The Joy Of Giving

The laws of Physics state that if a stone is thrown upwards towards the sky, it falls back down with a greater

If that stone is an action, and the sky the subject; the action will boomerang back to one with a greater force. The puzzle however, lies in separating the action from its return. Once the connection between the two is made, it is fairly simple to fathom the sensible course of action. The simplicity of the execution of said action is blatant, but the presence of mind and will to do so are coveted.

It is fairly simple to fathom that if one performs a generous action, generosity will follow with greater force. However, the source of the latter may be entirely unconnected with the initial source. Once this connection has been made, several similar connections tend to reveal themselves. It is now common knowledge that the one good deed will reap others, which bear more fruit.

But armed with this knowledge, is it always the generous course of action one follows? The path of self-absorption is as tempting as candy to a child. The very feelings associated with temptation imply that the victim of the same knows better than to succumb to its grasp. Resistance to temptation; the temptation to stray from the path of giving, is the only solution to prevent a negative boomerang.

By maintaining the will to spread joy, one inadvertently maintains the will to spread joy in oneself. That is one aspect of the joy of giving. The second aspect is more common.

Do you not smile when you see the absolute joy on a child’s face when your meal becomes his first meal in two days?

– MayaSoul

Book Review #4

Hello everyone! Today’s post is the review of the book, Paths Of Glory by Jeffrey Archer. The book is part fact, and part fictional speculation. It is centred around the protagonist, George Mallory; the first human being to attempt climbing Mount Everest. What the world however, does not know is whether Mallory actually conquered the highest mountain or not. He never lived to tell the tale.

The book begins with Mallory as a child, and portrays his adeptness at climbing and hiking since. It depicts the process of how Mallory grows up and attends Cambridge University, where he joins the climbing club. It is from this point, that Mallory begins his career in climbing in earnest. He conquers several mountains across the globe before attempting Everest. He pursues Her (Mount Everest or, ‘Chomolungma’, was known as, ‘Goddess Mother Of The Earth’) several times, having to journey through China in the early 1920s.¬†Paths Of Glory¬†also encompasses Mallory’s family life, including his wife, children, and profession as a teacher in a school. Most of these are true facts.

The beauty of the book, however lies in the portrayal of Mallory’s character, and his unparalleled passion for the outdoors, and especially for climbing. His determination and charisma is evident in his unmatched skill in climbing.

This book had an especially powerful impact on me, because it resulted in a passion to delve deeper into the history of mountaineers on Everest, including Edmund Hillary, Tenzing Norgay, Rob Hall, Scott Fisher, and Jon Krakeur. The respect for the mountain, which is imperative for the success of any climber is brought out with gusto in the novel. It is so powerful, that it elicited respect in a passive reader, like myself.

The ultimate question the reader is left with however, is whether Mallory actually reached the summit. Archer has speculated on this subject in his book, however no convincing evidence has yet been found. Excavators have found an axe, and of course, there is the case of the missing photograph, which is narrated with tremendous skill in Paths Of Glory. However, is it enough? The world does not know. If this series of, ‘what ifs…’, could be answered, would history have to be altered? These are the questions, sinister in their own right, that Paths Of Glory leaves with the reader.

I could not stop reading until I had reached the mesmerising end.

See you soon,




That Blissful Breeze

I’ve always wondered why breeze always blows at night. The day brings light, but breeze is thrifty with it’s presence. Right now as I sit in the open, and night falls, I think I know of a probable answer.

The day overwhelms me with gifts and duties. My eyes allow me vision, and I see the world; the city, school, people, trees, and all the world offers. It is often conceived as odd to perceive the day as something out of the ordinary. Vision for the gifted, is taken for granted. If there is a breeze, I am too preoccupied with my sight, to notice something tactile.

However at night, when that sight diminishes in value, it is the other senses that gain prominence. I hear the rustle of the leaves, and as am brushed by the wind, I luxuriate in it. Perhaps I only notice this wonderful gust of nature because her gifts at the time are fewer. I then begin to value another sense, which I had neglected in the day; that of touch. The breeze has never elicited as much pleasure during the day as it did at twilight. Do I need to have less to see more?

Another thought that struck me while watching the mango tree dance in the breeze was one of divine compassion.

If the day brings forth the promise of duty, the night brings, with equal fervour, the reward of peace. After a toiling day of work, the sensation of a light breeze is blissful. If the toil had been absent, the breeze would probably not have wielded as much power as it did. However, if the day brought forth toil, the breeze is the calming gift one appreciates most at night.

Life always has a way of giving back. I may give all my sweat and all my blood and gain no immediate material reward. However then, this breeze has more power than any material benefit. The liberating feeling is unparalleled. Life always has a way of giving back.

– MayaSoul

An Apple’s Core

Humans are like apples. Each one has a core, which is easily affected. Some display more pronounced effects than others, while some take years for them to surface. This is one truth, which can be either a weakness or a strength. Today’s post is about this core being a strength.

The analogy with apples is quite literal. If an apple falls from a tree, and hits the ground, it is branded as an outcast. Its skin may show no outward signs of damage, but its core has been fatally affected. If this outcast is made to mingle with other apples, it will lead them to the same fate. Hence, it is kept isolated.

Humans are similar. They get hurt often. Every injury may not be a sear on the surface. Some penetrate so deep, that the offending needle leaves not even an incision on one’s skin. The poison on the top of the needle then settles in one’s core. The hurt may not be visible, it may not even be felt. But make no mistake, it is present.

This hurt manifests itself through one or several facets of one’s personality. This manifestation may be positive, or it may be negative. The choice lies with us, albeit often in one’s subconscious mind.

It is here that one’s core reflects either vulnerability, or power. The latter is definitely more appealing. In order to achieve this, one must recognise when poison enters his core. Its energy must then be harnessed, and then morphed into power. Analogically, the apple must hit the ground with as much force as the latter exerts, thus countering the damaging effect. The cardinal difference; the positive nature of the apple’s force. It aims to empower, rather than to succumb.

A human’s actions often influence those of others. They form a, ‘ripple-effect’. If I choose to strengthen my core with every passing moment, it is that I will spread.

Therefore, a human is very much like an apple. Our core is always easily affected, but we can choose whether that effect is weakening, or strengthening.

– MayaSoul

The Middle?

Hello everyone!

…and then she unlocked the kitchen cabinet and left the keys on the counter. Her children would find the keys anyway. She called her boss and…

Well I do not know what happened before the ellipsis. Neither do I know what happens after. But I still have to mould a story from these morsels of information. However, there is a condition; the story cannot be fiction. I have to guess and improvise along the way, but the story must resemble the real events of her life.

‘She’, could be anyone really. I was given the middle of the story as a clue to decipher her background, identity, profession, actions, and everything her life encompasses. I was baffled! But I had no alternative, except to follow instructions and continue the story. Rewinding her life was impossible. I had to begin from the middle and treat it as the beginning. After all, it was the beginning for me. I had just been introduced to our protagonist!

The sequence of events lay in my hands, to a great extent. The choice was mine. The only hurdle now was how to make that choice from the middle of the story? Therefore, I initially attempted to decipher all that had taken place before the ellipsis. Of course, I had no way to access this knowledge, for the rewind button was out of order. My line of thought had a few key phrases which chronologically repeated themselves: “She could have…”, “What if…”, “If only I knew that…”, and so on. Needless to say, my efforts were fruitless. It then struck me that I had to think rationally. I was given the middle of a story, and was trying to deduce what had transpired before. I was looking at the story as a ladder climbed halfway with only one possible route. If only I viewed it as the first rung, waiting to be climbed, a host of first rungs would now be accessible. Simply put, I had to view it as the first line of a story. Only then, would I have the option to make a choice about the events that were to unfold next. If I considered the past, my vision would be clouded and the future would be a baffling haze of thunderclouds. I had to be satisfied with the middle of the story, and continue it without sparing a thought to the past. Only then, would the haze of the future not only clear up, but also be accessible to me.

Well, every moment is indeed a new moment. Wednesday is in the middle of the week, but it is indeed a new day. 2 pm is the middle of the day, but it is indeed a new hour. The end of a book could indeed be the beginning of a sequel. It is my choice how I view the given line from the story: as the middle of the already laid out plot, or as the beginning of a new chapter.

See you soon,