Ravi Baikei Mishra weaves a deeply personal memoir with a spiritual framework for reimagining how we engage with our inner and outer worlds. At its heart, Vow of Aliveness is a reckoning with the “default world”—a term Mishra uses to describe the consumer-driven, noise-saturated, status-obsessed culture that shapes our values and identities. From this critique emerges a guide for reclaiming something quieter and more true: a life led from within.
Posts tagged #connection
Born of the Spirit: Storytelling is the Breath of Life
Once upon a time, within the swirling molecules of space, the Creator drew forth a deep breath of every color of energy and blew it into a clear, nearly spherical bowl. S(he)/we swirled the bowl gently, lovingly watching the sparkles of energy coalesce and cascade, mixing every possible setting, every conflict, every character, and every archetype. Then S(he)/we gently rolled the bowl out away from its BEing.
A Shamanic View of Ancestors: The Power Within
In shamanism, ancestors are a source of great personal power and support that one may call upon to enrich one’s growth, to gain wisdom, and to manifest one’s highest good.
What We Can Predict
The Farmer’s Almanac predicts a colder, flakier winter than usual for those of us who live in The Mitten. Normally this would not be worth noting, but there is no “normally” anymore, and so I do note it.
Maybe I note this prediction because at a time when truth seems to be elusive, and not being prepared threatens to be deadly, The Farmer’s Almanac is a reliable source when it comes to foretelling the weather and helping people prepare. And it tips its hat to inclusivity, in that anyone is welcome to read and heed its advice—not just farmers. According to the Old Farmer’s Almanac website, it is North America’s most popular reference guide and oldest continuously published periodical.
Soul on a Short Leash: Butterflies, Bees, and Technologies
My parents both traveled in Mexico when they were young. They hadn’t yet met and would not for a few years. A flock of butterflies accompanied the bus in which my mother crossed the border from Arizona. She said they were pale in color, not monarchs, like a scatter of flowers, a flock of mariposas on the wind’s breath, and for the Aztecs, a symbol of fire and soul.
