Author Topic: Divine poetry and thoughts  (Read 1430524 times)

Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4290 on: November 20, 2018, 08:06:51 PM »

The lover wields the sword of Nothingness
in order to dispatch all but God:
consider what remains after Nothing.
There remains but God:
all the rest is gone.

Rumi

Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4291 on: November 20, 2018, 08:12:29 PM »

Don't cry: ''Woe, parted!'' at my burial-
For me, this is the time of joyful meeting!
Don't say ''Farewell'' when I'm put in the grave-
It is a curtain for eternal grace .

(Diwan-i, 911)
Rumi


Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4292 on: November 20, 2018, 08:16:04 PM »

If death's a man-let him come close to me
That I can clasp him tightly to my breast!
I'll take from him a soul, pure, colorless;
He'll take from me a colored frock, no more!

Rumi

Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4293 on: November 20, 2018, 08:24:24 PM »

Return! That to a heart wounded full sore
Valiance and strength may enter in; return!
And Life shall pause at the deserted door,
The cold dead body breathe again and burn.
Oh come! And touch mine eyes, of thy sweet grace,
For I am blind to all but to thy face.
Open the gates, and bid me see once more!

Hafiz

Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4294 on: November 22, 2018, 04:24:51 PM »

It is a very hard thing to understand,
but you will come to learn in time
that nothing in the universe has power over you
until you allow it to exercise such a power.

Swami Vivekananda

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4295 on: November 23, 2018, 08:02:57 AM »
i love you
simply stop telling the story of the self and see who you are without it

Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4296 on: December 25, 2018, 06:26:02 AM »
Imra'u 'L-Qays

Excerpt from Coleman Barks's

The Book of Love

Imra'u 'l-Qays, king of the Arabs,
was very handsome and a poet full of songs.

Women loved him desperately. Everyone loved him,
but there came one night an experience
that changed him completely.

he left his kingdom and his family.
he put on dervish robes and wandered
from one weather, one landscape, to another.

Love dissolved his king-self and led him to Tabuk,
where he worked for a time making bricks.

Someone told the king of Tabuk about Imra'u 'l-Qays,
and that king came to visit him at night.

"King of the Arabs, handsome Joseph of this age,
ruler of two empires, one composed of territories,
and the other of the beauty of women,

if you would consent to stay with me,
I would be honored. You abandon kingdoms,
because you want more than kingdoms."

The king of Tabuk5 went on line this, praising
Imra'u 'l-Qays and talking theology and philosophy.

Imra'u 'l-Qays kept silent.
Then suddenly he leaned and whispered something
in the second king's ear, and that second
king became a wild wanderer too.

They walked out of town hand in hand,
no royal belts, no thrones.

This is what love does and continues to do.
It tastes like honey to adults and milk to children.

Love is the last thirty-pound bale.
When you load it on, the boat tips over.

So they wandered around China like birds
pecking at bits of grain. They rarely spoke
because of the dangerous seriousness
of the secret they knew.

That love-secret spoken pleasantly - or irritation -
servers a hundred thousand heads in one swing.

A love-lion grazes in the soul's pasture,
while the scimitar of this secret approaches.
It's a killing better than any living.

All that world-power wants, really,
is this weakness.

So these kings talk in low tones,
and carefully. Only God knows what they say.

They use unsayable words. Bird language.
But some people have imitated them, learned
a few birdcalls, and gotten prestigious.

Rumi


Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4297 on: December 25, 2018, 06:29:18 AM »

Within tears, find hidden laughter
Seek treasures amid ruins, sincere one.


Rumi

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4298 on: December 25, 2018, 06:38:58 AM »

If in the darkness of ignorance, you don't recognize a person's true nature,
 look to see whom he has chosen for his leader.

Rumi

Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4299 on: December 25, 2018, 06:47:12 AM »

Nothing is really mine except Krishna.
O my parents, I have searched the world
And found nothing worthy of love.
Hence I am a stranger amidst my kinfolk
And an exile from their company,
Since I seek the companionship of holy men;
There alone do I feel happy,
In the world I only weep.
I planted the creeper of love
And silently watered it with my tears;
Now it has grown and overspread my dwelling.
You offered me a cup of poison
Which I drank with joy.
Mira is absorbed in contemplation of Krishna,
She is with Him and all is well!

Mirabai


Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4300 on: December 25, 2018, 07:00:43 AM »

This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect
God's Virgin. Gone is a great while, and she
Was young in Nazareth of Galilee.
Her kin she cherished with devout respect:
Her gifts were simpleness of intellect
And supreme patience. From her mother's knee
Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity;
Strong in grave peace; in duty circumspect.
So held she through her girlhood; as it were
An angel-watered lily, that near God
Grows, and is quiet. Till one dawn, at home,
She woke in her white bed, and had no fear
At all, yet wept till sunshine, and felt awed;
Because the fullness of the time was come.

The Girlhood of Mary Virgin by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

« Last Edit: December 25, 2018, 07:14:06 AM by Jewell »

Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4301 on: December 25, 2018, 07:12:48 AM »

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you
and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.
Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven,
for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

(Matt. 5:1-12)


Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4302 on: January 17, 2019, 10:30:45 PM »
The Blissful Devotee and his Cosmic Romance (Master Mahasaya)

"Little sir, please be seated. I am talking to my Divine Mother."

Silently I had entered the room in great awe. The angelic appearance of Master Mahasaya fairly dazzled me. With silky white beard and large lustrous eyes, he seemed an incarnation of purity. His upraised chin and folded hands apprized me that my first visit had disturbed him in the midst of his devotions.

His simple words of greeting produced the most violent effect my nature had so far experienced. The bitter separation of my mother's death I had thought the measure of all anguish. Now an agony at separation from my Divine Mother was an indescribable torture of the spirit. I fell moaning to the floor.

"Little sir, quiet yourself!" The saint was sympathetically distressed.

Abandoned in some oceanic desolation, I clutched his feet as the sole raft of my rescue.

"Holy sir, thy intercession! Ask Divine Mother if I find any favor in Her sight!"

This promise is one not easily bestowed; the master was constrained to silence.

Beyond reach of doubt, I was convinced that Master Mahasaya was in intimate converse with the Universal Mother. It was deep humiliation to realize that my eyes were blind to Her who even at this moment was perceptible to the faultless gaze of the saint. Shamelessly gripping his feet, deaf to his gentle remonstrances, I besought him again and again for his intervening grace.

"I will make your plea to the Beloved." The master's capitulation came with a slow, compassionate smile.

What power in those few words, that my being should know release from its stormy exile?

"Sir, remember your pledge! I shall return soon for Her message!" Joyful anticipation rang in my voice that only a moment ago had been sobbing in sorrow.

Descending the long stairway, I was overwhelmed by memories. This house at 50 Amherst Street, now the residence of Master Mahasaya, had once been my family home, scene of my mother's death. Here my human heart had broken for the vanished mother; and here today my spirit had been as though crucified by absence of the Divine Mother. Hallowed walls, silent witness of my grievous hurts and final healing!

My steps were eager as I returned to my Gurpar Road home. Seeking the seclusion of my small attic, I remained in meditation until ten o'clock. The darkness of the warm Indian night was suddenly lit with a wondrous vision.

Haloed in splendor, the Divine Mother stood before me. Her face, tenderly smiling, was beauty itself.

"Always have I loved thee! Ever shall I love thee!"

The celestial tones still ringing in the air, She disappeared.

The sun on the following morning had hardly risen to an angle of decorum when I paid my second visit to Master Mahasaya. Climbing the staircase in the house of poignant memories, I reached his fourth-floor room. The knob of the closed door was wrapped around with a cloth; a hint, I felt, that the saint desired privacy. As I stood irresolutely on the landing, the door was opened by the master's welcoming hand. I knelt at his holy feet. In a playful mood, I wore a solemn mask over my face, hiding the divine elation.

"Sir, I have come-very early, I confess!-for your message. Did the Beloved Mother say anything about me?"

"Mischievous little sir!"

Not another remark would he make. Apparently my assumed gravity was unimpressive.

"Why so mysterious, so evasive? Do saints never speak plainly?" Perhaps I was a little provoked.

"Must you test me?" His calm eyes were full of understanding. "Could I add a single word this morning to the assurance you received last night at ten o'clock from the Beautiful Mother Herself?"

Master Mahasaya possessed control over the flood-gates of my soul: again I plunged prostrate at his feet. But this time my tears welled from a bliss, and not a pain, past bearing.

"Think you that your devotion did not touch the Infinite Mercy? The Motherhood of God, that you have worshiped in forms both human and divine, could never fail to answer your forsaken cry."

Who was this simple saint, whose least request to the Universal Spirit met with sweet acquiescence? His role in the world was humble, as befitted the greatest man of humility I ever knew. In this Amherst Street house, Master Mahasaya {FN9-1} conducted a small high school for boys. No words of chastisement passed his lips; no rule and ferule maintained his discipline. Higher mathematics indeed were taught in these modest classrooms, and a chemistry of love absent from the textbooks. He spread his wisdom by spiritual contagion rather than impermeable precept. Consumed by an unsophisticated passion for the Divine Mother, the saint no more demanded the outward forms of respect than a child.

"I am not your guru; he shall come a little later," he told me. "Through his guidance, your experiences of the Divine in terms of love and devotion shall be translated into his terms of fathomless wisdom."

Every late afternoon, I betook myself to Amherst Street. I sought Master Mahasaya's divine cup, so full that its drops daily overflowed on my being. Never before had I bowed in utter reverence; now I felt it an immeasurable privilege even to tread the same ground which Master Mahasaya sanctified.

"Sir, please wear this champak garland I have fashioned especially for you." I arrived one evening, holding my chain of flowers. But shyly he drew away, repeatedly refusing the honor. Perceiving my hurt, he finally smiled consent.

"Since we are both devotees of the Mother, you may put the garland on this bodily temple, as offering to Her who dwells within." His vast nature lacked space in which any egotistical consideration could gain foothold.

"Let us go tomorrow to the Dakshineswar Temple, forever hallowed by my guru." Master Mahasaya was a disciple of a Christlike master, Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa.

The four-mile journey on the following morning was taken by boat on the Ganges. We entered the nine-domed Temple of Kali, where the figures of the Divine Mother and Shiva rest on a burnished silver lotus, its thousand petals meticulously chiseled. Master Mahasaya beamed in enchantment. He was engaged in his inexhaustible romance with the Beloved. As he chanted Her name, my enraptured heart seemed shattered into a thousand pieces.

We strolled later through the sacred precincts, halting in a tamarisk grove. The manna characteristically exuded by this tree was symbolic of the heavenly food Master Mahasaya was bestowing. His divine invocations continued. I sat rigidly motionless on the grass amid the pink feathery tamarisk flowers. Temporarily absent from the body, I soared in a supernal visit.

This was the first of many pilgrimages to Dakshineswar with the holy teacher. From him I learned the sweetness of God in the aspect of Mother, or Divine Mercy. The childlike saint found little appeal in the Father aspect, or Divine Justice. Stern, exacting, mathematical judgment was alien to his gentle nature.

"He can serve as an earthly prototype for the very angels of heaven!" I thought fondly, watching him one day at his prayers. Without a breath of censure or criticism, he surveyed the world with eyes long familiar with the Primal Purity. His body, mind, speech, and actions were effortlessly harmonized with his soul's simplicity.

"My Master told me so." Shrinking from personal assertion, the saint ended any sage counsel with this invariable tribute. So deep was his identity with Sri Ramakrishna that Master Mahasaya no longer considered his thoughts as his own.

Hand in hand, the saint and I walked one evening on the block of his school. My joy was dimmed by the arrival of a conceited acquaintance who burdened us with a lengthy discourse.

"I see this man doesn't please you." The saint's whisper to me was unheard by the egotist, spellbound by his own monologue. "I have spoken to Divine Mother about it; She realizes our sad predicament. As soon as we get to yonder red house, She has promised to remind him of more urgent business."

My eyes were glued to the site of salvation. Reaching its red gate, the man unaccountably turned and departed, neither finishing his sentence nor saying good-by. The assaulted air was comforted with peace.

Another day found me walking alone near the Howrah railway station. I stood for a moment by a temple, silently criticizing a small group of men with drum and cymbals who were violently reciting a chant.

"How undevotionally they use the Lord's divine name in mechanical repetition," I reflected. My gaze was astonished by the rapid approach of Master Mahasaya. "Sir, how come you here?"

The saint, ignoring my question, answered my thought. "Isn't it true, little sir, that the Beloved's name sounds sweet from all lips, ignorant or wise?" He passed his arm around me affectionately; I found myself carried on his magic carpet to the Merciful Presence.

"Would you like to see some bioscopes?" This question one afternoon from Master Mahasaya was mystifying; the term was then used in India to signify motion pictures. I agreed, glad to be in his company in any circumstances. A brisk walk brought us to the garden fronting Calcutta University. My companion indicated a bench near the GOLDIGHI or pond.

"Let us sit here for a few minutes. My Master always asked me to meditate whenever I saw an expanse of water. Here its placidity reminds us of the vast calmness of God. As all things can be reflected in water, so the whole universe is mirrored in the lake of the Cosmic Mind. So my GURUDEVA often said."

Soon we entered a university hall where a lecture was in progress. It proved abysmally dull, though varied occasionally by lantern slide illustrations, equally uninteresting.

"So this is the kind of bioscope the master wanted me to see!" My thought was impatient, yet I would not hurt the saint by revealing boredom in my face. But he leaned toward me confidentially.

"I see, little sir, that you don't like this bioscope. I have mentioned it to Divine Mother; She is in full sympathy with us both. She tells me that the electric lights will now go out, and won't be relit until we have a chance to leave the room."

As his whisper ended, the hall was plunged into darkness. The professor's strident voice was stilled in astonishment, then remarked, "The electrical system of this hall appears to be defective." By this time, Master Mahasaya and I were safely across the threshold. Glancing back from the corridor, I saw that the scene of our martyrdom had again become illuminated.

"Little sir, you were disappointed in that bioscope, but I think you will like a different one." The saint and I were standing on the sidewalk in front of the university building. He gently slapped my chest over the heart.

A transforming silence ensued. Just as the modern "talkies" become inaudible motion pictures when the sound apparatus goes out of order, so the Divine Hand, by some strange miracle, stifled the earthly bustle. The pedestrians as well as the passing trolley cars, automobiles, bullock carts, and iron-wheeled hackney carriages were all in noiseless transit. As though possessing an omnipresent eye, I beheld the scenes which were behind me, and to each side, as easily as those in front. The whole spectacle of activity in that small section of Calcutta passed before me without a sound. Like a glow of fire dimly seen beneath a thin coat of ashes, a mellow luminescence permeated the panoramic view.

My own body seemed nothing more than one of the many shadows, though it was motionless, while the others flitted mutely to and fro. Several boys, friends of mine, approached and passed on; though they had looked directly at me, it was without recognition.

The unique pantomime brought me an inexpressible ecstasy. I drank deep from some blissful fount. Suddenly my chest received another soft blow from Master Mahasaya. The pandemonium of the world burst upon my unwilling ears. I staggered, as though harshly awakened from a gossamer dream. The transcendental wine removed beyond my reach.

"Little sir, I see you found the second bioscope to your liking." The saint was smiling; I started to drop in gratitude on the ground before him. "You can't do that to me now; you know God is in your temple also! I won't let Divine Mother touch my feet through your hands!"

If anyone observed the unpretentious master and myself as we walked away from the crowded pavement, the onlooker surely suspected us of intoxication. I felt that the falling shades of evening were sympathetically drunk with God. When darkness recovered from its nightly swoon, I faced the new morning bereft of my ecstatic mood. But ever enshrined in memory is the seraphic son of Divine Mother-Master Mahasaya!

Trying with poor words to do justice to his benignity, I wonder if Master Mahasaya, and others among the deep-visioned saints whose paths crossed mine, knew that years later, in a Western land, I would be writing about their lives as divine devotees. Their foreknowledge would not surprise me nor, I hope, my readers, who have come thus far with me.

Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda
Chapter 9

Endnotes
{FN9-1} These are respectful titles by which he was customarily addressed. His name was Mahendra Nath Gupta; he signed his literary works simply "M."




Jewell

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4303 on: January 17, 2019, 11:08:19 PM »

Call out Kali, Kali


Just think of it, Mind -
No one's anything to anyone.
You've come back to this world
For nothing.
And for the few days of your life
They all call you master.
But they'll drop that master soon enough
When the master of life and death shows up.
And will she who you worried yourself sick for,
Will she stick by you then?
The dear woman will sprinkly cow dung
To clear out the bad luck.

Shri Ramprasad says: When Death
Grabs you by the hair,
Call out: Kali, Kali -
Then what can He do?

- Ramprasad Sen

From: Grace and Mercy in her Wild Hair
Selected Poems to the Mother Goddess
Translated by Leonard Nathan and Clinton Seely

« Last Edit: January 17, 2019, 11:20:30 PM by Jewell »

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Re: Divine poetry and thoughts
« Reply #4304 on: January 17, 2019, 11:35:42 PM »
God is a meticulous dock maker.
So precise is His order that everything on earth happens in its own time.
Neither a minute late nor a minute early.
And for everyone without exception, the clock works accurately.
For each there is a time to love and a time to die.


This world is erected upon the principle of reciprocity.
Neither a drop of kindness nor a speck of evil will remain unreciprocated.
For not the plots, deceptions, or tricks of other people.
If somebody is setting a trap, remember, so is God.
He is the biggest plotter. Not even a leaf stirs outside God's knowledge.
Simply and fully believe in that.
Whatever God does, He does it beautifully.

Rumi