Author Topic: The world  (Read 1352 times)


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The world
« on: April 14, 2012, 11:02:56 AM »

I was standing outside and looking at the houses, trees, vehicles, people, all in action, moving past me, as i looked, i wondered about what we were discussing about yesterday, whether the manifest world, is it myself or different from me, and as i was looking at the world before me. I wondered, where was this question before? how does it matter if that which i see, is part of me or different of me? now, before this questions, these thoughts were born, when i looked out, when i saw the trees moving. i just saw the trees moving, now, after these questions have sprung about, whether the tree is myself or different from myself, i stopped watching the tree, and got lost in figuring out what really it is.

It is the interpretations that were causing the friction. the various interpretations camoflage the tree. Before, these questions, came about, there was only 'looking' there was no thoughts such as 'I' and 'tree' that i am looking at a tree, it was simply pure, the moment, interpretations, contemplation checked in, it became corrupted.

When we see a flower fully blossomed, then be content with the joy that it brings, that is all, if we begin to ask how God created this flower, is the flower different from me or it is myself, all these corrupts the joy, then and there. Actually speaking, asking questions was not originally our nature, we have been fed over the years. Somebody asked us to ask question, so we are asking.

I see Bhagava, it gives me immense peace. instead of being in peace, we wonder, Wow, Bhagavan is constantly in Sahaja Nirvikalpa Samadhi, how is it possible, I have to also attain it, instead of reveling in the peace. If you are peaceful, then even Self enquiry is also corrupting your peace.

Be with happiness. Don't do anything contrary to happiness. I see lorry move, that is all, i see the sun raise, the moon raise, the days and nights, the sky, flower, i just see the same, only the names change. The names begin to cause problems.

When the refer see like a baby, the baby looks at the same flower and begins to revel in joy, does the baby know, that it is a flower? still it experiences the same delight.

interpretations are to be dropped. be free of any kind of understanding, discerning to free from discerning itself.

Salutations to Bhagavan
॥ शांतमात्मनि तिष्ट ॥
Remain quietly in the Self.
~ Vasishta


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Re: The world
« Reply #1 on: April 14, 2012, 11:12:25 AM »
Very keen observations, Sri Nagarajji. I agree with every word of yours.
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Re: The world
« Reply #2 on: April 14, 2012, 11:30:41 AM »
Here is a poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson-Each and All:

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown
Of thee from the hill-top looking down;
The heifer that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon,
Deems not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent.
All are needed by each one;
Nothing is fair or good alone.
I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home, in his nest, at even;
He sings the song, but it cheers not now,
For I did not bring home the river and sky;--
He sang to my ear, -- they sang to my eye.
The delicate shells Note lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me.
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
I fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.
The lover watched his graceful maid,
As 'mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty's best attire
Was woven still by the snow-white choir.
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;--
The gay enchantment was undone,
A gentle wife, but fairy none.
Then I said, "I covet truth;
Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat;
I leave it behind with the games of youth:"--
As I spoke beneath my feet
The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet's breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Over me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and of deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird;--
Beauty through my senses stole;
I yielded myself to the perfect whole