Mira Prabhu’s “COPPER MOON OVER PATALIPUTRA” available!
If you do not find a mate who is your equal, or better than you, as the Buddha remarked in his succinct way, it is better to trod the solitary path; one does not find comfort with fools. ~ Mira Prabhu
Looking back, I guess my earliest kalyanamitras were Carol and Venu, who dispensed solace and help as I careened wildly in and out of their lives during my frenzied adolescence and twenties; without them, and without exaggeration, I may not have survived.
At a time in Manhattan when I could not see beyond the thicket of my personal problems, Joneve insisted I start writing again. Her persistence unleashed a force within me that soon began to roar like a tiger; simultaneously, a wellspring of courage began to flow, allowing me to grow to meet the challenges I faced.
Silver-haired and gracious talk-therapist Amy met with me once a week for years in her spacious office in lower Manhattan. As I listened to myself trot out a nauseating stream of excuses about why I could not change my domestic circumstances, I realized the sniveling coward in the mirror would have to…
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Kalyanamitras appear when you cry out to the Universe for solace; like the Divine, they give you what you need, not what you want, and they come in every stripe. They can deliver a short message that turns your head around before disappearing, or stay in your life for decades. Sometimes you can even end up marrying one. ~ Mira Prabhu
My own tumultuous life-path led me to break free of a marriage that was choking the joy out of me. Post-divorce, I severed my fifteen-year bond with Manhattan and fled to the other side of the planet, to Dharamsala, seat of the Tibetan Buddhist community in exile, nestling in the foothills of Himalayas.
After barely surviving my first brutal Himalayan winter, I had the amazing good fortune to meet Ani Tenzin Palmo, a Buddhist nun of English extraction. Ani-la had recently returned to the area from a small cave located way over the snow line—after a thirteen-year solitary retreat!
I asked Ani-la how she’d survived there for so long, alone, and often in sub-zero weather. She had held my gaze with soul-penetrating blue eyes: those years had been the happiest of her life, she had replied in her crisp British accent. Even when the fellow who had promised to…
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Mira Prabhu speaks about Spiritual Friendship and Fellowship.
Lean on me when you’re in trouble, as that fabulous old hit goes, I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on….Right on, bro,when life administers yet another unkind kick to the butt, there’s nothing like a friend to dispel impending doom: a crabby aunt who gifts you hard cash when the mortgage is due; a stranger who points you in the right direction when you’re panicking in a new city; a muse who whispers encouragement at critical moments; the buddy who stays loyal, even after you tumble off your lofty pedestal, revealing frayed and dirty knickers.
Certainly everyone who supports us in this cold world is a treasure. And yet…to that rare human who ventures into the uncharted territory of inner worlds, a higher level of alliance becomes essential. This is the realm of the kalyanamitra,a friendwhodances to subtle inner rhythms, refusing to…
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Mira Prabhu, residing at Arunachala in South India, explains the nature of karma in her characteristic straightforward way that everyone can understand.
- that karma is definite–meaning that acts that cause pleasure result in pleasure, that acts causing pain bring pain back, while neutral acts have no apparent effect;
- that karmic energy increases exponentially–which means that if you steal one measly rupee, at least four rupees will be stolen from you;
- that one cannot become…
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Mira Prabhu is one of the most gifted Indian writers who used to live in Manhattan. Her writing is brilliant, eloquent, deeply insightful, and imbued with the authentic flavors of Indian mysticism. I should also add that Mira’s writings are a lot of fun to read and captivate the reader.
As a little girl growing up in the vibrant heart of south India, I overheard my father warn a friend that a certain woman whom he referred to by name—a stranger to me—was so clever she could even “draw blood out of a stone.”
My father—a charismatic and handsome fellow gifted with a silver tongue—caught my attention with his vivid language. How I burned to meet this sorceress who could coax a crimson stream of blood out of ungiving stone! What other supernatural gifts must she possess? I wondered dreamily.
Soon after, the whole family attended a wedding in the community. In the crush of adults milling about, I heard someone greet a formidable woman—dressed in a resplendent peacock-blue silk sari bordered with gold—with the name my father had used for the woman with the magical ability. Greatly excited, I ran up to this wondrous creature on sturdy little legs…
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