…Who arrange colours to produce a picture, I teach.
The picture is not in the colours, nor in the canvas, nor in the plate…
(/ed: …but in the Mind. The same way, reality provides just the bare substrate as-is and
the Mind paints an objective world laden with meaning through cognition and the
entailed directed action.)
– Mahayana Buddhism, Lankavatara Sutra, Chapter 2, IX:118
This, right here,
Is unfathomable.
Happiness is possible,
But only that.
To fathom and be safe,
Thats impossible.
Fortunately.
Even God doesn’t know whats gonna happen next.
That’s the point, he’d claim –
“A creator with a plan,
Is no creator at all.
Think about it:
Would you make a movie
Who’s ending you knew,
And then buy popcorn to see it?”
And so, creation is his invitation:
Come, lets see what happens next.
There is one special ingredient, though,
that only he could add:
Infinite creativity.
So, if you think –
“This ended too bad”
“That ended too sad”
Forget all that,
This is a party,
Of infinite morphing into
Another infinite.
Nothing really goes anywhere,
And that’s the secret.
Knowing this deeply,
Is like jumping off the stage,
As shakespeare would put it.
You and I will turn to mud,
But hey, mud is not really that,
Useless. Give it some respect.
It creates life again, lots and lots
And lots of it and then some more.
That’s why creation is unfathomable.
If you think mud is pretty boring,
God will say, “Dude, you’re boring.
Have you ever asked an earthworm about mud?
No, right? because you think you’re my only son,
You arrogant monkey. Mud is awesome!”
What has this world
Come to be,
You can’t even trust mud,
To be uninteresting, see?
I feel the people who use the word “mundane”
for anything at all really, are really insane.
Forget about stocks, and the economee,
Come, hear creation’s philosophee,
Put some time in trying to see,
Creation from the million eyes of a bee.
(Or a dung-beetle for that matter,
For a poem on decomposing matter.
Don’t worry dear reader, I won’t disclose,
The gory details of that ode).
I don’t know what this poem is about. Really.
A dear friend of mine recently told me a poem she once wrote about how our dreams and aspirations are much like the stars in the heavens. Her thoughts resonated deeply with me, so I decided to adapt it into words in my own way, while keeping the ideas and feelings exactly the way she intended. So yes, it is blatant plagiarism. Sue me =P.
I
For long have these been my guide,
The stars up in the heavens,
My beacons of light amidst the dark,
When my soul has cried craven.
Millions of them, there are,
Twinkling, Fickle specks of light,
They are my dreams, big and small,
They are all that gives me life.
What is a dream, after all,
A tempest of emotions,
A brilliant star of energy,
Atoms fusing in motion.
They’re always so close,
And yet so far,
They will tell you where to go,
But not who you are.
II
I once followed a star,
To where it would take me,
I kept chasing it’s tortuous light,
This dream would set me free.
I was getting closer,
It grew night by night,
Each night was worth going through,
For that speck of shimmering light.
One night I raised up my hands,
And plucked it from the sky,
But it started losing it’s brilliance,
It belonged not down here, but up high.
I robbed it off it’s beauty,
By plucking it off the sky,
It is just a worthless rock in my hand,
I had turned my dream into a lie.
III
I once followed a star,
And it grew day by day,
But alas it was not to be,
It was not to come my way.
It was too magnificent to survive,
All it left was a black hole,
Exploding in a supernova of feelings,
Leaving a dark place in my soul.
All that was left were fragments,
Of pain, suffering and destruction,
Millions of pieces of my dreams,
Worthless shards of emotion.
But nothing is in vain in this universe,
And neither is devastation,
From the pieces, a new star is formed,
Each time I die, hope is my salvation.
So I stood up.
IV
I once followed a star…
…And always will, for I am alive.
Thank you, dear friend.
“Ideas are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. But like the seafaring man on the desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them you will reach your destiny.”
- Carl Schurz (1829-1906)
I came across this beautiful poem recently, just had to post it here, if only for my own records =)
Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata (Latin for Desired Things)
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
I sit here in this dark room,
Alone, without a soul to touch,
My mind rests on nothing,
Floating on an ethereal crutch.
This has happened before,
But not exactly this way,
I have felt alone always,
But no, not this day.
This dusk holds the key,
Leading me, like a dark knight,
It gives me a simple message,
Everything is like day and night.
One follows the other,
And we are always in between,
Sometimes living in reality,
Sometimes in a dream.
Who knows where I am right now,
Contemplating which extreme,
But the journey always is fun,
For it never is what it may seem.
An emotion here, a thought there,
Right now you think you’re sad,
But tomorrow you will calm down,
And wonder if you were mad.
So will the sea always keep swirling,
And the tides will always come and go,
Mercifully ravaging my narrow views,
When I imprison myself, refusing to flow.
Sometimes, like on this dusk,
I rise above the sea and see,
How really small our concerns are,
How magnificent we all can be.
A small child is jumping outside,
On his small dune of sand,
His tiny shoes fly in the air,
Amidst a shower of grains…
Grains of freedom, grains of joy,
Each grain filled with a million laughs,
A million giggles, a million squeals,
A million dreams of what could be.
And then someone tells him
To grow up and stay,
Learn to sit still in one place,
Learn to learn, Learn to obey…
Learn to follow what others say,
Learn to dream dreams,
That are not his own,
But the dreams of those who say.
Their own dreams were quashed,
By this harsh world, they tell,
They want you to be safe and sound,
Never dare too much, they yell.
The child is tamed, he sits and reflects,
“Yes, its all so reasonable, mature,
Let me sit, concentrate and focus”
And slowly he turns into a young man…
He has achieved what they wanted,
He has achieved what he thinks he wanted,
But one day he walks outside,
And sees a girl dance in the rain…
She’s so free, so simple, without a care,
She has a heart where malice won’t dare,
Without hesitation she turns to him,
And leaves herself to his every whim.
Suddenly, he feels alive as a child,
He throws his briefcase in the air,
Takes off his coat, takes off his tie,
And lifts her up in his arms so high…
A man is jumping outside,
In a pool of water with his love,
His big shoes fly in the air,
Amidst a shower of drops…
Drops of freedom, drops of joy,
Each drop filled with a million laughs,
A million giggles, a million squeals,
A million dreams of what will be.
Looking are you my friend?
Looking through the haystack,
Walking the labyrinth endlessly,
Waiting for the moment patiently…
And now you think you will break,
There’s a limit to which you can take,
This endless confusion, swirling like a tide,
Leaving you fearful, leaving no place to hide.
You have run around trying to outrun it,
You have stayed in place to show the courage,
You have tried chasing butterflies,
Trying not to lose the truth amidst the lies.
But then the truth was lost, it never was,
The butterfly was a larva once,
The truth you chased was once a lie,
And one day, your cherished truth will die.
You will be no more, time won’t fly,
You will be lying there, unmoving,
With so many people who will cry,
But you won’t shed a tear when you die.
And this whole confusion would be gone,
Along with this small mind of yours,
Which tries to grasp what it cannot,
Tripping on its own follies endlessly…
And you ratiocinate a way out of it,
To end this endless confusion inside,
But each way you walk on leads to one place,
The more you push, the more you deepen the haze.
What do you want? To end this confusion,
That will never happen. To end the pain,
That will never happen. To stop wanting,
That will never happen. To be forever happy…
So stop beating the drum, and accept,
Yes, that can happen. To let it all swirl,
Yes, that can happen. To let it all go,
Yes that can happen. To be a sinful human?
Yes, that can happen. Forgive yourself.
For long I tried to tame my mind,
Tried telling myself wrong from right,
Tried telling myself how to feel,
Tried to leave my fears behind.
But there I stood, exhausted,
Tried to hold on to happiness, I failed,
Tried to run from my fears, I failed,
Everything I held onto, devastated.
Then one day I stopped, right there,
Turned back and faced all my fears,
And told them I no longer fear,
Wash over me, kill me, I don’t care.
The pain filled me, my every pore,
But I accepted with humility,
No longer did I try to resist,
Let it rape my heart’s core.
Freedom.
I have no defenses any more,
Pleasure comes, tosses me into bliss,
Pain comes, drowns me deep in sorrow,
I no longer care to find the shore.
I just stand, unflinching like a wall.
Weakness lies in assuming defeat,
Strength lies in fighting for victory,
Wisdom lies in seeing there’s no war.
My heart had only this to show,
Finally I have learned how to let go,
Stopped chasing intellectual worries,
Now I am learning how to flow.
Pain is real. Happiness is real. Fear is not. When you create an intellectual war of running from pain, towards happiness, fear is born. What if we would just follow our heart wherever it takes us, and just accept pain and happiness for what they are, as they are, just be sad when in pain and laugh when we’re happy and not worry about all this unduly? We take life too seriously, we keep forgetting how very short life is.
Wandered have I for aeons, it seems,
Beneath the sun’s scorching beams,
Suffering for that pristine shade,
Into which my soul would fade.
Wandered have I for aeons, it seems,
Trying to unravel my raveled dreams,
Reality has been my canvas to paint,
The beauty I imagined, without a taint.
Wandered have I for aeons, it seems,
To fathom what my being means,
Who is this man who worries needlessly,
Letting his thoughts stray so heedlessly?
Wandered have I for aeons, it seems,
Between these infinitely many extremes,
But now I’m home, I’ve finished my quest,
My wanderlust is sated, finally, I can rest.
I squint in the distance,
Through the murky fog,
The outlines of his form dance,
At the beat of an unseen clock.
Our eyes seem to meet,
But I stand there, unmoved,
Awaiting for him to greet,
To prove something unproved.
He stays silent, starts to walk,
With a monk’s resounding gait,
As if saying, “I don’t need to talk”
Leaving me standing, agape.
Slowly, he comes close to me,
And I see his resplendent face,
“I have come to you,” says he,
“To show you a wonderful place.”
He points his finger to my chest,
But I fail to understand his intent.
The fog vanishes at his behest,
And suddenly, I see what he meant.
Laughing at my ignorance,
I see him vanish into my sea,
He was my own presence,
I listened to my own plea.
When the fog of ignorance leaves you of your own will, you will see, within your heart’s folds lies a sea of boundless peace.
