A saint and a sinner

The Reveller of Hari

2011-12-19T01:15:00.000-08:00

In a mind that is lost in Hari,

Where is the thought of the world?

Like the dream-sublimation of dream-camphor in dream-fire,

He has burned his ignorance away,

Leaving behind only the sweetness of Love.

People call him a madman,

Insensitive and narrow-minded,

Escaping from his duties,

Cut-off from the world.

"A pity, really. Let him be", they say.

A pity indeed, this ignorance.

For to such a one lost in Hari,

Hari alone is, he himself is not.

O world! Pray tell .. what is the duty of a non-entity?

Love alone is, but no one that loves.

The God-mad-man moves from rapture to rapture,

Rolling in velvet as he does in mud,

Eating dung just as ghee-filled sweets,

Wearing rose garlands just as ones with slippers,

Resounding the perpetual message,

"Hari alone is! Hari alone is!".

A little message to myself ;).

2011-12-16T21:13:00.001-08:00

And then when you have tired of looking outward,

Practice a little Truth, for it is always healing,
A little Humility, for it removes the poison of self-righteousness,
A little Dispassion, for we ought not to be chained to pettiness,
A little Joy, for any journey remains unworthy without it,
A little Love, for joy is real only when it is freely shared.
A little Inquisitiveness, for it is true aliveness.

These, and then again and again and again,
In every breath, until the last one,
That is all there is to it.

Lead, Kindly Light.

2011-11-09T21:41:00.001-08:00

Help with this and help with that,
Asking thus, or not asking,
Your beings sing Your fame.
Having done so, promising to coming back later,
They wish to leave.

But with You all around,
How can one leave?
For, though one star is but dear to the Earth,
Uncountable shine in the sky,
While in the glory of day,
the others may dim,
Yet at night, there still is Light.

All beings and things are lost in You,
Not knowing this is Loss.
To them who are lost thus,
You come as a Teacher,
So they may know,
That they are lost in You.

What of those who know such?
To them, You are found
Before all things are found,
Shining as themSelf.

If touched by You,
things become holy,
What of the mind, that knows things,
Only because of You?

Becoming all things as the Lord,
Sanctifying all things as the Teacher,
Enlivening all things as the Self,
Not doing anything at all,
You remain still.
____________

Probably not much as poetry, but had to let this one out. Inspired mostly from the following verse -

ईश्वरोगुरुरात्मेति मूर्तिभेदविभागिने।

व्योमवद्व्याप्तदेहाय दक्षिणामूर्तये नमः ॥

- that looks upon Sri DakshiNamUrthy as the Lord of All things, one's own Teacher of Self-Knowledge, and as the Self itself.
_____________________

His Master's Voice

2011-07-11T21:54:00.001-07:00

The greatest songs flow from a sweet heart:

Nay, the greatest songs, transform the singer.

The thought of The Master's Word works thus

Leaving a mind's delight and a Heart's joy

Brimming with much to sing,

Songs that leave their sweetness behind.

In the heart always was the Whisper

Of the Word, many times ignored.

Regretable, yes, and still more to come,

But the Hand of Compassion grows long,

Much longer than our faults.

Them that have heard the thunder of the Whisper

Them that have felt the elephantine Compassion

Them that are blessed thus,

And them that speak of the blessing

To their feet this surrender.

And a plee:

Pray, when the time comes,

Guide us not about things

To be done and not be done.

But to that wonderland of Non-doing.

Where things are not what they appear to be,

Nor are they not.

Song from Vrindavan.

2011-06-14T21:52:00.000-07:00

There must have been a time

When we were together

This I do remember

For you are my dream warrior.

You have played your games long

And you have been long gone

But your scent.. the way's song

Tells me nothing's wrong

All the way along.

Do you remember me, lover..

As the arrows from your quiver

Plunged into the soul's river

Or do you forget we were here?

I was afraid to lose my own

My sorrow and happiness all torn.

But now, I am no more a fawn

Your scent.. the way's song

Telling me nothing's wrong,

All the way along.

_____________________________

Inspired in part by "Crazy Heart".

One peg of Vedanta at a time (aka) ஒரு கோப்பையிலே என் குடி இருப்பு (aka) எல்லாம் மன பிராந்தி

2011-06-04T21:25:00.000-07:00

Once I drank with hoodlums,

At times with the civilized ones,

Then with those too,

Who spoke high of being sober,

Yet drank more than all.

They come and go,

Glasses empty, full and empty again,

Just a few more rounds,

I thought.

Little did I know,

This was a bottomless mandate.

The sober ones tell me

I shall stop only when the Live-r dies.

I will then be Alcoholic - Anonymous.

The drinker in me might still be alcoholic,

But I will be Anonymous!

Death shall come to me then,

Life shall be Me then.

The Beauty and the Beast.

2010-11-11T01:47:00.000-08:00

Buried in the bloated bubble of belief,

light is stained by the thin-film walls.

Deep in the dreary den of disbelief,

light is perceived by its omnipresent absence.

Transcending this, that and then,

light lights up in the color of her suitor.

The leaves and their tree

Assuming different orders of beingness

All stardust.

Was darkness born from the shades of Light

Was light born out of the emptiness of Darkness?

Sound from silence, or silence from sound ?

Or even these, fragments of One beyond?

The Buddha shut up, and so might we.

Maybe since, to claim knowledge, there must be a knower,

To claim belief, a believer.

But He, having torched all equally, is a non-achiever,

A dragon that eats it's own tail continuosly, mirroring Life.

Nirvana is Samsara, Samsara is Nirvana

And both shall go on and on without end,

The pettyness of Existence is very much the Beauty of It!

------------------

P.S: The first lines in italics is by Sreeram K. The rest are my response.

Warrior in peace ..

2010-03-24T22:58:00.000-07:00

He turned and turned and turned and turned

And saw only ghosts of darkness around him all sides

Neither could they be pierced nor be burned

Without warning, thus, came the hell-tides.

Armed with nothing but his strings

He pulls them in desperate panic

The more he pulls, the quicker the ghosts spring

And dance a dark symphony that had gone lunatic.

At last he learned he had to stop twitching

So the best course was to remain silent

The horror finally rested at its right setting

Not a thing of beauty or terror, neither straight nor bent,

Only sublime, only sublime.

And so he turned and turned and turned and turned,

And saw only ghosts of light around him on all sides,

Neither could they be pierced nor be burned

Thus without warning, Heaven's own bride he became.

------

P.S:

1. This poem is inspired by and dedicated to the track "Chevaliers de Sangreal" by Hans Zimmer for the movie "The Da Vinci Code".

2. Readers of advaita will quickly recognize where the line - "the best course was to remain silent" - came from.

3. "Only sublime, only sublime" - is inspired by Joseph Campbell's comment on how the experience of war and monstrosity can sometimes be sublime.

Ode to a Poet

2010-01-09T22:51:00.000-08:00

Tonight a poet is begotten by a Poet-begotten poetry

When he awed as to how the Poet

Created creations of such Beauty

That She goes into Her own depths

And find Her hidden in Herself.

What is to be said of your words, O Poet,

So precise, like a child's call to its mother

Yet so gentle, like the breeze that covets the dry leaf

As it is pulled towards its irrevocable destiny

O Poet, my heart does say

That you have seen the Truth of truths.

Yet not all bring Her forth as you have

For it seems as though, in your pen,

She comes as darkened clouds that rain Bliss

Just as your reader looks up

At the sky of your poetry.

-------

Inspired by Khalil Gibran's "The Prophet".

The Island

2009-12-10T21:10:00.000-08:00

You know we both row our boats
In the sea of sorrow and suffering
But sometimes I row back to the Island
where grows the flowers of one colour,
Only to find you there too.

Wondering how you are in two places at once,
But feeling not worthy of asking,
I merely abide in your presence
And let the fragrance of the flowers
Clear my sense.

Oh, there are others who desire your presence,
In whose skies you are not merely a distant star, but the Sun,
They covet every one of your beams of movement,
Just like a box of diamonds.

If I loathe myself for my betrayed oars,
You give me one of those guiding flowers,
Perhaps meaning "Follow its fragrance",
Wherever it leads, I guess it should be home;
And so I leave with this final prayer.

As the One with forms and the One without,
As That which is, and That which is not,
As the Flower and its Fragrance, the Gem and its Radiance,
As Matter and Spirit, Destiny and Destination,
As the Primordial Guide, You must come and bestow Your Grace.

------------------------------------------------

P.S:: The last 5 lines are a translation of a piece written by the Saint Arunagirinaadhar in his magnificent account of Bhakthi and Advaita together, called Kandar Anubhoothi.

A Chinese box

2009-10-13T03:58:00.000-07:00

Living in a world of misconception,
With a smoggy sense of righteousness,
He rolled the dice with much fervour,
Eager to win, and unwilling to lose.

The dice rolled on the board,
Into a number that he wanted not,
He cursed it for what came,
and the others for playing a false game.

He always failed to see
The local chance and the global order,
That led all the pieces
into the common home together.

And then there was another man,
who joined the game.
He played as though there was no tomorrow,
But he laughed at each move of sorrow.

People often wondered why,
and would ask him, 'Won't you ever cry?'
He would then point at the the sky,
And would talk of one so nigh.

'The one plays us all', he said,
'We are all his pieces.'
'And as a one big peg, all is done through us.'
The first man still repented 'his' mistake, though.

The one rubbed his hands and rolled the die,
The big peg went home.
He smiled at the other one,
who had just told him about the one who plays them all.

Angels

2009-10-13T03:55:00.000-07:00

Such people are angels,
Babies that live a few days,
People who into monstrous deaths strayed,
Destiny with their knives who made,
Our freedom, with cruel eyes, who forbade,
With strenous jealousy who grade,
In a thousand lies, their truths who fade.

Such people are angels,
Whose wings of a crimson fate,
Blow us away into a Light so great.

The fire of desire

2009-01-27T01:03:00.000-08:00

The tightness in my heart churns up the hemlock
That my mind must drink, as did the Greek savant
Such courage must You give, so I might not
Look back nor further, but relish Your sweetness
In the moments of my victorious vanquish.

Like the window that stutters in a storm
I am, when I think of my Fall
From when I cannot feel the flow of Your rhyme.
Confused and irate, I might resent my fate
If not for Your grace.

I desire to wait
The sight of Your magic carpet,
So I may hold Your feet and fly away
From hazy ignorance and choking knowledge
And at last see their light and darkness.

I can climb the steps,
Walk the distance, light the lamps,
Drink my hemlock, breathe the breaths,
If only You would grace me
The fire of desiring You.

One night in a candle lit room, me and...

2008-11-07T00:26:00.000-08:00

This is a three part post. Because it is too big to be read at one go (even for me :D), I made it in such a way that you can cut to the chase. In case you want to read the complete post, click on the links before and after.(I had some fun in editing Javascript and including that in this post - See how to get that done here and here )

The prelude (Click here to see/hide)

A flavour of my mood...sober..irritated by a dripping nose..a bit pensive(at what the world was going through)..er, did I say dripping nose?..let me move on.

I walked into my room. I am used to not doing any intellectual thinking post dinner. So that day, I decided to have some private time with my CD player, some of my favourite music in it, and how about that in just the light of a candle?. My devilish mind is capable of many strange things (mostly in my head, and rarely in physical action :P) in solitude, many of those are maniacal, some depressing, and some are of a godly nature (Thank God, I guess that means I am still human and not one of those Reptilians who want to take over the world - G.W.Bush Jr is supposed to be one of them :P) One of them turned out to be what I did on that day.

A personal candle-light after-dinner time :D. It was a romantic (:P), calming exercise just to bathe in the soft warmth of the flickering light,with great music playing in my ears. I was walking around in my room (its pretty small, but I can go in rounds :P) , but I guess I should really be saying that I was floating around here and there. I felt like a bird just set free, having stopped running behind those crazy thoughts which I keep having in times like these.

It was almost like a ceremony of witchcraft, weird, and yet somehow awe-some and sacred. Themes similar to those in The Witch of Portobello (by Paulo Coelho) and those suggested by Joseph Campbell kept coming to me.

"My temple is the park, the sky, the water in the lake, and the stream that feeds it. My people are those who share my ideas and not those I'm bound to by bonds of blood. My ritual is being with those people and celebrating everything around me. " - The Witch of Portobello

"the idea of a sacred space where the walls and laws of the temporal world dissolve to reveal wonder is apparently as old as the human race " - J.C

Certain things, about myself and this world, became very clear at that moment (perhaps they have lost their clarity now). I even got a couple of ideas for my paintings (not for my research though :P), something that was giving me the slip for quite a while now. And so that was a sacred experience, right there in my little room.

The moral of the story :p ( Click here to see/hide )

Much Love,

Prasad.

My blog is a SPAM blog!

2008-10-21T22:21:00.001-07:00

I created this blog two days back, and was desperate to write my first post about something the same day, but that went in vain (as has happened several times :P). Then the next day, I receive this in my inbox ::

Hello,

Your blog at: http://dropofeternity.blogspot.com/ has been identified as a potential spam blog. To correct this, please request a review by filling out the form at http://someaddress.

I was a bit shell shocked at the amazing 'response-time' with which the 'automatic spam blog filter' of Blogspot worked to find my 'nonsensical' methods of trying to post my first blog post. :D

Blogger's spam blog removal policy clearly states here - As with many powerful tools, blogging services can be both used and abused. The ease of creating and updating webpages with Blogger has made it particularly prone to a form of behavior known as link spamming. Blogs engaged in this behavior are called spam blogs, and can be recognized by their irrelevant, repetitive, or nonsensical text, along with a large number of links, usually all pointing to a single site.

Anyway, as it turns out, I got my blog set right, and here I sit spam-blogging in peace as the world runs deeper into its own chaotic mess.

Love and Light,

Prasad.

Inspirations..

2008-10-21T21:54:00.000-07:00

Hi ..

As my first blog, I dedicate it to the inspirations behind the title of the blog and the lines underneath.

The title is inspired from the Indian movie, " The Guide " (Hindi), which was based on a novel of the same name by R.K. Narayanan. It is the story of a person who comes to his own bliss in life through the pendulous experiences of his life.

The blog description (the lines underneath the title) are the first four verses of "Auguries of Innocence", a poem by William Blake. Here's the whole poem.

---------------------------------------------------

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage

Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons

Shudders hell thro' all its regions.

A dog starv'd at his master's gate

Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road

Calls to heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare

A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,

A cherubim does cease to sing.

The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight

Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl

Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,

Keeps the human soul from care.

The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,

And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve

Has left the brain that won't believe.

The owl that calls upon the night

Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren

Shall never be belov'd by men.

He who the ox to wrath has mov'd

Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly

Shall feel the spider's enmity.

He who torments the chafer's sprite

Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf

Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.

Kill not the moth nor butterfly,

For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war

Shall never pass the polar bar.

The beggar's dog and widow's cat,

Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song

Poison gets from slander's tongue.

The poison of the snake and newt

Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee

Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags

Are toadstools on the miser's bags.

A truth that's told with bad intent

Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,

Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;

Every farmer understands.

Every tear from every eye

Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,

And return'd to its own delight.

The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,

Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath

Writes revenge in realms of death.

The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,

Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,

Palsied strikes the summer's sun.

The poor man's farthing is worth more

Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands

Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;

Or, if protected from on high,

Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith

Shall be mock'd in age and death.

He who shall teach the child to doubt

The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith

Triumphs over hell and death.

The child's toys and the old man's reasons

Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,

Shall never know how to reply.

He who replies to words of doubt

Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known

Came from Caesar's laurel crown.

Nought can deform the human race

Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,

To peaceful arts shall envy bow.

A riddle, or the cricket's cry,

Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile

Make lame philosophy to smile.

He who doubts from what he sees

Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,

They'd immediately go out.

To be in a passion you good may do,

But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state

Licensed, build that nation's fate.

The harlot's cry from street to street

Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,

Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born,

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie

When we see not thro' the eye,

Which was born in a night to perish in a night,

When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,

To those poor souls who dwell in night;

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day.

----------------------------------------------

Love and Light,

Prasad.

How to name it

2008-09-28T21:55:00.000-07:00

Every time the word 'bye' passes your lips,
Every time a tryst with you comes to an end,
I seek to be lifted in your arms,
So I may forget the world of pain,
And see all beauty in it all over again.

But no, that won't happen, not in this life,
For my years of innocence have come to pass,
Or so say the civilized.
Hence I am , thus content,
with your tone, and your breath.

A touch of your magic love,
Shall bite and heal many,
Of which a few shall know,
The angel which you are,
And fewer, the angel which they are.

Pray, I be one of those,
Not anymore blessed than any other being,
That had had a mother,
As lovely as you are.

Everytime the word 'bye' passes your lips,
Everytime a tryst with you ends,
Everytime, I seek to be lifted in your arms,
Or lift you in mine,
So in the ocean of Love,
Shall we fly together.

----------------------------
- To Ma

I Am.

2008-07-02T21:11:00.000-07:00

I am the smile that is smiled,
I am the laugh that is laughed,
The wail of the child, the softness of its palms,
The soar of the kite, the waft that makes it fly.

I am the trance of music, the rhythm of dance,
The freshness of dew, the strokes of the painter's brush,
The poem that writes itself, the Love in the beloved's eyes,
If only the poet shall listen, if only the lover shall see.

-------------------------------------------------------------
Love,
Prasad.

As I felt it....

2008-05-15T09:09:00.000-07:00

Tears rolled down my cheeks,
As the sadness crept into my Heart,
The Light of my Master, if I do not see,
In vain will my life be.

Do I feign, or am I worth,
I know not, at least, not yet,
All things do have a reason, but.
Is what I must trust.

The bees come for the light,
The light that shines so bright.
So desperate to catch it, as they are
They know not of the fear,
Of losing their way, or of death.
Get to the light, they must.
Get to that Light, I must.

---------------------------------------------------

Romancing in myself...

2008-04-17T21:50:00.000-07:00

Came forth the lover and his beloved
In my Heart as the song played

Mad was I at this enchantress of mine,
The sounds of his horse and the clank of his armour,
Struggled to ride with her waves,
Playing my games, I ran faster from him,
The emotions on her sea of love,
Charming was his valour, with a touch of madness for me,
The Galahad in me wouldn't give up though,
Loved I his Heart that shone so bright,
For his Grail , she was.
Little does he see, his chase is my game,
But I... I was already his own.

And so as the song played in my Heart,
Came forth the lover and his beloved,
Their frolic, faster than thought, filled my Universe,
Each in the other arms, finally, a flower bloomed,
Giving of in its scent, all the beautiful things
In this world and beyond
_____________________________________________

Inspired by songs from the movie, ' Alaipaayuthe' ( the Tamil original of 'Saathiya ' ) . Credits - AR Rahman ( Music ) , Vairamuthu ( Lyrics ) , Mani Ratnam ( Situations ? :D )

P.S:

1.The Black lines are Prasad's. The orange lines are of the Lover in Prasad. The blue ones are of the Beloved in Prasad. I hope its not as confusing as it seemed :D.
2. Galahad ( Sir Galahad ) : Sir Galahad is a knight of King Arthur's Round Table and one of the three achievers of the Holy Grail in Arthurian legend .

One

2008-04-11T10:46:00.000-07:00

Across Time and Space,
The Illusion with its mist and haze,
Swam I through the Heart's ways,
To meet each of my Selves in their days.

Each of them were of a form,
Each, of a different eye and charm,
I stopped, and to each said:
' Thou art not by body and mind limited,
Thou art not from anyone omitted,
So to the path of Love alone stay committed '

And so along the Heart's ways,
I met myself who started this journey,
And to him said,
'Thou art not by body and mind limited,
Thou art not from anyone omitted,
So to the path of Love alone stay committed '
After all, what started, and what ended ?

---------------------------------------------

Inspired by 'One', and 'The Bridge across forever' , by Richard Bach

Pearls from the Sky

2008-03-17T02:57:00.000-07:00

The sounds of a loving heart
made their way into my ears...
Listening to that beautiful song,
I sat down in Stillness.

A hundred thousand rain drops fell
on the dirty streets that day..
Not one of them, I noticed, but saw
Only the flower of love
That had bloomed through.

The eyeless petals, each of one magnificence,
the black angel,held together,at the centre;
I crept so near,
That their hearts felt so dear.

Struck my hand out, for them to touch,
Brightened by their Light..I left with the angel,
Touched in my soul,Saying to myself,
'Well, the dark clouds have not left the sky,
Nor has the night passed, but into my Heart,
the Sun has given me a loving peek'
---------------------------------------------
- This is on a trip to Samarthanam (www.samarthanam.org), an organisation
for the visually and physically challenged, with one of my Maas. In Love, Prasad.

In Waiting ...

2008-03-05T21:40:00.000-08:00

Far from the world, I live,
on the island of Love.

All the days through nights,
I spent there...
Sitting on the shore,
playing with its sands.
Looking at the waters,
helping you row...
Listening to the music of winds,
carrying your messages...
With my hope,
Is your Light...

waiting am I,
for u to join me.

Dreamt I that you came,
Not by the waters but by the wind,
Love had given you wings.

You soared over the seas,
and saw the Horizon,
The Giver of Life and His flaming chariot,
took you into His embrace.

Returning from His domain,
You came, just for me,
Or so I thought, true might not be.
Yet I could feel your warmth,
And in that, all Life safely do I breathe.

-------------------------------------------
- Coauthored by one of my beloveds and me :D. Love, all.. :).

Inspirations.

2007-12-18T04:01:00.000-08:00

Sign-posts. Pointers. Inspirations. Magical doors. Loving Invitations. Invisible helping hands... :) .. I never tire of them these days.

Someone said ' We are all magnets ' ( I suppose many have said this in their own way ). How true that is!

Or maybe, it seems to be true, since I believe it. But doesn't that make it objectively true ? Interesting dilemma, I thought.

I was left wondering today, how it would feel, if we really did see every single thing, every single event, every single moment of our lives as a pointer, as an inspiration, an invitation from God.

Or if you wish to call Her, The Supreme Spirit.
Or perhaps, the Self.
Or perhaps, the Origin of all Inspiration.

Anyway you wish to call it, as long as , it is coming as a 'breakthrough', as an 'unexpected visitor', ever-fresh, ever new, never redundant, never a by-product of the ageless ruminations of most of our thoughts.

My second thought about this question ( yes, I wrote and you read it right... it is my 'second' thought ) is that maybe I would be mind-blind to them. I mean, maybe I would choose to see the inspirations, but not act on them. Refuse to be a tool for its manifestation. Refuse God, perhaps.

Sounds frightening, does it?

I suppose then I will let you know that most of us have been doing exactly that for quite some time. Perhaps its not so shocking now. Many of our lives seem OK. Manageable. Do-able. Why change it, for some 'aaha!' that is probably not going to be easy, not going to be in our comfort-zones to act? So we choose not to act on it. Chuck it. Nip it in the bud. Let it into the dungeons of our mind, never to open again.

Will we then stop seeing too, in time? Maybe. Unless we don't. If we do stop seeing the pointers, the inspirations, would they cease to be there?

Yes, perhaps. Until we look to see otherwise. Until we choose to believe that no matter how deep we bury ourselves, our inspirations and our grander notions about ourselves, a simple act of Love can blow it all away, pick us up from the dungeons, deliver us from the dragons.

Incidentally my first thought about the question is that I would be awed. Awed to such an extent that I would no longer be there. Not as me, not as Prasad.

Maybe as something else. Maybe as a mere sink for the inspiration, I would be. Maybe as a tool for the inspiration to be manifest, I would be. And how beautiful would that be, I have no real idea, except that it would atleast be as beautiful as now, when I chose to act on my inspiration.

The inspiration was a question, that prodded me to answer. The question was the central question of this journal entry. And I did answer, on the same day, in just a few hours. I did write something about it, if not an appropriate 'answer'. This is the piece. You are reading it. As it is said, strike while the iron is still hot, ahem... ;)..

I believe we always live to see another day, another way. I hope that day, that way, is going to be aligned with my first thought about my question, as here in this journal entry. I hope it comes sooner than we can think of it. For me, for you, and for everyone else.

Much Love and Light,
Prasad - as The tool that answered an inspiration.

Wordless

2007-11-02T21:55:00.000-07:00

There is Joy in joy, and Joy in grief,
Truth in truth, and Truth in the lie,
Love in love, Love in hate.
What matters, is our choice of fate!

There is Peace in peace, and in war,
Blessing in the blessing, and in the curse,
Beauty in the beauty, and in the beast.
What matters, is our choice in the Grand Feast!

In life, Life is, and so in death,
The Now, in the past and the future,
Oh my Beloved, of what Grace
Are you manifest, in the Hearts
Of the compassionate, and of the heartless!

Here I come, there I go,
Weeping for your Love, you do know!
Not in need, but in awe,
My pierced Heart stops, and only says Wow!