Sincerity

Some days, I’m more aware of my shortcomings than I allow others, or myself to see. I see where I fall short, where I hesitate, where I choose comfort over courage. I know my flaws. I do not hide them from myself, and I cannot hide them from God.

And yet, when I pray, something honest rises within me.

I come as I am, not polished, not proud. My prayers are not rehearsed performances; they are pure offerings shaped by need, regret, hope, and longing. I pray because despite everything, I still believe in mercy. I still believe in being heard

Perhaps this is what sincerity truly means. It’s not the absence of sin, but the refusal to turn away. I am learning that returning, again and again, is itself a form of faith. Even when I feel undeserving, I show up. Even when my heart is tired, I speak

Thats how always humbly I place my imperfections in God’s hands. Because I believe, no other can handle it like Him. I do not ask to be seen as perfect, only as honest. And for always, that feels like enough

#roksanatales

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Now tell me,
Where do you place your imperfections?

Returning

Returning to the mountains of Nepal
There I hear a quiet prayer …
The air holds stories, and
The peaks remind me of something higher,
A kind of majestic, and mysterious power
Something beyond words
As devotion follows me ever since
Through its valleys and winds …

#roksanatales

Lord Shiva before the Himalayas, a breathtaking view at the Pumdikot Shiva Statue (Pokhara, Nepal

I see myself as a simple soul. I find joy in the little things, waking up to a humble breakfast, like a cup of tea, honey, a handmade roti (tortilla), vegetables with chilli and mustard seeds, and then spending unhurried time with loved ones, talking about the weather, some chores or sewing clothes, or something as small as jotting a note on a postcard. I’m content to sit with a few old coins, letting them clink together, or to play a tune on the harmonium, untrained, yet somehow it’s music to those dear to me …

That’s who I’m, a simple person at heart. Some don’t understand why I’m drawn to the mountains and valleys, places where life flows quietly, unhurried and unadorned. The people there live differently from those in the city; they don’t complicate life or chase after recognition, wealth, or fame. They are content just as they are, in a way that’s extraordinary without needing to say so. For me, smelling a flower feels like magic, extraordinary in its simplicity. To most, it may seem ordinary, but to me and those mountain souls, it’s everything …

One day, I dream of living in the mountains, waking each morning to their towering presence all around. The sun would rise over them, its rays meeting my face, bathing me in a warm glow of golden light. I’d be shining in that bright yellow, wouldn’t I? Tell me …

Can I also live there with your name permanently? As going back to the mountains would feel like an act of devotion, a fulfillment of a promise, leaving me with a heart softened and at peace …

(NB: I wasn’t sure about the title of this post. So I felt to take the first word that it’s started. I hope it’s fine)

🤷‍♀️

Meraki

My canvas of delight is
Dancing bright …
My passion is igniting
A colorful sight …
My soul is painting
A tranquil choir …
My emotion is healing
With peace and fire …

#roksanatales

Meraki
(v.) to do something with soul, creativity or love; to leave a piece and essence of yourself in something you do …