When Devi Laughs: Devi’s Answer to the Question of How to Live

The world is drowning in commandments about how to live.

The Stoic says: Endure calmly, master yourself, accept fate with stone-like equanimity.
The Hedonist says: Seize pleasure, burn bright, tomorrow may not come.
The Productivity Guru says: Wake at 5 a.m., optimize your calendar, conquer your goals.
The Mindfulness Teacher says: Breathe gently, watch without clinging, let thoughts pass like clouds.
The Religious Preacher says: Obey the code, deny yourself, and salvation will arrive.

Each offers a path, each insists theirs is the way.

And then — Devi enters. She does not bring a philosophy but a festival. She does not hand you a book but pulls you into a circle. She does not whisper wisdom but shouts with laughter:

“Maware! Spin! Dance! Scatter like petals! Laugh until even the gods turn to watch!”

Her command is paradox itself. Not stoic stillness, not hedonistic indulgence, not productivity or restraint — but a whirling surrender that is both chaos and freedom.

This is Her answer to the question of how to live. Not in balance, not in control — but in rhythm.

Opening Calls

Sēno ichi ni san hai!
Hoi! Iyoooo pon!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha haiya
Ha ha ha ha ha ha uu~
Sā sā sā!

Ready, one-two-three — go!
Hoi! Iyoooo pon!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha, haiya!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha, uu~
Now, now, now!

“Sēno ichi ni san hai!”
A countdown — but not to war, to play. Devi begins not with philosophy, but with rhythm. She tells you: Life starts with a shout, with the courage to step into the circle. Don’t hesitate — ichi, ni, san, hai!

“Hoi! Iyoooo pon!”
These are festival cries, nonsense syllables that mean nothing and everything. The lesson? Not all sacred speech is solemn. Sometimes the holiest mantra is a laugh, a clap, a shout that shakes you out of your seriousness.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha haiya / Ha ha ha ha ha ha uu~”
The unmistakable laughter of the Goddess. Tender, mocking, liberating. She laughs at our fear, at our need for control. Her laughter is not cruelty but medicine — if you cannot laugh at yourself, you cannot dance.

“Sā sā sā!”
“Come on, come on, come on!” Devi beckons. No room for delay, no space for excuses. She demands immediacy: Join the dance now. Life does not wait for your readiness.

So even before the “lyrics” begin, the opening chants themselves are Devi’s first teaching: Drop your seriousness. Enter the festival. Begin with laughter, with nonsense, with surrender to rhythm.

Verse 1

Koreyori goran itadakimasu no wa
Kabukimonotachi no eikoseisui
Jidai wa tsuneni nisshingeppo
Kītette yo rōnyakunannyo
Ikken wa kanzenchōaku
Warumonodomo wo ittōryōdan
"Demo hontō ni sore dake de tanoshī no?"
Mō nandatte konnyakumondō

Now, what you are about to witness
Is the rise and fall of flamboyant misfits.
The times are always charging forward,
Engulfing old and young, men and women alike.
One scene is perfect retribution,
Villains cut down in a single stroke.
“But is that really all there is to enjoy?”
Already, the debate dissolves into endless quibbles.

“Now, what you are about to witness / Is the rise and fall of flamboyant misfits.”

Devi opens like a stage-master of the cosmos. Life is theatre — you will see eccentric souls rising, falling, strutting across the stage. Don’t cling to roles; don’t cling to victories. See it all as spectacle.

“The times are always charging forward, / Engulfing old and young, men and women alike.”
Her command: Do not resist change. No age, no gender, no status is exempt. Samsāra is a flood, and your only dignity is in dancing with it, not trying to dam the current.

“One scene is perfect retribution, / Villains cut down in a single stroke.”
Cosmic justice flashes sometimes — yes, wrongdoers fall, karmic debts are paid. But She warns: Don’t reduce life to moral theater alone. That’s only one act in a much greater play.

“But is that really all there is to enjoy?”
Here She mocks the moralist’s satisfaction. The ego whispers, “Ah, justice was done, now I can rest easy.” Devi laughs: If you think life’s joy is just in victories and punishments, you’ve missed the point.

“Already, the debate dissolves into endless quibbles.”
This is the fate of the mind: stuck in arguments, opinions, and counter-opinions. Devi cuts through: Leave the chatter. Dance instead. Spin. That is the only true resolution.

So the first verse is Devi’s curtain-raiser. She sets the mood: Life is kabuki — impermanent, excessive, moral yet absurd — and your proper attitude is not to argue or cling, but to step onto the floor and dance in the middle of it.

Verse 2

Doko kara tomo naku arawarete
Sugu dokoka e icchatte shinshutsukibotsu
Chansu wo mattara ichijitsusenshū
Oikakereba tōhonseisō
Jidai wa tsuneni senpenbanka
Hito no kokoro wa fukuzatsukaiki
"Demo honki de sonna koto itten no?"
Mō dōnimo manshinsōi

They appear from nowhere,
Then vanish somewhere else — coming and going without a trace.
Wait for a chance, and it’s won or lost in a single day.
Chase after it, and you’re in a frantic scramble.
The times are ever-shifting, a thousand changes in one.
People’s hearts are tangled and complex.
“But are you really serious when you say such things?”
Already, it’s hopelessly confused and full of contradictions.

“They appear from nowhere, / Then vanish somewhere else — coming and going without a trace.”
Devi points at the flickering nature of life: people, events, opportunities — they flash in, they disappear. Don’t cling to their permanence; they were never yours to hold.

“Wait for a chance, and it’s won or lost in a single day.”
The world does not wait. Fortune is ruthless: a single throw can crown or crush. Devi commands: Do not wait timidly — dance while you can. The wheel turns too fast for hesitation.

“Chase after it, and you’re in a frantic scramble.”
Here She exposes our exhaustion: the endless chase after what runs away. She laughs: Chasing shadows makes you frantic. Better to spin freely than to run breathless after mirages.

“The times are ever-shifting, a thousand changes in one.”
Impermanence again — but sharper. It is not only seasons, but a storm of mutations. Devi insists: The only stable posture is the dance. To resist change is to break; to whirl with it is to survive.

“People’s hearts are tangled and complex.”
She describes the human condition: motives twisted, emotions contradictory, love and hate knotted together. Tenderly yet fiercely, She says: Don’t try to untangle it with logic — whirl beyond it.

“‘But are you really serious when you say such things?’”
The doubting voice again appears — our own inner skeptic. It whispers: “Surely this is exaggeration.” Devi smirks: The doubter is endless. Don’t answer it; drown it in laughter and rhythm.

“Already, it’s hopelessly confused and full of contradictions.”
The fate of all reasoning: collapse into paradox. And so She teaches: If the mind collapses, let it. That is the doorway to freedom. When nothing makes sense, dance makes the most sense.

So Verse 2 amplifies Her command: stop chasing, stop doubting, stop untangling. Life is fleeting, tangled, contradictory — and only the dance cuts through.

Chorus

Maware maware maware maware
Maware maware maware maware maware!
Karei ni kaben chirasu yōni
Maware maware maware maware
Maware maware maware maware maware!
Kami mo furimidashite

Spin, spin, spin, spin!
Spin, spin, spin, spin, spin!
Brilliantly, like scattering flower petals,
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
Spin, spin, spin, spin, spin!
Even the gods turn their heads to watch.

“Maware maware maware maware / Maware maware maware maware maware!”
This is Devi’s mantra, repeated until it breaks your resistance. Spin! does not mean turning like a puppet on a stage. It means:

Keep moving with existence, don’t stagnate.
Let go of clinging, because everything is already whirling.
Spin as the Sufi does, until “I” dissolves into rhythm.
Spin as the cosmos does — stars, planets, seasons, cells. To whirl is to join the universe’s own heartbeat.

“Brilliantly, like scattering flower petals.”
The metaphor reveals the tenderness: each spin scatters your moments like petals, fragile yet luminous. Life is not kept — it is scattered. Devi commands: Scatter yourself beautifully, without regret, fragrant even in falling.

“Maware maware maware maware / Maware maware maware maware maware!”
The repetition insists: don’t spin once and stop. Keep whirling through joys, through losses, through contradictions. The moment you stop, you cling, and clinging is death.

“Even the gods turn their heads to watch.”
When you surrender to this rhythm fully, you embody freedom itself. Mortals bind themselves in doubts; you whirl past them. And so even devas — high beings who thought themselves radiant — turn to look, astonished. The human who spins in surrender outshines the heavens.

The chorus is not a festival chant alone — it is Devi’s command to live as perpetual movement, scattering beauty in impermanence, dissolving ego in rhythm, dazzling even the gods.

Bridge

Ototoi kinō kyō to
Asu to asatte to, kono utage wa tsuzuku
Odore, utae, isshinfuran ni maware!
Koyoi wa setsugetsuka!

The day before yesterday, yesterday, and today,
Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow — this revelry continues.
Dance, sing, spin with all your heart, without reserve!
Tonight is snow, moon, and flowers.

“The day before yesterday, yesterday, and today, / Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow — this revelry continues.”
Devi stretches the dance across time. Past, present, future — they are not chains but steps in Her rhythm.

Tender truth: You don’t have to erase yesterday’s wounds; they too are part of the dance.
Fierce truth: Tomorrow won’t save you. The only thing real is this spinning that cuts through all days.

“Dance, sing, spin with all your heart, without reserve!” (isshin furan ni maware)
Here Devi drops all subtlety. This is Her naked command: Do not hold back. Give yourself completely, recklessly, wholeheartedly.

No careful calculation.
No cautious half-smile.
Burn every drop of your being in dance.
This is not entertainment; it is initiation into living.

“Tonight is snow, moon, and flowers.” (setsu-getsu-ka)
An ancient Japanese phrase for impermanent beauty — snow (winter’s purity), moon (night’s radiance), flowers (spring’s bloom). Each appears, dazzles, vanishes.
Devi says: This is what tonight is — fleeting beauty. Don’t ask for permanence. Celebrate it in its passing.

In the bridge, Her voice grows vast: the dance is not one night’s carnival, but the fabric of time itself. Past and future are Her steps; impermanence is Her costume; and your only proper response is reckless, wholehearted surrender.

Verse 3

Nē nē nē
Konoyo ni heian otozureru no?
Nobetsu maku nashi chōchōhasshi
Tsuwamono domo senkyakubanrai
Hishimekiau gunyūkakko
Norukasoruka ikkakusenkin
Kigatsuitara zettaizetsumei
"Demo honne no toko, dō natten no?"
Mō mattaku kisōtengai

Hey, hey, hey —
Will peace ever come to this world?
Endless scenes, curtain never falling, ceaseless bustle.
Warriors and guests fill the halls,
Pressed together in a crowded throng.
All or nothing — a single throw of fortune.
Before you know it, you’re in utter desperation.
“But deep down, how does it really turn out?”
It’s absolutely bizarre, beyond imagination.

“Hey, hey, hey — / Will peace ever come to this world?”
This is the seeker’s sigh, the eternal complaint: When will it all calm down?
Devi answers with a smile both tender and fierce: Never. Peace is not the world’s gift. The world is festival, chaos, unending play. If you want stillness, find it inside the spin — not outside it.

“Endless scenes, curtain never falling, ceaseless bustle.”
Life is a theater with no intermission. She shows us: Don’t wait for the curtain to drop, because it never will. The bustle is the stage itself.

“Warriors and guests fill the halls, / Pressed together in a crowded throng.”
Samsāra is packed tight: conflict, rivalry, clamor. Tenderly She notes: Yes, it’s overwhelming. Fiercely She commands: Don’t shrink — whirl bigger. Expand until the crowd cannot suffocate you.

“All or nothing — a single throw of fortune.”
Life is gambling. One throw can elevate or destroy. Devi exposes it not to terrify but to liberate: If it’s all chance, why not laugh as you throw the dice? Why fear the roll when it was never in your hands?

“Before you know it, you’re in utter desperation.”
The human story: plans collapse, security vanishes. But Her voice is uncompromising: So what? Desperation too is part of the revelry. Dance on its edge without flinching.

“‘But deep down, how does it really turn out?’”
Again the skeptic, again the analyst. The mind’s last refuge is the question “But really, what’s the outcome?” Devi laughs: Outcome? There is no conclusion — only whirl.

“It’s absolutely bizarre, beyond imagination.”
The punchline. Life is absurd, ungraspable. She does not console but liberates: Yes, it’s strange, chaotic, unfixable — and that’s precisely why the only sane act is to dance.

In Verse 3, Devi smashes the seeker’s hope for a tidy resolution. The world will not quiet down. It will remain bizarre, frantic, overflowing. Her command is: stop waiting for peace, stop demanding answers. Spin inside the chaos — that is peace enough.

Festival Counting Song

Hana de hitotsu, tori de futatsu
Teuchi narasu
Kaze de mittsu, ah, tsukidete yottsu
Narasu narasu...
Hana de hitotsu, tori de futatsu
Teuchi narasu
Kaze de mittsu, ah, tsukidete yottsu
Narasu narasu...

With flowers — one! With birds — two!
Clap your hands in rhythm.
With wind — three! Ah, with the moon — four!
Clap, clap…
With flowers — one! With birds — two!
Clap your hands in rhythm.
With wind — three! Ah, with the moon — four!
Clap, clap…

“With flowers — one! With birds — two!”
Devi shifts into elemental counting. This is not children’s play but cosmic play. Flowers (earth’s bloom), birds (sky’s freedom) — She makes them rhythm, showing you that the universe itself claps along.

“Clap your hands in rhythm.”
Simple, childlike — yet fierce. The divine truth is not hidden in scriptures alone. Keep time with your hands, your body. Life’s measure is taken by rhythm, not by thought.

“With wind — three! Ah, with the moon — four!”
Wind = the breath, unseen but moving all. Moon = the night’s witness, waxing and waning. Together they remind: Your breath and the moon’s phases are part of the same counting song. Devi says: Mark them not with calendars but with dance.

“Clap, clap…”
Even the silence between syllables is rhythm. Tenderly She whispers: Do not fear emptiness; it too is part of the beat.

The counting song is Devi’s playful upaniṣad: the universe itself is Her drum, every flower, bird, wind, and moon counted in the rhythm. To live rightly is simply to keep clapping, keep spinning, keep time with Her.

Closing Lines

Koyoi wa nanyōbika?
Suimokukin?
Donichigetsuka?
Tonight — what day of the week is it?
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday?
Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday?

“Tonight — what day of the week is it?”
The ego still wants to measure, to anchor: Where am I in the calendar? What day is this? Devi answers with mischief: Does it matter? Once you whirl, every night is eternal. Time collapses into dance.

“Wednesday, Thursday, Friday?”
She mocks our divisions. Midweek, weekend — these are cages built by human order. Tenderly She says: I know you live in them. Fiercely She laughs: But My festival burns through them — all days are one rhythm.

“Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday?”
By the end She has rattled off the whole cycle, reducing the sacred calendar of modern life (workdays, holidays, schedules) to nonsense syllables, just another chant in Her song. Her lesson: Do not be a prisoner of the clock. Spin, and every moment is holy.

Final Laughter

Ha ha ha ha ha ha, haiya!
Ha ha ha ha, iyoooo pon!

The sound itself — “Ha ha ha…”
This is not mockery, but liberation. Devi’s laughter at the end carries two blades:

Tender blade: She is telling you not to be afraid — the dance is safe in Her hands. Her laughter is motherly, easing your burden.
Fierce blade: She slices through your last clinging seriousness. If you thought this was a solemn sermon, She breaks it apart with laughter, reminding you: Truth is not heavy. It is ecstatic.

“Haiya! Iyoooo pon!”
These nonsense syllables are the Goddess’s anti-language. They mean nothing in logic, but everything in rhythm. They are Her way of saying: When words are exhausted, let sound itself carry you. Stop interpreting — whirl, clap, laugh.

Why laughter as the ending?

Because laughter is ungraspable — it vanishes as soon as you try to hold it.
Because laughter belongs to the body, not just the mind.
Because laughter, like spinning, is a moment of ego-collapse.

The final lesson: Devi does not close with a period but with a laugh. Life is not concluded, it is scattered like petals. When philosophy, morality, and even commentary are exhausted, all that remains is Her rhythm — ha ha ha — and in that sound, freedom.

Conclusion

So many voices tell us how to live:
be disciplined, be calm, be efficient, be detached, be moral.
But when Devi speaks, She does not explain.
She laughs.
She claps.
She commands: Maware!

Spin — not to escape life, but to enter it.
Spin — not to solve contradictions, but to whirl inside them.
Spin — until yesterday and tomorrow blur, until even gods stop to watch, until laughter is the only language left.

The truth of this song is not hidden in its verses but in its rhythm.
It is not philosophy but initiation.
A reminder that the world will not give you peace —
but you can dance through its chaos with a freedom fiercer than peace.

And when the song ends, it does not end at all.
Only laughter remains, echoing like petals scattered in the wind.

This is Devi’s answer. This is Her command.