Sugar For Salt



May you ever travel peacefully
And with worthy companions
Be sure never to let your fear
Seed hatred toward others
May you ever travel peacefully
And with worthy companions

May you ever travel peacefully
And with worthy companions
If you’re not part of the solution
Then you’re part of the problem
May you ever travel peacefully
And with worthy companions

The Cage

Ben Naga


The days shorten while the nights lengthen
Then the nights shorten while the days lengthen
Then the days shorten while the nights lengthen
Then the nights shorten while the days lengthen

Setting up some kind of zero point or other
Measuring, counting, recording year by year
Offers us the pale illusion of understanding
The option of conjuring up some kind of god
Who created all of this in seven days (or not
Depending on your own preferred conjuration)
Meanwhile – or meaninglesslywhile – god forbid

The days shorten while the nights lengthen
Then the nights shorten while the days lengthen
Then the days shorten while the nights lengthen
Then the nights shorten while the days lengthen

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Or Some Such

Ben Naga

Just as the separate frames that constitute a reel of film conjure up a continuous reality. (With this reality itself but an illusory imagining of the director, the writer, the actors.

I recall reading of a Buddhist master who, when asked about the nature of reality, enlightenment or some such – I don’t remember the exact question – I have slept many times since then – said nothing but snuffed out a nearby candle and relit it immediately.

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Rainbow Bridge


“All the world’s a stage”


The original Unset of the Show was One
But with no Set the Show could not be shown
So the Formless Form, to see who it might be
Formed an Idea called Reality
Dissolved its unity into two
The Projection Room and the Angel/Man you
The freedom of the sands of Time was formed into bricks
And this ordering of freedom was named Politics


Angels are mermen who swim in the See
But dwell for a season in the Sardine Factory
In the Sardine Factory they all become Preachers
And everyone has their uniform, even the art teachers
At the door of the Projection Room some aspect of your Mother
Dressed up as an usherette is bound to stop you, brother
To see that you’re not taking any matches through
And everyone is Man/Angel/Mother/Politician/Me/You


As the One/Not One became two, don’t forget
That three and four were needed to complete the Set
Nothing motivates like a puzzle unsolved
So three possible forms of Politics were evolved
The Politics of East/West, Experience and Ecstasy
And each Sardine was held by the four Chains of the See
The four major suits in the Game That Binds
Substance, Space, Power … and Time

(Rainbow Bridge is the game and the place where we play it
Though those who sense this transience may seldom dare to say it)


So the Sardine can be Man the Seer
And sit in the stalls with a can of beer
Or the Politician and Moral Defector
And sit in a Cabinet and run the Projector
He can be Mother and remain on the ground
Ushering all the others around
Or escape into Angelic Space and See
– If not he is inevitably all the other three


The Politics of East/West race the projector hour by hour
And try to hold the trumps of Time to make a bid in Power
The Politics of Experience hold the film at one small frame
Know Now and Here is Nowhere and it’s (really) all the same
The Politics of Ecstasy require you bring a match
And set light to the held frame – celluloid burns like thatch
Wave Politics goodbye, let the Freedom of Angels float
Smuggle in a match and don’t forget to register to vote …

…..With acknowledgements to R. D. Laing (The Politics of Experience), Timothy Leary
…..(The Politics of Ecstasy) and Robin Williamson (U), himself owing something to
…..L Ron Hubbard’s MEST.


The Book Of Guff


“Why is it so hard for some to show and others to see?”

Perhaps it is the fear of pain.

It is widely believed that the opposite of love is hatred, but closer examination reveals that the true opposite of Love is Fear; hatred always has its roots in Fear.

Fear makes us close up and deny; Love invites us to open and share.

Perhaps it is only when we readmit Love that the healing of the pain can begin.

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It’s tough living here
Concealment and masquerade
Sap my energy
Among “friends and family”
Mobiles don’t let you phone home

5000 years ago… my thoughts

Mithai Mumblezz

This is one the best times in the country. Because its the starting of festivals which’ll continue till March 2016. Basically we never fall short of celebration.

Hindus have 330 million gods. Even though most people can name only around 30.


And India is a secular country.
That means we get national holidays not only for Hindu festivals but also for every major festival of every religion.

You can be sure that every day in some part of the country, some kind of puja (worship) is always going on.

So if anyone bunks class someday and professor asks the reason, you can always get off the hook saying there was some puja at home.
No one has the capacity to verify 😉

Every bunk is forgiven if its in the name of ‘Puja’ or…….Cricket match!!

Most of us have atleast one friend from every religion. So all their festivals are celebrated…

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the secret keeper

“Hailstorms”by HUGO [Hailstorms Music Video]


Running out of time
Either get out or get in
Days are slipping by
Won’t wait to begin
Cause I’m losing
All my feathers in the wind

Digging out a memory
Of who I was before
And how I got involved
In this endless war
The ones who win
Don’t always need it more

I’m ready for release
I wait for the pain to come
I beg it to believe
Hailstorms coming
Baby bring it on

I’m waiting for the blow
I’m reaching out
To take what’s mine
Whichever way it rolls
I dance my way
Through hailstorms anytime

Staring in a mirror
Doesn’t get you very far
The people that I’m looking for
Out in the dark
Under city lights
You don’t see many stars

Crushing out a cigarette
Is all that I’ve done
Calling on my favors
Watch my bridges burn

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A Sip At The Apple And Snake

Ben Naga


Drawn to that old tavern by the harbour
By the whimsy of its swinging sign
A round or two … and then

A well honed long-sword
Sweetened with honey
Slips into a tasty place
Without a tasteful name

Unsure whose deserts though
And lightless, we stroll a while
Down by the river’s cracked mouth

Where it lies, drained and heedless
As if long exhausted of truths
Bleeding its leavings and residues
Back into a dried up and deserted sea

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