Let's levitate for a change, then!
It is true that I'm not much into speculation and like to test this kind of thing in the lab, as it were.
But maybe I'm missing out on something. Which direction shall it be, Magistra?
Discussing spiritual or mystical things more deeply
- Thread starter Cino
- Start date
Let's levitate for a change, then!
It is true that I'm not much into speculation and like to test this kind of thing in the lab, as it were.
But maybe I'm missing out on something. Which direction shall it be, Magistra?
Bhaktajan II
Hare Krishna Yogi
- Messages
- 2,277
- Reaction score
- 115
- Points
- 63
I have heard this
Soul is speck of Brahman
all one's own
a cell of anti-matter
Sat-cheet-ananda
eternal-conscious-bliss
incarnate soul vector
all one's own to maneuver
sojourning accrues
artha, kama and dharma
alas as Alfalfa said:
the bigger they are the harder they fall
So the soul seeks to animate the inert matter.
karma works are done, karma fruits are earned
and that's what make the world go round and round.
Soul is speck of Brahman
all one's own
a cell of anti-matter
Sat-cheet-ananda
eternal-conscious-bliss
incarnate soul vector
all one's own to maneuver
sojourning accrues
artha, kama and dharma
alas as Alfalfa said:
the bigger they are the harder they fall
So the soul seeks to animate the inert matter.
karma works are done, karma fruits are earned
and that's what make the world go round and round.
Inching close to the well's rim
Looking down through metal grating:
Two beings on a landing below,
Haplessly dangerous, locked away.
On the windy grassland above
Stagger white-clad, hooded figures.
I sit in their path cross-legged,
Muttering charms and benedictions.
In the infinite tiled landscape,
One indistinguishable honeycomb
Is known to be exceptional.
All the larvae wiggling in their cells,
Randomly, in stochastic unison,
Form an x-ray image of my skull.
Looking down through metal grating:
Two beings on a landing below,
Haplessly dangerous, locked away.
On the windy grassland above
Stagger white-clad, hooded figures.
I sit in their path cross-legged,
Muttering charms and benedictions.
In the infinite tiled landscape,
One indistinguishable honeycomb
Is known to be exceptional.
All the larvae wiggling in their cells,
Randomly, in stochastic unison,
Form an x-ray image of my skull.
Bhaktajan II
Hare Krishna Yogi
- Messages
- 2,277
- Reaction score
- 115
- Points
- 63
In Greek mythology, the Titan Prometheus had a reputation as being something of a clever trickster and he famously gave the human race the gift of fire and the skill of metalwork, an action for which he was punished by Zeus, who ensured everyday that an eagle ate the liver of the Titan as he was helplessly chained to a ...
Prometheus is chained to a rock in the Caucasus for eternity, where his liver is eaten daily by an eagle, only to be regenerated by night, due to his immortality. The eagleis a symbol of Zeus himself. Years later, the Greek hero Heracles (Hercules) slays theeagle and frees Prometheus from his torment (520–528).
The wound proved incurable, and Chiron wished to die, but being immortal, he could not. It was then that Prometheus 1 offered himself to Zeus to be immortal in his stead, and the request being granted by the god, Chiron died and Prometheus obtained immortality.
Prometheus is chained to a rock in the Caucasus for eternity, where his liver is eaten daily by an eagle, only to be regenerated by night, due to his immortality. The eagleis a symbol of Zeus himself. Years later, the Greek hero Heracles (Hercules) slays theeagle and frees Prometheus from his torment (520–528).
The wound proved incurable, and Chiron wished to die, but being immortal, he could not. It was then that Prometheus 1 offered himself to Zeus to be immortal in his stead, and the request being granted by the god, Chiron died and Prometheus obtained immortality.
No good deed goes unpunished
The gods are no strangers to evil deeds
Self-sacrifice is a contagious disease
Incurable like hunger and thirst
The shades of Tantalos and Euridice
Live to tell the tale.
All things subsist on nourishment
We live off the fruit of our labor
In the sweat of our brows
Imagine Sisyphus a happy man
For he beheld Zeus in his glory
And now he shrugs at repeated misfortune.
The gods are no strangers to evil deeds
Self-sacrifice is a contagious disease
Incurable like hunger and thirst
The shades of Tantalos and Euridice
Live to tell the tale.
All things subsist on nourishment
We live off the fruit of our labor
In the sweat of our brows
Imagine Sisyphus a happy man
For he beheld Zeus in his glory
And now he shrugs at repeated misfortune.
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The clear, open sky above the seven heavens is exquisitely dark and spacious, lit by a light much subtler than photons, which have nothing to illuminate out here. The moon never rose here, the sun is not known, darkness is nowhere to be seen.
A loop is what you're in
when you get nowhere
though you try
Like a bee against a window
you'll be stuck there
till you die
There is no real horizon
where the ocean
meets the sky
You have to climb out of a loop
To leave it, you must rise
Then from beyond it's limits
you may look back in surprise
to see your loop was never there at all
So what are you outside?
when you get nowhere
though you try
Like a bee against a window
you'll be stuck there
till you die
There is no real horizon
where the ocean
meets the sky
You have to climb out of a loop
To leave it, you must rise
Then from beyond it's limits
you may look back in surprise
to see your loop was never there at all
So what are you outside?
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I like the lack of discussion in this thread, just the instigation of contemplation, feels koanish
Craz
Well-Known Member
Form:Formless?
Spiritual, Physical?
Who defines the boundaries of experience?. Thoughts of people.
I see a continuum.
Another time; it's always that
Infinitely recursive without a base-case? or maybe not?
Is this the ultimate question?!
Perseverance in being, any rest?
I awoke but has no sleep.
I hear birds twitter where there are no birds.
I taste a sweetness that calms; a characteristic of the primary form of existence?
It is all too familiar, yet...
Enough with questions
Living reality as total; always changing.
What? No absolute?
Hypocrite, said no questions.
Dayanu
Spiritual, Physical?
Who defines the boundaries of experience?. Thoughts of people.
I see a continuum.
Another time; it's always that
Infinitely recursive without a base-case? or maybe not?
Is this the ultimate question?!
Perseverance in being, any rest?
I awoke but has no sleep.
I hear birds twitter where there are no birds.
I taste a sweetness that calms; a characteristic of the primary form of existence?
It is all too familiar, yet...
Enough with questions
Living reality as total; always changing.
What? No absolute?
Hypocrite, said no questions.
Dayanu
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Bhaktajan II
Hare Krishna Yogi
- Messages
- 2,277
- Reaction score
- 115
- Points
- 63
Appreciate the invocations.
I] Is there such a thing as absolute void? aka absolute Zero?
I] Is there such a thing as absolute void? aka absolute Zero?
Bhaktajan II
Hare Krishna Yogi
- Messages
- 2,277
- Reaction score
- 115
- Points
- 63
II] A RIDDLE:
What is the name for something that
possesses all power
along with
All wealth,
all intelligence,
all beauty,
all fame and also be
an absolute renunciate,
all at the same time?
All simultaneously to its ad-infinitum degree?
Can you Name it?
What is the name for something that
possesses all power
along with
All wealth,
all intelligence,
all beauty,
all fame and also be
an absolute renunciate,
all at the same time?
All simultaneously to its ad-infinitum degree?
Can you Name it?
The talking head
The prophesying head
The head declaiming honey-sweet verses
The wise head, dispensing teachings
The beloved's head
Cut it off, gently, swiftly
So as not to cause pain
So as to protect it, that it may last a long time
And place it carefully, tenderly
To the left
Not on the silver platter
Not in a grail or casket
But deeply into the Left
And dance
The prophesying head
The head declaiming honey-sweet verses
The wise head, dispensing teachings
The beloved's head
Cut it off, gently, swiftly
So as not to cause pain
So as to protect it, that it may last a long time
And place it carefully, tenderly
To the left
Not on the silver platter
Not in a grail or casket
But deeply into the Left
And dance
Craz
Well-Known Member
Sarmad didn't let the loss of his head stop him from giving satsang.
For full story see http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/Poets/S/Sarmad/index.html
Nice thanks! Loss of his head didn't stop Brân the Blessed, either.
Nature is the source of all material things: the maker, the means of making, and the thing made. Spirit is the source of all consciousness which feels pleasure and feels pain. The spirit of man when in nature feels the ever-changing conditions of nature. When he binds himself to things ever-changing, a good or evil fate whirls him round through life-in-death.
But the Spirit Supreme in man is beyond fate. He watches, gives blessing, bears all, feels all. He is called the Lord Supreme and the Supreme Soul. He who knows in truth this Spirit and knows nature with its changing conditions, wherever this man may be he is no more whirled round by fate.
Some by the Yoga of meditation, and by the grace of the Spirit, see the Spirit in themselves; some by the Yoga of the vision of Truth; and others by the Yoga of work. And yet there are others who do not know, but they hear from others and adore. They also cross beyond death, because of their devotion to words of Truth. Whatever is born, Arjuna, whether it moves or it moves not, know that it comes from the union of the field and the knower of the field.
He who sees that the Lord of all is ever the same in all that is, immortal in the field of mortality – he sees the truth. And when a man sees that the God in himself is the same God in all that is, he hurts not himself by hurting others : then he goes indeed to the highest Path.
He who sees that all work, everywhere, is only the work of nature; and that the Spirit watches this work – he sees the truth.
Bhagavad Gita
(Juan Mascaro translation)
Chapter 13: 20-29
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T
The Artis Magistra
Guest
Wow! Cool thread! I'm honored to be mentioned or quoted in it up top.
I was away from the forum in the hope the speed issues with it might be resolved or improved in the meantime, and they seem to have been.
I may not fully understand what this thread, but it started with a question I could scarcely understand in the beginning. Its likely that my natural answer would be something like "Mine" said with hope and sinew tightening bracing.
I think the basis for human spirituality has to be a view of nature, in particular its hideous brutality, and not to give in to too much aloe vera in an effort deceive oneself into thinking life is at all something worthy of the usual praise, but praise will come, and all those fervent religious sentiments, but in a new way after baring ones eyes without the protective goggles of thinking backwards from the point of the colloquial traditions of language and all those formalities. We will find words, and words to trigger emotions, but one can't find God from talk of the imaginary God, but only from seeing the real God, and behold what is irresistable and can not be tamed.
Once its written by sages and filtered by approval, its a bit late, but suffering greets us as an early messenger every single day, and to numb oneself is not quite as successful as to become petty and petulant, and sensitive to every little tragedy of life, and then you'll be able to sort out a hierarchy and organize things to realize your place and your responsibility and where you stand, hopefully without exaggeration.
The Lord above and the Lord below, none can see and none can know, except through what is done. Action is a name of the Lord. Its alive because it moves, and we're only pushed like things we otherwise call dead.
So barring the acceptance of minds as anything, it is clear there is at the very least an appearance and notion and perception of shifting, and like a snake writhing before our eyes, its scale a moment, there is experience and we deem ourselves alive as we watch another thing move across a screen of sense.
The Lord of who looks at himself through holes and says Mighty is the Mover through the music of some mouths opened to make such tunes.
That is my only comfort with death, but its barely a comfort at all really. That what I think I am can be discarded and retrieved by whims I can not determine or hold, is only baring witness to victimhood, and moisture around slots is the only sympathy we can produce, not even anything which belongs to us but is produced upon what we think we are while we are far away from Nothing in vast delusions of lushness and life.
The best dream is the one we can enjoy, continuously. The only hope anyone has is to forget we are dead and find good dreams, because waking is the rest.
I was away from the forum in the hope the speed issues with it might be resolved or improved in the meantime, and they seem to have been.
I may not fully understand what this thread, but it started with a question I could scarcely understand in the beginning. Its likely that my natural answer would be something like "Mine" said with hope and sinew tightening bracing.
I think the basis for human spirituality has to be a view of nature, in particular its hideous brutality, and not to give in to too much aloe vera in an effort deceive oneself into thinking life is at all something worthy of the usual praise, but praise will come, and all those fervent religious sentiments, but in a new way after baring ones eyes without the protective goggles of thinking backwards from the point of the colloquial traditions of language and all those formalities. We will find words, and words to trigger emotions, but one can't find God from talk of the imaginary God, but only from seeing the real God, and behold what is irresistable and can not be tamed.
Once its written by sages and filtered by approval, its a bit late, but suffering greets us as an early messenger every single day, and to numb oneself is not quite as successful as to become petty and petulant, and sensitive to every little tragedy of life, and then you'll be able to sort out a hierarchy and organize things to realize your place and your responsibility and where you stand, hopefully without exaggeration.
The Lord above and the Lord below, none can see and none can know, except through what is done. Action is a name of the Lord. Its alive because it moves, and we're only pushed like things we otherwise call dead.
So barring the acceptance of minds as anything, it is clear there is at the very least an appearance and notion and perception of shifting, and like a snake writhing before our eyes, its scale a moment, there is experience and we deem ourselves alive as we watch another thing move across a screen of sense.
The Lord of who looks at himself through holes and says Mighty is the Mover through the music of some mouths opened to make such tunes.
That is my only comfort with death, but its barely a comfort at all really. That what I think I am can be discarded and retrieved by whims I can not determine or hold, is only baring witness to victimhood, and moisture around slots is the only sympathy we can produce, not even anything which belongs to us but is produced upon what we think we are while we are far away from Nothing in vast delusions of lushness and life.
The best dream is the one we can enjoy, continuously. The only hope anyone has is to forget we are dead and find good dreams, because waking is the rest.
The alleys of the ancient ruined city of my mind lead up shallow steps between steep walls where startling music echoes from entrances and the sky is a narrow band of stars high up above.
Wheat bread is sold out at the bakery,
Even the well-clad now buy sourdough,
I order sweet buns and pretzels,
And a sugary Paschal loaf.
The cookies have chocolate legs
To eat them as tradition demands
The legs are to be broken off first
And a gruesome fairy tale recounted
To the children.
Even the well-clad now buy sourdough,
I order sweet buns and pretzels,
And a sugary Paschal loaf.
The cookies have chocolate legs
To eat them as tradition demands
The legs are to be broken off first
And a gruesome fairy tale recounted
To the children.
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The fountains of the pleasure gardens
Have been turned off
And the lawns are dry and wiry
I lie on the hard soil
To the scratching of wind-swept leaves
And tourists prattling how peaceful it is.
Have been turned off
And the lawns are dry and wiry
I lie on the hard soil
To the scratching of wind-swept leaves
And tourists prattling how peaceful it is.