Monday Gu(e)st: S II: 9. Reaching Home to Self: Part 1: And the Story Begins…

Today I’m presenting my Di, Meenakshi Sethi. Many of you know her. She is a prolific poetess. Her poem always leaves many of us in the brown-thought. Her site Wings of Poetry is in many of our must-visit blog daily. Now, she’s writing her life i.e. autobiography. For this, she has created another site name Reaching Home to Self with tagline Life in a Nutshell. Her journey, her life. And today I’m presenting the first part of the story to encourage her to enchant us more by her words. 

And the Story Begins…–Meenakshi Sethi



Every life starts with a cry and every cry validates there is still life but every life deserves an end with smiles.

Till you are at peace and ready to accept the new beginnings and wave away endings of some endeavours with smile the journey should go on…

That journey between the first cry and last smile is what life is all about!

I cried first time in this life on 2nd of August 1972. Hey! don’t even think I’m too old since I’m not. Haha…I still live in my twenties or early thirties in my mind and heart. ‘Age is just numbers’–someone had told me. I agree with this statement. Our thinking or I should say progressive thinking decides how old we are mentally and it sometimes reflects on physical appearance too.

So I cried like a baby with noise only in my early childhood days after that I grew up in a very calm and quiet person. There was some inner maturity inside even when I was two years old, that I still remember very clearly. I was not like other kids of my age. I was blessed with wisdom, which helped me recognize the difference between right and wrong even at that young age.

Universal mysteries were my great curiosities. I sensed at that innocent age of three that some bigger, magical force is there which is working all the time. Many times at night I felt someone is watching me from that enormous bright star lit sky. Before the birth of my younger sister who was born two years three months later, my true friends were stars, sky and its unsolved mysteries. Which was quite unusual for a child of that age.

I started practicing meditation at age of two without knowing that it was an advanced stage meditation. I still remember I used to sleep with the radio on at my bedside listening songs (I had a great inclination towards music since childhood) and after switching it off I used to practice thoughts control process, wondering why my mind can’t be shut just like this radio. Where are control buttons of our mind? Then I used to try to go thoughtlessly for a few seconds. This went on till I reached the age of 6 or maybe 7. This was my secret as a child. More for since as a baby I was unable to explain it to anyone. I was wise inside my mind but explaining it to adults was not an easy task for me.

Then after practice of many years I reached the stage to go deep in it and then one night the magic happened…



I’m a sort of voracious blog reader–some of you may know that already as I regularly comment on your posts which I like most. So, this Guest Post will be the post which I’ll find need more to read. I’ll ask your permission beforehand. And you’re permitted to do changes and suggest me how to post it before I post it.

If you want your post to be my Guest Post, you can pingback me or left a link to this week Guest Post or you can do both. I’ll definitely read it and if I like the post it will be posted.


4 Comments Add yours

  1. sangbad says:

    Reblogged this on Go Dog Go Café and commented:

    A bit of late post…First, thank you to all for warm appreciation from all on the Saturday Post…Secondly, this week post is from the lady who has aways pushed to write more and always criticizing my writings for my betterment…enjoy the post…


  2. I’m honored Sangbad! Have no words to thank you for this generosity! My wishes for your bright life ahead are always there!


    1. sangbad says:

      Di, you are making me shy…I want everyone shall read your blog because you are one of the best in WP…

      Liked by 1 person

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