How Sleep Affects Your Emotions

It’s not just your imagination — you’re more irritable when you’re low on zzzzs. Sleep scientist Matt Walker explains how our nightly slumber affects the emotional centers in our brains, and why we can think of sleep as first aid for our feelings.

In this @TEDTalks #video Matt Walker, @sleepdiplomat, Professor of Neuroscience at UC Berkeley and author of Why We Sleep Unlocking the Power of Sleep and Dreams explains why your sleep matters to your emotional well being.


The Blueprint of Success Formula (Part 2)

There are many people I know who seem to brim over with great ideas and they have the acumen & intelligence to be successful, but they lack the personal mastery to direct their emotions into getting themselves to take action. They may have a great business ideas but their fear holds them back. They may set inspiring new goals, but they basically lack the motivation to do what it takes. They may even get themselves to take action initially, but by nature stop once they experience frustration or anxiety. In this article series, you will learn how to take charge of your emotional states in order to consistently perform at your peak.

The Blueprint of Success Formula (Part 2) — | දියුණුව

How Sleep Can Improve Your Immunity

One of the best things that you can do to boost your immune system is head to bed, says sleep scientist Matt Walker. It can even make your flu shot more effective!
@sleepdiplomat on Twitter, Matt is a Professor of Neuroscience at UC Berkeley, and the author of Why We Sleep: Unlocking the Power of Sleep and Dreams

View from Hantane


By Malinda Seneviratne

Looking down from Hantane

night and Kandy

full of candles in silence

and the time carved mood rode

on across our skies

no pity for the collective dead

and scattered flesh on the roadside.

But our hands have been too full

of blood and entrails

to permit mourning.

No time for sadness,

we have no time for love.

Only anger,

Riding along our veins,

Aching blood

of having been born

in the sixties and early seventies.

We have had to watch the slow ceremony

of charred bodies flowing down history,

marking time.

But there were eyes that once gazed on Hantane,

eyes that saw beauty and brutality;

shining eyes that had captured

the sparks of revolt,

hearts that crept into her shades

and were swept by her breeze

youth that did know love

and injustice

and mothers and others who loved

these children.

Hantane, September 1989

From the collection ‘Epistles: 1984-1996’


BACKGROUND: Where is Hantane?

Hatane hills are in Kandy, Sri Lanka.

Check out this video to savour its splendour

Summer Nights

Photo by Egor Kamelev from Pexels

By Maironis (1862-1932)
Translated by Peter Tempest

Peaceful charm of summer nights,
Not a leaf in treetop stirs.
All is tranquil, all is quiet–
Peace that only stars disturb.

All is sleeping, all is quiet,
Dreams of love the world enfold.
Full of yearning, dreams inspired
Lull the heart, the heart console.

Summer nights of peaceful charm,
Grieving hearts with rest you lure!
Grief galore the earth endures…
Only you breathe peace and calm.

Peace and calm! With magic force
You send Nature off to sleep.
Can;t you soothe my wild desires?
What should I feel anguish for?

All the world I would embrace,
I would love Almighty God.,
Lasting Beauty I would grasp!
What an I despairing of?


From: The Amber Lyre, 18th-20th Century Lithuanian Poetry

Photo by Egor Kamelev from Pexels

Winter Flowers


By Stanley Moss

In fresh snow that fell on old snow
I see wild roses in bloom, springtime,
an orchard of apple and peach trees in bloom,
lovers of different preferences
walking naked in new snow, not shivering,
no illusion, no delusion, no bluebells.
Why should I live by reality that murders?
I wear a coat of hope and desire.
I follow fallen maple leaves abducted by the wind.
I declare I am a Not Quite, almost a nonentity.
I fought for that “almost.”
I lift up and button my collar of hope.
I simply refuse to leave the universe.
I’m all the aunts in my father’s house and all my uncles too.
I had fifty great-great-grand-grandmothers
who got to Paradise, like Enoch, without dying.
Once my friends and I went out in deep paradise snow
with Saint Bernards and Great Pyrenees
to find those lost in the blizzard that God made for Himself
because He prefers not seeing what happens on earth.
With touch He can hear, taste, smell, see,
and He has fourteen other senses there are no words for.
Memory, He said, is a sense, not a power.
Who am I to disagree with Him?

The Forest of Anykščiai

Photo by zhang kaiyv from Pexels

By Antanas Baranauskas
Translated from the Lithuanian by Peter Tempest

How fine are forest sounds, not only scents!
The forest hums, resounds with eloquence,
While midnight brings a silence that is so
Profound you hear each leaf and flower grow,
Hear tree to tree in gentle whispers call,
Each star through heaven move, each dewdrop fall.
The heart is hushed, such peace reigns everywhere
The soul soars heavenward in quiet prayer.
But when the new day dawns with gleaming brow
And blades of grass, dew-laden, earthward bow
The forest wakens, night-time silence flees
And day again resumes ts melodies.
That rustle? It’s a leaf the breeze has stirred
Or, stirring in its nest, a waking bird.
That crackling? It’s a homebound wolf who, loath
To hunt by day, breaks through the undergrowth.
A captured duck the fox bears to his lair,
A badger scurries from his burrow there,
A roe bounds past, a squirrel neatly takes
A flying leap onto a bough that shakes,
A stoat or marten rummages about…
The forest creatures are all up and out.
Who taps? A woodpecker up in a tree.
Who splutters there? An angry snipe, you see.
Who whispers? It’s an adder you hear hiss
Or it’s the river laps her banks in bliss.
Who’s talking? By the water gabbling geese.
A stork its long beak snapping without cease.
On marshes ducks are landing one by one.
The whooping hoopoe asks his wife and son:
“What-what-what-what to bring you? Speak in turn!
What-what? A grain of wheat? A fly? A worm?”
The cuckoo glancing round cuckoos for us
And laughs and chuckles, weeps and makes a fuss.
The forest rings. The oriole teases Eve:
“Eve, Eve, believe me! You this field must leave!”
The snipe call by the stream. Then in a throng
Of voices birds galore burst into song.
More calls and melodies from more throats gush:
The chiff-chaff, tomtit, siskin and the thrush,
The magpie, jay–each adding its own tune,
They laugh, lament and some play the buffoon.
The nightingale calls louder than the rest
In song full-throated, varied, full of zest,
Forever changing, ever reaching to
The heart as Lithuanian folk songs do.
Each rustling, stirring leaf too joins the surge
Of sound in which these varied voices merge
T sing a most melodious roundelay
In perfect harmony, no note astray.
The ear through not distinguishing each voice
Delights, as in far fields our eyes rejoice
When flowers in profusion intertwine
To make a single carpet woven fine.


Source: The Amber Lyre, 18th-20th Century Lithuanian Poetry

Photo by zhang kaiyv from Pexels





Dimensions of Infinity

Photo by Marcelo Dias from Pexels

By Malinda Seneviratne 

To the fish in the net
a single drop of water,
to the incarcerated
a sliver of sky,
to the guitarist
whose hands were cut off
a pick,
to the heart that said ‘no’
to a love that will not return.

From: Stray Kites, a Collection of Poems, 2014

Photo by Marcelo Dias from Pexels











Footnote to a heart-thesis

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad from Pexels

By Malinda Seneviratne

And when heart
is after-thought,
love is a footnote 
passed over,
one feels.
but no,
love is never foot-noted
only people are;
and footnotable people
are like necessary referents;
they exist
in periphery 
as mild adjunct 
to a thesis about other things.

From the collection 'Some texts are made of leaves', shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2011


Photo by Rakicevic Nenad from Pexels

Afternoon on a Hill

Photo by Johannes Plenio from Pexels

By Edna St. Vincent Millay 

I will be the gladdest thing
    Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
    And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
    With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
    And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
    Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
    And then start down!
Photo by Johannes Plenio from Pexels