November | 2025 | Pieces Of My Heart

Between Clicks And Calm

November 30, 2025 at 9:30 pm (Articles, Humor, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, inner self, introspection, keepitalive, PaletteNPixels, pieces of my heart, SundayPoser, Writers on wordpress

In response to Sadje’s #Sunday Poser

Do you believe in multitasking or doing things mindfully?

https://wp.me/paf3ao-mgS

Foreword

As much as I try to be mindful, life often demands the opposite. Tasks collide, thoughts race, and my brain leaps into overdrive before I even realize it. Multitasking has become less of a choice and more of a survival skill.

This piece is my attempt to find a middle path, a small compromise between the speed of our fast-paced world and the calm we long for. It explores a future where mindfulness and technology don’t clash, but coexist. A future where our devices help us stay present instead of pulling us away.

Maybe, that’s how we move forward, not by escaping the digital age, but by learning to live in it with intention – Mindful Tech Symbiosis which is how the future learns to breathe.

The Monk, the Drummer, and the Hummingbird

They say there was once a monk who lived at the edge of a forest where silence fell like soft snow. Each morning, he meditated by a river, breathing in the sound of water, breathing out the world.

One day, a traveling drummer passed by. “Teach me mindfulness,” he pleaded, “For my mind is everywhere at once. I forget my sticks, lose my rhythm, and drop beats in the middle of concerts.”

The monk gestured for him to sit. But every few seconds, a hummingbird interrupted, zipping, buzzing, darting. The drummer grew irritated. “How can one meditate with this chaos?”

The monk smiled.

“The bird is your mind.
The river is your breath.
You don’t silence the bird.
You learn to hear the river beneath its wings.”

And at that moment, the drummer finally understood. Mindfulness is not the absence of noise. It is the ability to hear yourself despite it.

This parable is no longer spiritual folklore, it is the biography of our digital age.

AI as Your Mindfulness Coach: When the Future Learns to Whisper Back

What if your devices became guardians of your presence instead of thieves of your attention?
Imagine an AI that watches over your mental patterns like a monk observing a novice.

It senses when your typing becomes frantic.

It notices the restless flicker of your gaze across apps.

It recognizes the emotional turbulence beneath your screen taps.

And then, instead of drowning you in notifications, it intervenes like a gentle whisper:

“Breathe. Your mind just scattered.”

This is not AI that disciplines. This is AI that nurtures.

It doesn’t command you to meditate at 7:00 AM like a factory bell. It anticipates the exact micro-second your awareness begins to slip, and offers a single grounding cue. Not a command. A nudge.

A mindfulness coach that grows more mindful of you every day.

Immersive Mindfulness in XR: Meditation Becomes a Living Adventure

We used to imagine meditation as monks on mountains. Now imagine this:

You put on a lightweight XR lens and step into a forest that breathes with you.

When your heartbeat rises, the trees’ colors shift.

When your breath slows, petals fall in synchrony.

When your mind wanders, the path gently blurs until you return.

It is mindfulness not as discipline, but as interactive belonging.

A digital environment that collaborates with your nervous system, meeting you halfway between chaos and calm.

Mindfulness becomes a place you visit. A landscape that responds. A sanctuary that upgrades itself every time you grow.

Mindful Multitasking: The Paradox That Isn’t a Paradox

We were told multitasking is poison. But what if the problem is not multitasking, only mindless multitasking?

Wearables of tomorrow could monitor the architecture of your attention.

When your focus fragments, they pulse softly.

When you switch tasks too abruptly, they guide you into a mindful transition.

When your mental load exceeds capacity, they dim distractions like intelligent curtains.

This is not multitasking as we know it, this is tiered cognition, where awareness becomes the conductor of a carefully tuned orchestra.

You’re not juggling tasks. You’re choreographing them. You’re not drowning in stimuli. You’re surfing them with precision.

Technology stops being a stimulant and becomes a synaptic stabilizer.

The Mindful City: When the World Itself Learns to Breathe

Now imagine stepping outside into a city designed not to accelerate you, but to center you.

Benches that sense your flight-or-fight state and release calming soundscapes.

Crosswalks that invite slow breathing during red lights.

AR overlays that turn your commute into a mindful journey rather than a frantic race.

Train stations that display real-time “calm zones.”

Elevators with meditative micro-stories for the 14 seconds of ascent.

In such a city, mindfulness is not a retreat.
It is a public utility. A civic right. A cultural rhythm woven into the architecture itself.

The hummingbird and the river coexist, everywhere.

Becoming the Smart Human in a Smart World

We are living in a time when devices blink faster than thoughts. We can no longer dream of the “good old days” without screens.
Nostalgia is a beautiful ache, but not a strategy.

The task before us is not to abandon the world we built. It is to reclaim mastery over it.

To evolve from users to choosers. From responders to directors. From overwhelmed humans to mindfully augmented humans.
Technology isn’t the enemy. Distraction is.

And when we learn to hear the river beneath the wings of our hummingbird minds,
we don’t need to escape our devices.

We simply need to own them, shape them,
outgrow them, and ultimately become the most intelligent technology in the room.

Not just smart devices.
Smart humans.

© Rohini 2009–2025.
All text, prose, images, and artwork presented herein are the original intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved.
No part of this content may be copied, reproduced, distributed, displayed, or used in any form without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

For licensing requests or usage inquiries, please contact: manomaya0214@gmail.com

1 Comment

The Dawn We Used to Share

November 30, 2025 at 4:17 pm (Articles, kids stories, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, inner self, introspection, PaletteNPixels, photography, pieces of my heart, Ragtagdailyprompt, RDP, Writers on wordpress

RDP Sunday: Praise

In response to Ragtagdailyprompt

https://wp.me/p9YcOU-63S

At the edge of the forest, on a branch that had learned to sway with every season, a small bird greeted the dawn before anything else even stirred. Its feathers shimmered pale gold in the new light, but it didn’t notice. It wasn’t singing to be admired.

It was singing to be heard.

Every morning, as the first hush loosened into the faintest glow, the bird hopped to the very tip of its favorite branch, lifted its head, and opened its beak wide, so wide it seemed its heart might fly out with the sound.

And then it sang.

Some said it was singing the sun awake, nudging it gently over the horizon. Others believed it was praising the day, unraveling gratitude in ribbons of sound so pure that even the leaves trembled a little.

But the truth was softer, and older.The bird was calling for someone.

Long ago, another bird, its dearest companion, used to share the same branch. They would greet the day side by side, trilling little duets, weaving laughter into the dawn. But seasons change, as they always do, and one winter the winds took its companion far beyond the forest’s reach. The bird waited. And waited. And waited, until waiting became a shape inside its chest.

And so every morning now, it sang to the sky. Not a cry of loss, not quite. More like a gentle, steadfast praise, for the memory, for the love, for the echo that still warmed its small wings.

Its song was not a plea: “Come back”.
Its song was a blessing:
“Thank you for the days we shared.
Thank you for the mornings you taught me to greet.
Wherever you fly now, may the sun greet you too.”

And the forest listened. The wind carried the notes. The sun rose a little kinder. The silence softened, as if remembering.

Some days the bird sang softly, the way one whispers a secret just for themselves. Other days, it shouted its praise, letting it spill wildly across the waking world. And on certain mornings, special ones, when the light felt like a familiar feather brushing its cheek, it told the whole story in song:

Of love that does not vanish.
Of memories that do not dim.
Of a heart that praises even what it misses.

And when the village children walked by on their way to school, they would pause and listen. One girl always placed her hand over her chest and whispered,

“I don’t know who you’re singing to… but I hope they hear you.”

The bird, hearing the softness in her voice, sang even brighter.

Because praise, when sung honestly, always finds a way, through trees, through time, through hearts that are listening, even without knowing what they’re listening for.

And so the small bird kept singing the sun up,
kept praising the day, kept telling its quiet story, a story shaped like longing, colored like gratitude, and held together by the belief that love echoes, even across distances we cannot see.

And so the little bird kept singing, each dawn, each soft unfurling of light, its voice a ribbon of praise sent into the world without expectation.
Just love, just memory, just the quiet bravery of a heart that still believed, music could travel farther than grief.

Days passed.
Then seasons.
The forest changed its colors again and again
while the small bird perched faithfully on the same branch, its song rising like a promise.

What it didn’t know was that somewhere far beyond the hills, another bird, tired, wind-worn, but listening, heard a note that felt like home. A familiar tone, a half-forgotten warmth, a call that once shaped its mornings.

The companion paused mid-flight, heart thrum returning in a rush of recognition. And as the sun climbed higher, it angled its wings,
following the sound as if following a thread woven through the sky.

Back in the forest, the little bird finished its morning song and sat quietly, letting the silence settle. Then the leaves above it stirred.

A shadow fluttered down. A soft chirp answered its lingering note.

The companion had returned. Two small bodies, once parted by distance and time,
found the same branch again, and the forest heard a duet blossom in the sunlight,
a harmony stitched with gratitude, reunion, and quiet wonder.

Because sometimes, what we send into the world, our praise, our tenderness, our goodness, does not vanish. It circles back,
carrying with it the echo of everything we once gave freely.

Give to the world the best you have,
and in its own time, in its own way,
the best will find its way back to you.

12 Comments

The Uncaged Blessing

November 30, 2025 at 1:49 pm (Articles, kids stories, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, Poetry (Self Inspired), psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, Creative Xploration Challenge, inner self, introspection, PaletteNPixels, pieces of my heart, RXC, Writers on wordpress

In response to:

Reena’s Xploration Challenge #409

Write a story, poem, or reflection where the act of giving thanks is tied to resilience, protest, or moral strength. Explore the paradox of refusing to be grateful to the ungrateful…

https://wp.me/p6HvcB-df1

I have learned to give thanks
not to the tyrants who demand it,
not to the hands that take and call it generosity,
not to the thrones built on borrowed breath,
no, my gratitude is not a coin
to be tossed into the pockets of the ungrateful.

I give thanks to the wind instead,
for teaching me that even what cannot be held
can still lift.
To the seeds that split stone
because they refused to stay small.
To the dawn that keeps arriving
though night keeps insisting it won’t.

I give thanks to the quiet rebels,
the ones who whisper “no”
with a spine straight as a temple pillar,
the ones who rise like lanterns
even when the world prefers them unlit.
I thank the trembling voices
that speak anyway,
and the hands that shake
yet still hold the line.

Gratitude, I’ve learned, is a blade,
not for violence,
but for cutting through the illusions
of who deserves to be bowed to.
It is the armor of the soul,
the soft shining that says,
You cannot own my spirit,
even if you steal my comfort.

I refuse to be grateful
to those who gorge on silence,
who harvest the courage of others
and name it weakness.
Let them thirst.
My thanks is rain meant for braver soil.

So I bless the hearts that refuse to break
in the shape demanded of them.
I bless the footsteps that echo
where footsteps were forbidden.
I bless the stubborn light
that keeps leaking in
through every crack of their walls.

And in this grateful uprising,
I learn a final truth,
gratitude is not a kneel,
it is a rising.
A quiet, radiant rebellion,
a hymn forged from wounds
that sings:

“I thank what frees me,
never what cages me.”

And with that song,
the world,
even in its darkest corners,
trembles open.

10 Comments

Heirlooms Of The Heart

November 30, 2025 at 8:33 am (Articles, kids stories, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, dailyprompt, dailyprompt-2138, inner self, introspection, PaletteNPixels, pieces of my heart, Writers on wordpress

What are your two favorite things to wear?

Most people will tell you that the best thing a person can wear is a smile, confidence and a sparkling personality that radiates like a disco ball on a sugar high.

And I agree, these are necessary, like oxygen, passwords, and pretending to understand the Wi-Fi router instructions. But those are the accessories of the soul. I’m talking about the real stuff. The things you physically loop, clasp, or slide on that somehow anchor you to the universe in ways science can’t fully map.

There is a story my grandmother loved to tell, “A Parable of the Path-Finding Pebble”, which is about a girl in a village who always carried a pebble in her pocket.
“Why a pebble?” people asked.
“Because it’s smooth,” she said. “And because it knew the river before it knew me.”

Whenever she felt lost, she rubbed that pebble. And somehow, the answers seemed less tangled. Not because the pebble whispered secrets (if it did, that would be alarming), but because it reminded her that she, too, had been shaped by currents she survived.

In the end, the pebble wasn’t magical. The memory was.

And that, I have realized, is exactly how my two favorite accessories work.

Now, imagine a village where the elders safeguard a single, unbroken thread. Every generation ties a knot into it – some knots tight with worry, some loose with laughter, some dyed in the colors of triumph or heartbreak.

One day, a child asks, “Why do we keep this old thread?” The elder smiles and says, “Because every knot remembers someone who loved us, and every color whispers the strength they left behind.”

In my life, that thread is my 1997 mother-of-pearl watch and Nana’s ring. They’re not just objects; they’re quiet witnesses that have walked every mile with me. I wear them not as decorations, but as a kind of gentle armor, proof that I come from people who lived, loved, survived, and handed me their courage like a torch.

Thing One: My 1997 Citizen Mother-of-Pearl Analog Watch

Yes, in the era of smart everything, smart fridges, smart bulbs, smart devices that are apparently smarter than the humans who bought them, I still wear a completely unsmart watch.

No Bluetooth. No heartbeat tracker. And, If it ever tries to measure my sleep cycles, I will call an exorcist.

It’s a 1997 analog Citizen mother-of-pearl watch. And it still runs. Not because technology made it eternal, but because memory did.

It’s my talisman, my tiny time-traveling companion. There’s something delightfully grounding about glancing at a watch face that doesn’t glow, beep, or shame me with “STAND UP NOW.”

Instead, it simply tells the time, elegantly, gently, like someone who’s seen the rise and fall of decades and doesn’t need to brag.

When I feel anxious, I touch its face and, like that girl with the river pebble, I remember every version of myself who wore it.

Thing Two: Nana’s Ring

Now, the ring. This one isn’t an accessory. This one is a portal.

It was a gift from Nana on my wedding day, an heirloom passed down with the sort of ceremonial gravitas that makes you stand up straighter and hope you don’t drop it into a plate of biryani. It carries her fingerprints in the metal, her warmth in the gold, her laughter in its curve.

I rub it sometimes, absentmindedly, instinctively, and I swear I feel her. Not in a ghostly, sheet-floating-over-the-lampshade way, but in a her-strength-is-now-my-strength
kind of way.

Science might call it the emotional-recall effect or the electromagnetic memory imprint, the idea that objects carry the subtle charge of the people who held them, loved them, lived with them. But I think there’s more.

Some people carve themselves into your heart so deeply that even when they’re gone, touching something they cherished is like touching the outline they left inside you.

The Electro-Magnetic Stamp of Love

We talk about memories as if they live only in the brain, but the body knows better.
Touch a ring. Hold an old watch. Feel the weight of something worn by hands that once held yours.

Your heartbeat changes. Your breath steadies.
Your brain lights up in patterns scientists politely call “nostalgia,” but poets and grandmothers call “love refusing to fade.”

These objects, these little amulets, we wear them because they remind us of the currents that shaped us. Like the pebble in the girl’s pocket.

The Real Reason These Two Things Matter

A smile is important. A good attitude helps.
Sparkling personality? Always welcome.

But a legacy, now that’s rare.

My watch tells me where I’ve been. My ring tells me who I come from.

Both remind me that I am part of a long, invisible thread of time and tenderness, the kind that doesn’t fray even when people leave.

And sometimes, late at night, when I’m wearing both, my past ticking on one wrist, my inheritance glowing on one hand, I wonder…

Will I, someday, leave behind something that makes someone feel the way I do now?
Will I carve myself into their heart the way they carved themselves into mine?

2 Comments

Embers Of Hope

November 29, 2025 at 5:01 pm (Articles, Fairytales, kids stories, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, Poetry (Self Inspired), psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, inner self, introspection, PaletteNPixels, photography, pieces of my heart, Ragtagdailyprompt, RDP, Writers on wordpress

RDP Saturday: Chimera

https://wp.me/p9YcOU-63Q

In twilight’s hush, she chases flames that shift,
A chimera shaped of longing and bright hope,
Elusive as a dawn’s first golden light,
A castle built upon the breath of dreams.

Her heart, a prism scattering gentle fire,
Embraces fragments of the yet-to-come,
A melody that dances just ahead,
A rose that blooms amid the morning dew.

The chimera lives where courage dares to soar,
A shimmering pulse that fuels her every step;
Though ever changing, dreams ignite her soul,
A spark that lights the path through endless skies.

In this wild chase, she finds her wings take flight,
For some flames blaze brightest beyond the grasp.
She wears her impossible dream like morning’s glow,
A beacon strong, a sky where stars align.

2 Comments

The Quantum Whirl In Entanglement Alley

November 29, 2025 at 4:36 pm (Articles, Humor, kids stories, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, Friday Faithfuls, inner self, introspection, mlmm, PaletteNPixels, pieces of my heart, Writers on wordpress

(Where Bakers Bend Reality and Logic Takes a Coffee Break)

Foreword:

In response to Jim’s wonderfully bonkers Friday Faithfuls challenge on quantum computing (link below).

Click to read Jim’s amazing and absolutely fun narrative, you do not want to miss it. This concept is hilariously confusing, delightfully brain-twisting, and very close to my heart… probably because Ravi and Gopal ( in the story below) would both approve, even if for entirely different quantum reasons.

https://wp.me/p4t2PZ-7fg

Let me elaborate with the story of Ravi and Gopal, two bakers who somehow explain quantum computing better than most textbooks ever have.

And so we arrive, slightly dizzy, a little confused, but wildly entertained, at the weird crossroads of quantum computing, Ravi-style thinking, and Gopal-level madness.

Quantum computing may sound like a concept invented by someone who mixed too much logic with too little sleep, but beneath the confusion lies a universe bursting with possibility. It’s the technological equivalent of watching Ravi bake one sensible loaf while Gopal simultaneously bakes, unbakes, rebakes, and existentially questions the loaf. Strange? Absolutely. Fascinating? Completely.

Here’s goes the story…

Once upon a Wednesday, in the buzzing Photon Lane of Particle Plaza, lived two bakers, Ravi and Gopal.

Ravi baked bread the normal way, one loaf at a time, carefully, predictably, sensibly. Gopal, however, was… unusual.

He believed the secret to better bread was to do everything at once. So he…cracked all the eggs simultaneously, heated and cooled the oven at the same time, mixed salt while unmixing salt, and claimed every loaf was both burnt and perfectly golden until inspected.

Customers, naturally, thought he was insane.
Until one day, a traveler tasted Gopal’s bread and declared,

“You have baked the bread of the future.”

Because his bizarre method created textures no normal oven could.

Ravi used classical logic.
Gopal used quantum logic.
And suddenly, the world realized that the most confusing baker in the market…might also be the most powerful.

Meet Quantum Computing, the Gopal of Gadgets and Gizmos

If classical computers are Ravi, doing one thing at a time, step by careful step, then quantum computers are Gopal, performing billions of possibilities simultaneously, like a caffeine fueled octopus that refuses to obey physics.

Quantum computing is not just faster. It’s fundamentally different. Think of it as, “What if your computer could think in parallel universes?”

Yes. That level of weird.

What Makes Quantum Computers So… Quirky?

1. Superposition: Doing Everything at Once

A normal bit is either 0 or 1, like a switch on or off. A quantum bit (qubit) is like Gopal’s bread,
both done and not done, right and wrong, every possibility at the same time,
until you check.

It’s the ultimate multitasker, but with drama.

2. Entanglement: The Universe’s Most Clingy Relationship

Take two qubits. Separate them by a room… a city… a galaxy.
Tickle one.
The other reacts instantly.

They are the cosmic equivalent of best friends who finish each other’s sentences, even from different dimensions.

Einstein called it “spooky.”
We call it Tuesday in quantum land.

3. Measurement: The Moment Reality Gets Stage Fright

Quantum particles stay mysterious until you look at them. The moment you measure them, they collapse into one state like,

“Ah fine, I’ll choose. Stop staring.”

Quantum mechanics is basically the universe saying, “Privacy please.”

So… What Can Quantum Computers Actually Do?

Imagine you have,
300 locks,
700 maps,
5.4 billion possible combinations,
and only one correct path.

A classical computer checks them step by step – Ravi-style.
A quantum computer checks many at once – Gopal-style.
In the time it takes Ravi to find his apron.

This means quantum computers can potentially:

Break super-strong encryption

Help discover new medicines

Simulate molecules and materials

Optimize traffic, finance, logistics

Model the weirdest physics in the universe

Solve problems humans call “impossible”

Possibly confuse everyone forever

But Why Are Quantum Computers So Hard to Build?

Because qubits are divas. They must be kept colder than outer space, protected from vibrations, noise, heat, human emotions, political opinions, and optimism.

Even a sneeze from a scientist across the room can ruin an experiment. These machines are basically high-maintenance celebrities.

And Why Does All This Matter?

Because the world’s biggest challenges aren’t linear problems anymore. They are giant, tangled puzzles…like

1. Climate modeling
2. Medicine design
3. Energy efficiency
4. Cybersecurity
5. Materials science
6. The mysteries of the universe itself

Classical computers struggle.Quantum computers might, just might, untangle the knots. Not by brute force. By thinking differently. By thinking like Gopal.

A Future Full of Awe (And Maybe Bread)

One day, quantum computers may be in labs, phones, hospitals, spacecraft, maybe even kitchens (though hopefully without Gopal’s oven 😄).

They won’t replace classical computers.
They’ll complement them, like Ravi’s steadiness and Gopal’s madness. And together, they’ll help us solve problems we once filed under, “LOL, impossible.”

Quantum computing is not just a technological shift. It’s a philosophical one.

It teaches us that:
1. Reality is stranger than logic
2. Chaos can be powerful
3. Weirdness can be genius
4. And the future belongs to those who embrace the absurd

Because sometimes, the answer is not to bake bread the ordinary way…but to heat and cool the oven at the same time.

So as quantum computers slowly rise, wobbling, shimmering, misbehaving like cosmic toddlers with superpowers, we’re reminded that the future won’t be built by those who cling to certainty, but by those who dare to surf the chaos.

Quantum computing is not just a new tool; it’s a new way of thinking, one that blurs logic, mocks predictability, and invites us to dream wider than the universe itself. And as we step into this shimmering frontier, here’s a question to trouble your sleep in the most delightful way…

If a quantum computer can be in many states at once, what version of you is already living the life you’re too afraid to try, and what’s stopping you from switching to that reality?

11 Comments

Dialects Of Silence

November 29, 2025 at 1:48 pm (Articles, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, Poetry (Self Inspired), psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, Challenge, creative writing, inner self, introspection, PaletteNPixels, pieces of my heart, prompt, Weekend Writing Prompt, Writers on wordpress

In response to Sammi’s’s Weekend Writing Prompt #444

https://wp.me/p4hb99-2Hv

Fluent is the music of her laughter,

flowing through crowded rooms,

turning strangers into friends.

Her hands speak in bright gestures,

drawing bridges where words fall short.

In every dialect of silence,

sorrow, or joy,

she moves like a river

remembering how to sing

always softly still.

(47 words)

4 Comments

Angel, In All the Ways That Matter

November 29, 2025 at 1:23 pm (Articles, kids stories, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, Poetry (Self Inspired), psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, inner self, introspection, PaletteNPixels, pieces of my heart, prompts, Writers on wordpress, writing prompt

Esther’s writing prompt for November 26, 2025 is

ANGEL

https://wp.me/p3vsTb-8Zn

Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing.

An angel is a doorway
carved from light,
but sometimes it walks in
wearing ordinary shoes.
It can be a feather,
or a friend,
or the warm thump of a dog’s tail
drumming courage into your knees.

An angel is the metaphor we use
when language bows its head
and admits it cannot explain
why hope returns
after you’ve sworn
you buried it yesterday.

Sometimes, an angel is a memory,
a quiet lantern from the past
that flares alive when you’re lost,
a whispered map unfolding
in the chambers of your doubt.
It speaks in the accents of those
who loved you before you learned
that love can be lost.
Its voice is the last match
struck in a storm,
soft but steady,
a compass disguised as warmth.

Angels hide in miracles
that pretend they are coincidences,
the sudden phone call,
the unexpected kindness,
the silence that arrives
just in time to keep you whole.
They rise from crossroads
like mist made of memory,
gathering around you
when fear tries to do the talking.

And yes,
the truest angel I know
does not have wings at all.
It is a voice from the past,
stitched with the strength
I didn’t know I’d inherited.
It stands behind me
when I tremble forward,
lends me its calm,
pours steel into my resolve,
and reminds me that courage
is sometimes just remembering
you’ve never walked alone.

So call them angels,
the living, the lost, the loyal,
the miraculous, the mundane.
Call them what you will.
But know this,
Every time you rise
when the world swears you can’t,
some unseen grace
has already taken your hand.

2 Comments

Toupee or Not Toupee, And Other Bald Faced Lies

November 29, 2025 at 11:41 am (Articles, Humor, kids stories, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, FibbingFriday, inner self, introspection, PaletteNPixels, pieces of my heart, Writers on wordpress

In response to:

#FibbingFriday November 28 2025.

https://wp.me/p3RSgb-vwg

Your definitions for these please.

1. What is a running stitch?
A jogger’s tattoo that keeps moving because it refuses to cool down.

2. What is the collywobbles?
That internal earthquake when your courage calls in sick.

3. What is a tea caddy?
A tiny nanny hired to stop tea leaves from misbehaving in hot water.

4. What is a stick of words?
A literary selfie stick used to poke sentences into place.

5. What is a flash drive?
A pocket-sized gossip hoarder that threatens to expose your files if not “safely ejected.”

6. What is a precipice?
A cliff specifically built for dramatic life decisions and overthinking.

7. What is a toupee?
A tiny, nervous hair rebellion that dares baldness to show its face, especially when the wind gets sassy and the jig’s up.

8. What is a robin?
Nature’s seasonal influencer, arriving just in time for winter fashion and never missing a gossip session in its iconic red vest.

9. What is linex?
A ruler with ninja training and zero patience for crooked lines.

10. What is a brazier?
A brazier is a fire-breathing pet for pyromaniac gardeners

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Byte Me and My App-etite for Destruction

November 29, 2025 at 10:15 am (Articles, Humor, kids stories, mental health, My Reflections, MYSTERIOUS, philosophy, psyche, research, satire, stories)
Tags: articles on wordpress, blog, blog post, creative writing, dailyprompt, dailyprompt-2137, inner self, introspection, PaletteNPixels, pieces of my heart, Writers on wordpress

What technology would you be better off without, why?

Once upon a time (because all extraordinary parables must begin so), in a quiet village called Bumblebrook, the elders gathered to discuss a terrifying new invention – The Box That Shows People Doing Things.

“It’s dangerous,” Elder Mumble declared. “People will stare at it instead of climbing trees!”

“It will rot their brains,” Elder Stumble added, though his brain had already begun decomposing decades earlier.

But one man, Timmo, had the brilliance of a frog who accidentally swallows a firefly and thinks he invented light.
He said, “Let us allow only ONE box. Just one. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Bumblebrook agreed.

Within a year…

A second Box That Shows People Doing Things appeared.

Then the Box That Shows People Talking About People Doing Things.

Then the Box That Shows People Reacting to Boxes Showing Other People Doing Things.

By the end of the decade, the villagers no longer spoke to each other. They simply sat in their homes watching boxes arguing with other boxes about the behavior of slightly shinier boxes.

When asked what went wrong, Timmo said:

“I didn’t realize one box would breed.”

And that, dear reader, is how technology entered human society, not with sophistication but with the reproductive enthusiasm of rabbits.

We humans say things like…“I only need a simple phone.” “I just want it for calls.” “I’ll never download anything unnecessary,”…and within 48 hours we are checking messages that aren’t there, posting photos of our breakfast, reading a notification that says, your cousin’s neighbor’s dog liked a reel about DIY kombucha making.

And why? Because the human brain is built like a mall during a mega discount, it rushes, it grabs, it buys, it regrets, and it goes again.
We are not weak. We are wired.

If God told Adam and Eve not to tap the apple, but added a little red “1 unread notification” badge on it… humanity would have eaten it 3,000 years earlier.

Our temptation circuitry is ancient. Movement? Click it. Color? Open it. Noise? Respond. Red badge? Touch it even if it’s the fire alarm.

And so we created technology, then technology created more technology, and now technology creates itself, and bots, and filters, and clones, and dancing ads that follow you like a clingy ex.

Welcome to the Digital Circus and algorithm driven platforms with unreal bots. You scroll and suddenly 87 identical accounts named “Sophia_48392” adore your post. Bots love you more faithfully than any human ever has.

Social Media is a magical place where everyone is happy, beautiful, successful, traveling, glowing, thriving…and crying in the bathroom between posts.

Endless Notifications when your phone lights up every 3.2 seconds:

Breaking news, a squirrel is attacking a sandwich!

Memorable update…Your friend sneezed in 2014. Do you want to revisit this memory?

Reminder: You exist.

Photo Filters, because your real face is simply too honest.

Phones, Laptops, Tablets – We carry more gadgets than Batman, but use them mostly to check memes and search “Why am I tired?” at 3 a.m.

But… Why Are We Like This?

Because we’re not humans using technology. We are racehorses with Wi-Fi.

We sprint, we chase, we want more, more speed, more data, more storage, more updates, more dopamine pings, more everything. Give us one technology and we’ll birth twelve more before breakfast.

The good old days, climbing trees, flying kites, chasing airplanes, floating paper boats, didn’t disappear because technology arrived.
They disappeared because we always run toward whatever feels like the finish line, even if the finish line keeps moving.

Humanity doesn’t walk.
Humanity gallops.

In the end, technology didn’t make us race; it just paved a shinier, turbo-charged track for the racehorses we already were, forever galloping toward a finish line that probably never existed in the first place.

And now, while tech sprints ahead like it’s training for the Olympics, we’re too busy wheezing to notice; because in a world of nonstop pings where silence has officially gone extinct, the machines we proudly built have started treating us like their daily cardio routine.

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Byte Me and My App-etite for Destruction

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