prayer by Téa Nicolae

mother, my mother,

may your piercing hum shatter my chest

and imbibe my being with radiance.

mother, my mother,

may my eyelids burn at the sight of your lustrous sword,

and may my tears bathe the soles of your feet.

mother, my mother,

you are the darkness of the night sky

and the golden stars that gleam through.

one glimpse of you,

and i am humbled

before the blissful truth

that all that i am

and all that is

is dribble

gliding on your tongue.

🌺 i am so, so very honoured to have my poem included in the introduction to my beloved teacher’s upcoming course, accompanying the spellbinding art created by the incredibly talented Rashmi / Rashmi Thirtha Sacred Arts Studio💙🙏💙 the wisdom Dr. Kavitha Chinnaiyan imparts in her courses is exquisite and authentic. each time i listen to her, i feel my heart cracking open, bit by bit, to the vidyā flowing through. Kavithaji offers direct applications for one’s life: thus, the teaching does not remain an esoteric, abstract concept – the shift occurs instantly. i highly recommend her courses & her work to all sādhakas!

💙Kavithaji’s mesmerising words:

“It was the autumn Navarātra of 2015. I got out of the car and began walking. It was a clear night and I had been meditating on Tārā all day. It had been a day of alternating turmoil and bliss, both evoked by deep meditation. When I looked up at the star-studded sky, my legs suddenly stopped working. As if paralyzed, I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the sky. In the profound silence of that moment, the life purpose I had so ardently sought became clear. The path opened up before me… and also the obstacles that stood in my way – my self-deceptions and the demons of my own making. In retrospect, it was a defining moment, which would lead me to my guru. Like all the other Mahāvidyās, Tārā is fierce and her sādhanā is uncompromising. Her supreme vidyā is that of the Śabda Brahman. And of course, tārā also means star – how serendipitous…This Navarātra (February 17-21, 2021), we will throw ourselves at her feet, and implore her to show us the way. With her yantra as the focal point, we will explore her iconography, history, symbolism… and importantly, how she shows up in our lives. As always, this course is all about practical applications of the highest principles. We’ll see how this great goddess is constantly manifesting in our lives, our breath, our speech and our action. We will learn to invoke her in all of these areas.”

to enroll:

more information:

Litehouse: “Interview with exophonic writer Téa Nicolae”

so thrilled to have been interviewed by Litehouse!! you can find my interview below. 🙂

A few details about yourself.

My name is Téa Nicolae. I am a Romanian poetess and a scholar, and I have been living in the UK for four years. I have a Bachelor of Arts in Film and Creative Writing from Lancaster University, where I am currently completing my Master’s of Arts. I am highly interested in non-dual philosophy and in Goddess-worshipping spiritual traditions, which I explore in my writings. My work has been published in various magazines and online platforms, such as The Writing Disorder, Skye Magazine and Cake Magazine. I was shortlisted for the Lancashire Literary Award in 2018.

What does being an exophonic writer mean to you?

To me, being an exophonic writer means that this grand, beautifully interwoven and formidable world is my home. I am not bound to any place and I can make my home in those around me. Moreover, writing in English gifted me the courage to shed olden ideas about who I thought I was, and it gifted me the space to meet unknown parts of myself in wondrous ways.

What do you write? What is your writing process like?

At present, I write devotional and Occult poetry. My writing process is quite simple: I keep an open heart and I allow myself to be inspired by how life unfolds around me. I write down ideas in my Notes app on my phone and early in the mornings I bind them together. Then, the endless process of revisiting and editing occurs! In the past, I worked on an intimate lyrical collection which chronicled my depression, and my process resumed to pouring my grief into words until I felt soothed. And, of course, incessant editing!

What’s the last book that made you cry?

The last book that made me cry was ‘Ecstatic Poems’, a collection of poetry written by Mīrābāī, an enchanting poetess and Hindu mystic who lived a few centuries ago. I am in love with her! She was a devotee of Krishna and she spent her life in unbridled devotion, writing poetry to him and dancing for him in temples. This was scandalous for her time, and people tried to have her killed repeatedly – with no result! Her poetry is intimate, raw and filled with longing.

“As a lotus lives in its water, I am rooted in you.

Like the bird that gazes all night at the passing moon,

I have blinded myself in giving my eyes to your beauty.”

So blissful!

What advice would you give to other exophonic writers?

Be brave, keep your heart soft and your mind open, and read, read, read! And write, write, write!

my loss is my root by Téa Nicolae

*poem published in Litehouse.

my loss is my root when my legs are wobbly.
it keeps me level-headed, grounded, with my feet turned inward.
my loss is motherly. it keeps me nurtured, well fed, full.
my loss is nourishing, it wets my lips when my mouth is dry.

on good days,
i like to think that my loss blossoms in my core
and drops through my feet to the moist soil
it falls to the centre of the earth,
through tangled grass and layers of rock
it feeds on flower stems, leaves, and seeds
and absorbs the warmth of mother earth.

when it skyrockets back to me, it throbs with energy
it heals my body and patches the open wounds in my brain.

on good days,
i imagine my loss sprinkling the ground like rain.
it wets my fingers, and when i cry,
the soil thrives.

my papers + Mahābhārata as seen by Giampaolo Tomassetti

so thrilled to share that i finished the two papers i’ve been working on these past months: “Feminine Dimensions of ‘God’: The Deification of Mahābhārata’s Tragic Heroine” & “The Western Revival of Goddess Worship”. 🤍

my first essay explored the richness of the non-dual concept of ‘God’ by addressing the intricate worship of Draupadī, Mahābhārata’s enigmatic female character – whose tragic and distinct storyline establishes her as a multifaceted heroine: a devoted wife; a caring mother; an abused and vindicative woman; a polyandrous empress; an avatar of the Goddess; the Supreme Parāśakti, the all-pervading absolute reality herself; the celestial Śrī. i argued that, through the worship of an abused & vengeful woman, her devotees are deifying the entirety of the human experience. 🤍my second essay employed a discourse rooted in psychoanalysis, and was centred on the therapeutic values Goddess archetypes hold for the traumatised female psyche + commented on the ramifications of the phenomenon of religious revival in a secular age.

🕊i have adored writing both, no matter how frustrating the writing inevitably got at times. i had so much fun with the two topics, which i’m very passionate about, but i especially enjoyed delving into Mahābhārata – three months in, and i still am absolutely fascinated by it and in awe of the beautiful Draupadī, who i’m sure will be the subject of much of my future research. 🌹

on this occasion, attaching here the marvellous paintings of Giampaolo Tomassetti, who dedicated 17 years of his life to studying & painting the Mahābhārata 🤍pictured:

Kṛṣṇa & Balarāma in Dvārakā (my favourite 🕊)

Kṛṣṇa advising the Pāṇḍavas

Draupadī meets Kuntī

Kuntī & Karṇa

Kṛṣṇa comforting Draupadī after ~ dice match & disrobing ~

Kṛṣṇa reveals his universal form (Govindarūpiṇī)

Kuntī & Sūrya

Kṛṣṇa, the Pāṇḍavas, Draupadī & Kuntī in Indraprastha

Bhīma & Hiḍimbī

Dvārakā

(on the night the witch was born) or (solaris) by Téa Nicolae

on the night the witch was born

her grandmother oiled her infant body

with poppy’s milk. as the concoction gently swirled

into the blood pouring from her mother’s womb,                           

her grandmother adorned her bare head

with flower garlands and carried her

into the woods. toes dug in damp Earth,

sacred chants glued to her lips,

the elderly witch drew in the Moon                           

and lifted the child to the Heavens.                   

the Divine Enchantress descended

before them, bracelets around Her ankles,

silkily playing her flute. She licked

Her index finger and placed it between

the new-born’s eyebrows, breathing

magick and abundance through her core.

with tender fingers,

the Enchantress weaved the web of her life,

as the maiden, the mother,

the matriarch and the crone

tangled themselves in her eyes.

the Moon, waxing and waning,

poured light on the crest of her head

and the Divine Enchantress sowed her heart

                                             with golden thread.

*poem published in volume XI of Skye Magazine. to me, it holds two titles: ‘on the night the witch was born’ and ‘solaris’.

🌙

i adore this poem poem & the illustration that accompanies it! it opened my final year collection of my undergraduate degree – an occult lyrical project entiteld ‘Hymns ot the Divine Enchantress’, which was centred on illuminating the female esoteric experience. it is so moving to me to finally see it in print! thank you so much, Skye Magazine!

Skye’s beautiful illustration:

and the poem’s original moon format.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

xanax, side effects

*poem published in L. C. three years ago. it feels like a glimpse into another life…

when i was on xanax

my brain curled into itself

and

everything was numb

and nothing hurt.

my therapist had prescribed three doses of 0.25mg per day to me.

each morning

i would swallow a first dose

conscientiously

at 8:54

and i would carry off with my morning routine, while mentally rewinding the side effects.

forgetfulness

i roll in my sheets, patting the mattress, searching for my phone

trembling

i double-press snooze

changes in patterns

i fall on my back in bed, bringing my knees to my chest

clumsiness and unsteadiness

i doze off

drowsiness

i jerk as the alarm goes off

feeling sad and empty

snooze snooze snooze

shakiness, an unsteady walk

i rub my eyes. there’s a small ache in the back of my head. feels like it’s melting my thoughts apart.

slurred speech

i jump as the alarm rings for the third time.

(less common side effects)

loss of self-control

i search for a pair of panties to match my mood. grey

loss of coordination

i pull a shirt over my head

loss of memory

i flatten the wrinkles with my hands

loss of voice

i apply foundation unevenly

muscle stiffness

i press my nose to my mirror. i stare at my glazed eyes as i swallow my first dose.

i got off xanax because

while my insides didn’t clench anymore

my eyes could still see

the hurt.

brief sonnet to sorrow by téa nicolae

I

am

digesting

my

loss

as

life

dances

on

the

tip

of

my

tongue

* original format:

* happy december, my loves! as 2020 is slowly coming to end, i am bringing back this poem which was published on The Writing Disorder in summer, as i believe that it encapsulates my year beautifully; fully.

I, Lalla

🕊 kneeling at the cradle of the skies and the seas,
she prays with her hips
and she asks the Earth for forgiveness. 🕊

~ these are my favourite lines from an ending poem belonging to my final year project: a devotional collection about the feminine mystique. while writing it, my greatest influence was Lalleshwari, who also is my favourite poetess. i’ve been fondly thinking of her today as i revisited my poems. from her collection “I, Lalla”:

🌙 Wrapped up in Yourself, You hid from me.
All day I looked for You
and when I found You hiding inside me,
I ran wild, playing now me, now You. 🌙

🌙 As the moonlight faded, I called out to the madwoman,
eased her pain with the love of the One.
‘It’s Lalla, it’s Lalla,’ I cried, waking up the Loved One.
I mixed with Him and drowned in a crystal lake. 🌙

🌙 I wore myself out, looking for myself.
No one could have worked harder to break the code.
I lost myself in myself and found a wine cellar. Nectar, I tell you.
There were jars and jars, and no one to drink it. 🌙

i aimed to emulate her character into the female voice i created: an embodied woman devoted to the supranatural, whose esoteric experiences were deeply personal, imperfect and feminine. 💜 Lalla (or Lal Ded) was an enchanting Kashmiri mystic and saint, who created the prominent style of spiritual poetry known as “vakhs”. she wrote heart-wrenching, devotional poetry to Lord Śiva, who she was enamoured with. she wore nothing but the tresses of her long hair and lived the life of an ascetic: she renounced all worldly possessions and would wander, bare, sharing her wisdom and teachings. some lauded and worshipped her, some threw rocks at her, but she paid no mind. she wrote:

🌙 They may abuse me or jeer at me,
They may with flowers worship me.
What profits them whatever they do?
I am indifferent to praise and blame.
Can a few ashes a mirror befoul? 🌙

^ i wish to tread through life so wildly. 🩰😊 excited to share this collection of mine with you in the (far) future, when the time is right. 💜

me treading through life coyly in portugal, where i hope to relocate one day. i have kept adding photos to this website, although i never thought i would do that at first. but, i don’t know, i feel vaguely nostalgic, times are changing quickly, i’m growing out of my mermaid hair… and there is longing inside of me to share, to connect, as i am, clumsy and … lost… and me….

Poem to Kālī Ma

 

a blessed Diwali, dear ones! today i am sharing a short (but dear!) devotional poem i wrote sometime ago, which was shared here in summer.

i place my loss
on a gold platter with silver rings
and offer it
to Kālī,
the divine mother of the universe.

i burn my loss on incense sticks
and dampen it with cold water.
i place quartz stones
on my loss and i beg.

i adorn my loss with scarlet flowers
and fresh apples.
i offer my loss to Kālī
and beg her to eat it.

sink your teeth in my loss, mother
drink my pain
swallow my worry
and inhale my woe.

 

i met Reva in October 2019 during some incredible & transformational days at Mandala Yoga Ashram, where i was touched by her devotion & gentleness. so i was especially moved & honoured when she invited me to contribute to her brand new website with a poem about Devī! 💕🌷🕊💙 the painting of Tārā is the creation of my friend and mentor, Rashmi Thirtha Sacred Arts Studio: and the pūjā book got me through some dark times two years ago – or pulled me through the keyhole, for those familiar with that Kālī metaphor…

may there be light!

photos of the shrine i adorned for this occasion, dedicated to Kālī and Tārā.

on this blessed day, also sharing a glimpse of grace… these mesmerising artworks, painted by the divinely talented Rashmi, have recently arrived at my doorstep from the US 💫 i am truly enchanted! i fell in love with Rashmi’s art while attending a life-changing retreat on the wisdom of the Mahāvidyās led by two brilliant beings who transformed my life, Kavitha M.D. (whom i am now blessed to call my teacher) and Christopher Hareesh Wallis. it feels surreal that only a few months later these pieces are adorning my room and i am thanking Rashmi not as a stranger, but as a mentor and friend: thank you once again, i will treasure these deeply! pictured: MahāLakṣmī, Lalitā yantra, Kālī yantra, and currently framing a portrait of Tārā! the perfect birthday gift! 💙dear friends, be sure to check out Rashmi’s newly launched website. 🙂

twenty-two: outpouring grace

🌺🌼🌺 so, twenty-two! this morning i revisited two letters i wrote to myself: one as i entered my twenties, and the other as i turned seventeen. i was very touched. at age seventeen, depression had slipped into my every inch, and, at times, i was doubtful whether i was going to make it through my teens. looking back to my struggle is humbling. i am endlessly grateful for the enveloping grace that pushed me to become enamoured of life herself. my resolution and wish for this year is to become committed to loving what is, no matter what that looks like. thinking about this wondrously beautiful and painful year, i decided that twenty-one meant transformation, discipline and grace. twenty-one was marked by a few milestones: i completed my undergraduate degree and began my postgraduate studies; my poetry blossomed into a radically new direction, and my lyrical voice, at first so saddened and scattered, grew along with me, blooming into devotion and lushness as esotericism bound us together; i made amends with estranged friends and undertook my most mature projects to date –

🌺🌼🌺 most importantly, i found my beloved teacher, my Guruji (or she found me!) and my dear sangha. if my fidgety teens have been about constructing a sense of self that desperately wanted *more*: more accomplishments, more beauty, more connections, more validation, my twenties are about unbecoming: humbly peeling layers of my self and opening to the sweetness that glimmers through… and, if you look closely, “She is smiling at you from all things”… ❤️💕❤️

🌺🌼🌺
…She’s playing in my heart.
Whatever I think, I think Her name.
I close my eyes and She’s in there
Garlanded with human heads.

Common sense, know-how-gone,
So they say I’m crazy. Let them.
All I ask, my crazy Mother,
Is that You stay put.

Ramprasad cries out: Mother, don’t
Reject this lotus heart You live in
Don’t despise this human offering
At Your feet…

🌺🌼🌺

🌺 Ramprasad Sen 🌺

🌺 the flowers i’m holding were sent to me by my parents and i am wearing a mystic wig that made me fall back in love with dark hair. this was the first year that my family did not see me for my birthday due to travelling restrictions, so they sent me flowers. i fell in love with adorning my room with flowers in summer, when i spent my mornings offering fresh petals to Devi and nourishing my soul. 🌺❤️