Kumari

Kumari Ellis

Kumari is a Mullumbimby based author. Her novel about her mystical experiences in India is an absorbing and enlightening tale. Join her on a great adventure into one of the world’s most exotic and intricate spiritual cultures.

“I have always loved to write and it was six years ago that I first sat down to write this story of my time in India. Initially I had two days every week when I was released for a few hours of mothering duty, and in that time I would brew chai, and sit down to write. It was surprisingly easy for me to slip back to the days of India and I found great solace in doing so. It has been a lengthy process and I believe with this first manuscript I have learnt so much about the writing process. Indeed about myself as it took me beyond the edge of comfort at times with revealing more about myself than I ever set out to share. It is a story that wants to be shared and I found that the more I could get out of my own way and simply be present, to show up to the empty page, the more it revealed.”

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Messenger by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

'Messenger' by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
... Read MoreSee Less

1 day ago

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beloved Mooji........ ... Read MoreSee Less

1 week ago

Comment on Facebook

“The Peace of Wild Things”
Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.Image attachmentImage attachment

“The Peace of Wild Things”
Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
... Read MoreSee Less

1 week ago

... Read MoreSee Less

2 weeks ago

'And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently.

And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal. And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.'

- Kitty O'Meara
... Read MoreSee Less

2 weeks ago

And so, to sum up, when you get up in the morning, become the witness to everything that you see. Do not take anything for granted. Do not react to anything. Do not feel sorry for yourself. Every morning is a new beginning for you. As you get out of bed and you get dressed, realize who you are. "I am pure awareness, consciousness, I am Brahman, the absolute reality. Fire cannot burn me, water cannot drown me. For I was never born and I will never die. I am forever."

Remember the I-am you are referring to is not you or your body. It is consciousness itself. I-am forever. I have always been and I will always be. If you can start your day like this, then you will remember these things as you go through the day. When you go to work or wherever you go, you'll remember who you are, what you are, why you're here. And you'll do the right thing to awaken.

Robert Adams🌹
... Read MoreSee Less

4 weeks ago

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a lovely interaction from the Mooji satsangs from Rishikesh....Hari om Tat Sat ... Read MoreSee Less

1 month ago

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Summer time. The long summer holidays over and 2020 rushes on. 2020..perfect vision. May we see life from the perspective of kindness compassion and transience. That all things come and go. Our summer has been blessed. Friends from Portugal, and lovely days of satsang, sangha, picnics, amidst the beauty of our surrounds here in the Byron shire. Gatherings for meditation, mantra,  prayers for mother earth, enhancing the healing that deep connection brings. Our annual pilgrimage to a remote and wild beach, a place of soul retrieval, simplicity, slowing right down. Driving past bush fire ravaged trees, already sprouting vivid green regrowth. Whilst all around road works and signs declare a 4.9 billion highway upgrade. The Bushfires that ravaged parts of Australia this summer, left us all deeply affected. Such immense devastation. Trauma and tragedy. It was heartening to witness wildlife in pristine surrounds. Way out on the rock platform exposed by the low tide, we watch a sea turtle swim slowly from the tide pool, and she popped her head out and looked at me with her big turtle eye. In the same pool a wobbegong shark, with beautiful bronze patterns, lazily swims laps. Turning on her back to scratch against the sandy bottom, where hermit crabs race and the water is crystal clear. Seaweed sways in the current and rock pools glisten with a thousand jewels. The bay rests in blue. deep vivid azure, a cobalt creation that stretches to infinity. 
Waking before dawn for sunrise and the ancient practise of agni hotra: offering ghee and rice to a small fire. The day unfurls from her blanket of night, with a gentle yawn of colour in the eastern sky. The ocean soft and bubbling at this hour, as light gathers on the horizon the promise of the sun heralds orange against the pale heaven. The flame is lit and as she dances before me tongues of orange and the fragrance of cow dung and ghee, the sun rises and golden light illuminates the damp sand, catches in the flecks of waves, shines on wet stones, a dancing reflection reaching like the hand of god to shore. 

And again the rains have come. Last evening we took the tinny and from the river mouth watched the storm clouds gather in a mottled array of charcoal greys. Such power. Such beauty. In deep appreciation of our mother earth. The miracle, the mystery, of creation. Hari Om Tat Sat. May we all live in peace.Image attachmentImage attachment

Summer time. The long summer holidays over and 2020 rushes on. 2020..perfect vision. May we see life from the perspective of kindness compassion and transience. That all things come and go. Our summer has been blessed. Friends from Portugal, and lovely days of satsang, sangha, picnics, amidst the beauty of our surrounds here in the Byron shire. Gatherings for meditation, mantra, prayers for mother earth, enhancing the healing that deep connection brings. Our annual pilgrimage to a remote and wild beach, a place of soul retrieval, simplicity, slowing right down. Driving past bush fire ravaged trees, already sprouting vivid green regrowth. Whilst all around road works and signs declare a 4.9 billion highway upgrade. The Bushfires that ravaged parts of Australia this summer, left us all deeply affected. Such immense devastation. Trauma and tragedy. It was heartening to witness wildlife in pristine surrounds. Way out on the rock platform exposed by the low tide, we watch a sea turtle swim slowly from the tide pool, and she popped her head out and looked at me with her big turtle eye. In the same pool a wobbegong shark, with beautiful bronze patterns, lazily swims laps. Turning on her back to scratch against the sandy bottom, where hermit crabs race and the water is crystal clear. Seaweed sways in the current and rock pools glisten with a thousand jewels. The bay rests in blue. deep vivid azure, a cobalt creation that stretches to infinity.
Waking before dawn for sunrise and the ancient practise of agni hotra: offering ghee and rice to a small fire. The day unfurls from her blanket of night, with a gentle yawn of colour in the eastern sky. The ocean soft and bubbling at this hour, as light gathers on the horizon the promise of the sun heralds orange against the pale heaven. The flame is lit and as she dances before me tongues of orange and the fragrance of cow dung and ghee, the sun rises and golden light illuminates the damp sand, catches in the flecks of waves, shines on wet stones, a dancing reflection reaching like the hand of god to shore.

And again the rains have come. Last evening we took the tinny and from the river mouth watched the storm clouds gather in a mottled array of charcoal greys. Such power. Such beauty. In deep appreciation of our mother earth. The miracle, the mystery, of creation. Hari Om Tat Sat. May we all live in peace.
... Read MoreSee Less

2 months ago

I heard on the radio yesterday that loneliness is the new mental health crisis affecting Australians. One in 4 adults will report to feeling lonely. This startling fact led into a program about on-line friendships…and an app called bumble….Bumble apparently is not only for dating, or hooking up for sex alone, but for forging friendships. One antidote to loneliness.

I know the colourful, loud aloneness of single parenting, when the only adult with 2 strong willed, strident adolescents brings a notable absence, the distinct and discordant lack. The imagined wished for other to lean into, gain nourishment, support, perhaps the simple act of making tea. A glance of shared comradery. A load taken on one’s own shoulder can easily become a burden. Where is that village where kids are raised in community?

There is the more factual loneliness of noting how often I am alone. Alone walking on the beach, alone swimming in the river, alone sitting under the spreading river side tree that so generously gives shade, whilst kids swim, disappear to jump off the bridge reappearing for food or their snorkels, or to hop on the paddle board. The paddle board that I have on my own pulled from the garage, hoisted onto the roof of the car, secured tightly so it doesn’t fly off whilst driving. Hauled off the other end, carried to the water’s edge. Assistance of course from my boy, always eager to help.

I am alone right now, except for Lucy, my small, adorable dog.

I walked on the beach for the first time in a while this morning. The heat penetrates and the glare, the hot sand and endless expanse of ocean didn’t entice me. the sun has no bounds on that vast domain. The currents strong, swirling waters in rips and eddies. Waves knock my feet from under me and the whole show feels almost hostile. Aloneness suddenly vulnerable.

the thought of returning to the suburbs, the brick house I now call home, the dull brown grass and parched air did little to enliven me.

Endless chores and lists to attend to, yet I have given myself time out. I have come here, to the river. I swim again and the waters are sleek, cold, smooth and silky. a group of older women sit in the shallows using flotation devices. Grouped in a circle they chat easily between themselves, about the heat and summer traffic causing delays into Byron. I swim out into the wide river and let the current take me, then battle back against the tide. striking out determined. the water is delicious. she is my solace. my own personal goddess to worship and immerse in. Lose my sense of personal self and the endless stories that float close behind me. and let it all go. Floating weightless, the buoyant waters hold me.

tiny fish dart and flit in the shallows. Bigger fish, silver flashes, weave through the flecks of seaweed and shifting light and blue.

three mothers sit in the shade of the tree. 2 babies are cradled on laps and 4 toddles play at the water’s edge. the mothers are young, one with elaborate tattoos. I let their chatter fade and tune more to the swelling distant roar of the ocean. the sudden lapping of water from the wake of a boat that idles up river. a hammock is strung between the eucalyptus trees with peeling bark…..a woman reads a book in a scene that looks to me quite perfect.

I too sit beneath the tree looking out on to the wider expanse of blue. the surface shimmers in a dance with the wind. on the far shore of Christmas beach a flock of birds stand motionless. before me the river melts a liquid blue, a delicate moving alive flowing blue of different hues, subtle and then sudden with deeper shades marking the seaweed clumps that cling to submerged rocks as the tide creeps upward. Blues, then a line of golden sand, greens of the forest and above a paler blue that fills the vast sky. not a cloud.

the birds from Christmas beach takes off and I see now that they are cormorants who wheel and glide then land on the water. The kids on the sand with the tide slowly rising, squabble and one cries. The mother roused into action. i can hear the tiredness in her command, or maybe it is just my own projection.

I’ve retreated within myself lately. I’m tired of my story. of my dissolved life as more and more of me seems taken in the chaos of the unknown. we have to keep blessing God, for all of it. Not just when the waters are blue and smooth, but also the rip tides and eddies that take our feet from under us. who knows the greater plan. how can I know why I am faced with such uncertainty, issues with the kids, with my own self easily eroded.

I can only take responsibility. And practise the subtle but great art, of self-forgiveness.

A gull, startling white against the blue, turns circles in the sky. Joined by another they dip and dive in unison.

It seems as if storm clouds of grief inhabit my soul.



I find solace in aloneness. I find a quiet whisper on the breeze. I notice the language of light and the play of sun and shadow. This tree offering shade around me has heart shaped leaves and the paper bark seems to lean in against her.

The moms are packing up. the toddlers tired. prams are packed and sandy, red faced kids ushered to the shower.

The river beach now empty but the blue canoe moored on the sand. An idyllic scene and it’s all mine. I find deep nourishment from the rising waters, the green tinged blue and the feel of the wind against my skin. The elements and my small place within it all. Thoughts meander and ideas reach down, as gentle as a bird wing to brush against my being. And easy too in the general rush and bother of life for these ideas to fly on by, unless captured by the net of my pen and carefully laid out. Aloneness is a gift. To take the precious time to simply be quiet and recede within oneself.. Allow the waters of our life to gently lap the shore line. Loneliness, like the host of emotions and feelings, comes and visits for a while. Only to shift and change as it all will do.
... Read MoreSee Less

9 months ago

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Feeling deeply sad by the event in Christchurch. Such horrific violence against a population who have come to New Zealand from war and violence, wanting to make a peaceful life for themselves and their families. And in a city already suffering the trauma of two earthquakes. In Christ’s Church, in a mosque. I have many favourite images, sounds and memories of India but one that invokes such a sense within me of returning home, is the call to prayer at Dawn. Drifting out across the still inky sky it is a sublime way to start the day. Calling me to my own prayer. My prayer today is that we all turn to the religion of kindness. Of compassion. Of knowing we are all one. To all the Muslim friends and community my heart goes out to you all. ... Read MoreSee Less

1 years ago

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'Messenger' by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
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