Posts Tagged ‘soul’

There are many ways to turn one hour
In millions of vexations,
Paring nano-seconds in their nexus
And never knowing the loss:
My oneness is all set and complete
Past telling points of man-made laws:
Go west, for what I ask myself
And it avails neither
With east, south or north.
There are many ways to turn one life
In millions of pretenses,
Each one more bizarre to fit the hour
And never knowing the loss:
My oneness is all set and complete
And sound hollow to fit customs of men:
Go west, for what I ask myself
And it avails neither
With east, south or north:
My soul is drawn from One True Silence
And everything else is jingle
The motley crew of fools may worship
As many gods, but I remain aloof.


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For The One Who Would Not

Take His Life In His Hand- Delmore Schwartz

Athlete, virtuoso,

Training for happiness,

Bend arm and knee, and seek

The body’s sharp distress,

For pain is pleasure’s cost,

Denial is route

To speech before the millions

Or personal with the flute.

The ape and great Achilles,

Heavy with their fate,

Batter doors down, strike

Small children at the gate,

Driven by love to this,

As knock-kneed Hegel said,

To seek with a sword their peace,

That the child may be taken away

From the hurly-burly and fed.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

The curious Socrates,

I have asked, What is this life

But a childermass,

As Abraham recognized,

A working with the knife

At animal, maid and stone

Until we have cut down

All but the soul alone:

Through hate we guard our love,

And its distinction’s known.

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why are you so busy 
with this or that or good or bad
/pay attention to how things blend” Rumi

Let us look at the way our human interaction has led to:

It is like the kindness of first man who traded milk for rat poison. The man who did not make profit was dubbed as a fool. Milk and rat poison since have been blended million times over. So many times that the present world cannot die of rat poison but has developed immunity. 

*Let us not speak of general state of things but how each must serve. He has to serve his best. No other choice because he has to deal with his soul.

*I hold a special relationship with my soul to settle for the indifferent quality what the world offers. Blending is done in no man’s land.


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Rumi’nations contain annotations to various quotes of Rumi in a slim volume but gilded with secret wisdom of the East from which all great religions of the world had drunk deeply and in turn changed the way we look at truth of human condition. 154 pages; available through lulu.com


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Soul is the centre of the Inner World from my stand point. How I make use of my memory and life experience is a standpoint from which I exercise faith by actions that is more than an attitude. Faith works. It is because I chose faith of my place in a corporeal universe and where I intend to go by choices in life. If I want to lead a virtuous life I will prepare my life in direction that empowers me to live more comfortably. If I had found memory passed on to me as genetic push I know that my memory I shall pass on to the future generation. So death is merely a reality that has bearing only in my corporeal being. Soul is the constant around which my memory shall bear fruits.
It goes without saying soul is more precious than earthly pain, suffering or glory.

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Much pity, you have cast your 

Name for the hollow prattle

Of some foul fiend who showed

You his world to come,

And pressed the lead hot shot

To fashion as you will.

Without a Name wander you will-

Never know the wind, nor music

Of the Spheres from which

You ignoble beggar, without a name 

Shall forever wander.

For when soul was your own name

You chose some fiend for your sage

That made nit-picking of Word

his empire-building.  

If you should come across nameless fears

these are ever your pickings 

Gone is your aim; so has your ease-

Nothing remains but darkness surround:

Consider you earned your wages

And also the empire of darkness

That now surrounds you.


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As you sow shall you reap:

It is seed cast by wind

From which I seek not so much

as the Source but to draw

what stray winds blow

And the loam of habits that gather

to hinder my passage.

I know I have learned to leave the

seat of cosmic filaments firm of hold

To its tasks as it is past my purpose.

What is before is not the comfort

Of tradition sown by stray winds

But my very passage home

where every star is a blossom

Bursting with intimations of

my Immutability.


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