All these years in Los Angeles, and I don’t remember seeing a bud of the bird of paradise flower. This morning as I walked in the quiet hour, I saw this crimson-necked tight envelope holding within it orange petals slightly revealing themselves through the opening that blooms into this bird. It is quite an experience to see the early youth of any flower. How it has signs of both glory and decay. I wonder what is flowering in my now, what is the future of this skin and seed, I wonder what of the past is my fragrance today.

And…

The Artist

Artist from China who made the fake paintings claims he had no idea that his paintings were being sold as originals; it wasn’t a forgery. Of course he signed them off as the original artist would. Now he is back in his home country having escaped the court case in United States, and only makes art for himself, his wife claims.

His fake paintings were sold for 80 million US dollars as original works of Rothko, Pollock, Motherwell.

The Shop

We see a shop in China where these fake paintings are made in bulk.

The shop worker has…

Dear Soul & Sea friends,

How are you doing? We hope you are finding time for self care and self love as times remain challenging. If you can find time and corner for this project, it might get you a few cups of free coffee if not anything else. But mostly we hope this can bring you some hours of meditative reflection on your own soul journeys and that of the world.

If you have some thought provoking poetic pieces on spirituality and mysticism, please feel free to submit between now and April 30th. …

Los Angeles does get one thing right. There is never any shortage of this glorious glorious bougainvillea bloom. Next to the tall palm trees and against the city’s white walls, this magenta queen captures attention of all the eyes, weary and hopeful.

It is a flower of a roadside vine, corners unseen even by the most regular of the morning walkers. Surrounding bougainvillea, their magenta overflow, loaded blooms of Californian permanence, hypnotize the eye of the bypasser. But this flower, not of the wild, not urban, grows homeless, without a sight laid on it, or a caring hand-brushed by. Then the sun climbs not too far from the coastal mirage. A wanderer with a ticking clock measures the length of their half-stride, reaches to the ground to gather all the dust with their wire. …

I have been trying to write away from the online presence. Like taking the social part away from creativity. As one of my writer friends says, that is not possible. Social cannot be separated from creativity. The give and take, reader and writer, the continuous exchange of showcase and responses are part of the entire game of creation. Makes sense.

But I have been trying to write away from online presence mainly because I have felt online exchanges and reader’s responses and reviews are many times not authentic and driven from social rituals of mutual validation and algorithmic devotions rather…