill. Therein she noticed a a tiny hut 🛖 like structure amidst those cascading hill. Many measures were being taken to preserve the sanctity of that room. This was a Sanctum Santorum (more of a sanctuary for the monks,) which served them in the rank of beings and promoted ,in any measure, deeper meditative states. At such mountainous elevations monks could solely focus on receiving insights while passing through deep trance state, outside of themselves, to discover what living was all about and who they were in the larger scheme of things —universe. Just born different, Gayatri was always intrigued by the nature of things, in and around her. Choosing to go afar she aspired to take that journey for years. So fixed upon to get under the weight of things, Gayatri found herself set upon that uphill trek towards that room. All around her she saw greenery and bright colorful flowers. The wind blowing a mesmerizing fragrance. She could feel the warmth of the sun touching her skin. A path led her footsteps uphill and she felt drawn towards it. All this repeated in a pattern until she intently relaxed for the revelation to unfold. A little more than just started she found herself buried in a cemetery, where lay her ashes alongside a few others in a forgotten room. The record of her past life was unknown to many but there could be no reason fastidious enough not to question it. She found her mind’s eye 👁️entering an expanded perspective. She had stationed herself in a region . A portal. Are you awake or are you still caught up in that incessant hearth chase. Embarking on she moved ahead amid whatever ran through her mind’s theme. “It’s an illusive dream,” she found her subliminal thoughts echoing. “It’s time to come off of it,” she said. Helping herself out she frantically tried to swash herself out of those thoughts. But something was impelling her to look through them. Memories?! She questioned. Are these memories — messages from the past or some sort of a spell. Why was she drifting back through times. Who was propelling her to do so. She noticed that her observations were not the same as in usual wakeful observations. But images although hazy sometimes—did made sense of what was happening around . “Is it a spell? “ she queried self to clear the unsettling situation. How could that spell be broken?! That was a mystery, she was ready to uncover. And, out there stood a summit floating in clouds with its peripheries stretching between two worlds—one,the real, and the other, appearing ethereally unreal.It’s hillsides were steep, appearing pristinely magnificent.Afoot meandering through the brooks and the river, were melodious streams eagerly gurgling in the haze.All the earthy elements seemed coming together in a scenic blend.It was ,as though, she was looking beyond the discrete to finally hit the grounds of synergy. What was to follow was an enigma.Where was she ? Who was she actually? She felt brand new as though rebirth-ed. But in a subtle way she felt as if she was reliving a moment. She was picking up moments of past life. And with that essence lingering in the presence of the time, she headed towards a place where people were resolute to bear the heaviest burdens cheerfully.Out there, most of the people perennially remained calm and devout; almost truthful like ever more so unfaltering.In all this, she felt confined to some distant scheme of things, tucking her away in her own mindful enclaves.A sub-space of mind that was switching between realities and possibilities.For a moment she felt temporally lost or ever-more-so totally ignorant of that geodesic space.But then again soaring high above and going along so,she was all set to cast away inhibitions and drift away.This region was held ,and fervently revered for its' spiritual reverie; giving it a unique set of values which reverberated gentler idealism all around its' near vicinities.Ever since the days of the yore, at the most, this sort of living, resonated a beginning of beginnings; increasingly precipitating a monastic- asceticism in its making.Brought up in such surroundings, everyday acts c’d get the expression of intimate solipsism. Gayatri found herself instinctually gravitating towards its tendency to accede to the vesper calls of spirituality.Thinking of it, she longed for those singing matins residing in the gentle trebles of the early dawns' sightings.That sort of mysticism, longstanding in the never ending cycles of sacred gleams was coming back to her mind. Suddenly a room appeared in sight. It was a sort of a monastery. Right there, she was concurring it’s ethos to all plausible means. This was a place in which the essential spirit of the spirited souls had been nurtured. It was the zone of the metaphysical and for times immemorial it had emancipated itself to look upon the past with a rationalistic shared new meanings.In its essence, the present connected to the past ,and note worthily, it all transcended into 'morrow with its own inner workings.That was a night out in reverie fully deeper in its faith, proceedings and all it’s belongings.And here, in her case, fresh fruitful impulses were drawing her into echoing whispers of history and spangling her into an age which sat on perpetual splendors of immortality.And scrimmaging through this passing evolution of evolving miens, she felt caught up in a sense of identity. Could it be false? She sought clarity through those happenings. Gradually, this, in turn, had almost invariably turned her into an unrecognizable alien. She was turning into an entity entirely left to feel nothing with no holdings to any tidings. And, it is by such continuance and with its lingering effect upon her, she still perpetuated somewhere in it. Perhaps, confused as a defter she was wading off in reticence .Yet, in such muddled sense of spurning knock -backs, she found herself still existing. Was she positioned to listen to reason, pitched upon another trial of speculation, or Was she prepossessed to probe profundity and conceive it's foundations with each and every posterity gone airy ? Not awry. Either which way: whither, wherefore and whence, she was advancing, searching and researching, and continuing to get drawn towards those irresistible feelings.All this while, she was living by the sole influence of the externalities. How could she be so?! And now, the impending reality, aloft in air, was squarely looking at her, in the face. A terrible awakening, in which —she had held no particular sight of anything. It was ineffably grappling her. Gayatri found herself under the influence of reason, but everything was threatening to trivialize her. And in all this , now, she had a forgotten twin meditating 🧘♀️up in the mountains —somewhere in a forgotten forest!Yet, on the contrary , accustomed to seek major truths , she was determined to drive her tittering impulses to seek clarity… ah! those inklings.Was it Intuition?! Or was she staged in an in-between world of AI ( artificial intelligence,) emergence. Partly, this was why she found herself groping,--quite silently, preposterous in ways, at the first prospect of knowing who she was exactly.She was like a proto-testing the danger inherent in knowing things in advance of (one's ) time and remaining indifferent to it, definitively.But echoes of the past were still haunting her ..Was she seeing how the land had lied to her! Not seeing an inch beyond my nose was not an option to me. An oracular heaven seemed to be directing her. Was she at cross purposes and staging herself on the wrong side of the history. The call in the question was - Should she be a passive resister or be a conscientious objector in reckoning and recanting this mystery. That's just it --an absurd hint; some idea or the other bubbling ; neither more nor less of an inquiry , yet shaking it’s hands with all dignity —-O all mighty!But then there were some secrets of this small- town- society, much largely concealed , not so formalized ,and yet, averring to carry her into its' deceit. In that one moment, she was wondering whether she was refining her mind's image of herself or was her imagination betraying her. Where was she? Who was she? A new age entity caught up in the past life. A humanoid; a cusp between humans and the other worldly beings-bots! ☝️ ****🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫© ✍️ Madhu Goteti, December 3rd, 2025 P.S: A tale of second sightings! Voices carried over from other times —far off, from other lands, brought close. Sometimes, there are places Gayatri would rather not be. Just imagine getting out of places (almost nightmarish,) before it gets too late to claim identity.
By Madhu Goteti 10 months ago in Fiction
Don't Tell Him. Top Story - December 2025. Content Warning.
“I took my gun and vanished...” - The Partisan, as sung by Leonard Cohen -0- Dear mom, I’m sorry that you have to hear about my going in any way but from my own lips. If I had waited to tell you, if I had waited until you awoke, you might have talked me out of it. Talked some sense into my damned fool head, made me stay at home. Stay where I would be warm and safe and fed.
By Alexander McEvoy10 months ago in Fiction
