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1.01_-_SAMADHI_PADA

1.01_-_The_First_Steps

1.09_-_Concentration_-_Its_Spiritual_Uses

1.17_-_Religion_as_the_Law_of_Life

1.jk_-_Endymion_-_Book_II

1.pbs_-_Scenes_From_The_Faust_Of_Goethe

1.pbs_-_The_Cenci_-_A_Tragedy_In_Five_Acts

1.ww_-_The_Excursion-_V-_Book_Fouth-_Despondency_Corrected

5.04_-_Formation_Of_The_World

Liber_46_-_The_Key_of_the_Mysteries

Sayings_of_Sri_Ramakrishna_(text)

the_Eternal_Wisdom

PRIMARY CLASS

Thought

SIMILAR TITLES

Holy Thought

TERMS STARTING WITH


TERMS ANYWHERE

This condition of human consciousness differs from the devachanic state. As used above, akasic samadhi was applied to those individuals dying by accident who on earth had been of unusually pure character and life. It is a temporary condition, equivalent to an automatic reproduction in the victim’s consciousness of the beautiful and holy thoughts that the person had had during incarnated life; in fact, a sort of preliminary to the devachanic state. Such dream state immediately succeeds the first condition of absolute unconsciousness which the shock of death brings to all human beings, good, bad, or indifferent. In the above cases there is no conscious kama-lokic experience whatsoever, because the shock of death has brought about the paralysis of all the lower parts of the human constitution. Only adumbrations of the consciousness of the buddhi and atman, with the most spiritual portion of manas are then active (ML 131). In certain cases the condition of samadhi in the akasic portions of the human constitution may last until what would have been the natural life term on earth is completed; and then these individuals glide into the devachanic state.

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1:Meditation is the activity of calling to mind, and thinking over, and dwelling on, and applying to oneself, the various things that one knows about the works and ways and purposes and promises of God. It is an activity of holy thought, consciously performed in the presence of God, under the eye of God, by the help of God, as a means of communion with God. ~ J I Packer,

2:But let today’s idea find a place among your thoughts, and you have risen far above the world and all the worldly thoughts that hold it prisoner. And from this place of safety and escape, you will return and set it free. For he who can accept his true Identity is truly saved. And his salvation is the gift he gives to everyone in gratitude to Him Who pointed out the way to happiness that changed his whole perception of the world. 6 One holy thought like this, and you are free; you are the holy Son of God Himself. ~ Helen Schucman,

3:How are we to do this? How can we turn our knowledge about God into knowledge of God? The rule for doing this is simple but demanding. It is that we turn each truth that we learn about God into matter for meditation before God, leading to prayer and praise to God. We have some idea, perhaps, what prayer is, but what is meditation? Well may we ask, for meditation is a lost art today, and Christian people suffer grievously from their ignorance of the practice. Meditation is the activity of calling to mind, and thinking over, and dwelling on, and applying to oneself, the various things that one knows about the works and ways and purposes and promises of God. It is an activity of holy thought, consciously performed in the presence of God, under the eye of God, by the help of God, as a means of communion with God. ~ J I Packer,

4:He Earned His Way rose unto the bights of fame And with the great men stood, He heard the people cheer his name And speak of him as good. Success at last he had attained By toiling day by day; His father's name was unprofaned, His crest of honor was unstained, He earned his way. He had not sought the easy road Nor tried a doubtful scheme, But he had borne his heavy load Up hill and over stream. He had not stooped to do a wrong That might not be unlearned; But though the way at times seemed long He plodded on with courage strong And every victory earned. He heard men whisper in the night, That venturing disgrace, And stepping from the path of right But hiding every trace, Were all he had to do to win, That honor could be feigned, But still he kept a lifted chin, Filled with the holy thought within, To earn whate'er he gained. He rose unto the hights of fame, And with the great men stood; He never compromised with shame, Nor bartered what was good. With head erect he toiled along, With clean hands for the fray, He heard the gossip of the throng That many profited by wrong, But earned his way. 318 ~ Edgar Albert Guest,

5:Our aim in studying the Godhead must be to know God himself better. Our concern must be to enlarge our acquaintance, not simply with the doctrine of God’s attributes, but with the living God whose attributes they are. As he is the subject of our study, and our helper in it, so he must himself be the end of it. We must seek, in studying God, to be led to God. It was for this purpose that revelation was given, and it is to this use that we must put it. Meditating on the Truth How are we to do this? How can we turn our knowledge about God into knowledge of God? The rule for doing this is simple but demanding. It is that we turn each truth that we learn about God into matter for meditation before God, leading to prayer and praise to God. We have some idea, perhaps, what prayer is, but what is meditation? Well may we ask, for meditation is a lost art today, and Christian people suffer grievously from their ignorance of the practice. Meditation is the activity of calling to mind, and thinking over, and dwelling on, and applying to oneself, the various things that one knows about the works and ways and purposes and promises of God. It is an activity of holy thought, consciously performed in the presence of God, under the eye of God, by the help of God, as a means of communion with God. Its purpose is to clear one’s mental and spiritual vision of God, and to let his truth make its full and proper impact on one’s mind and heart. It is a matter of talking to oneself about God and oneself; it is, indeed, often a matter of arguing with oneself, reasoning oneself out of moods of doubt and unbelief into a clear apprehension of God’s power and grace. ~ J I Packer,

6:A Last Confession Our Lombard country-girls along the coast Wear daggers in their garters: for they know That they might hate another girl to death Or meet a German lover. Such a knife I bought her, with a hilt of horn and pearl. Father, you cannot know of all my thoughts That day in going to meet her,—that last day For the last time, she said;—of all the love And all the hopeless hope that she might change And go back with me. Ah! and everywhere, At places we both knew along the road, Some fresh shape of herself as once she was Grew present at my side; until it seemed— So close they gathered round me—they would all Be with me when I reached the spot at last, To plead my cause with her against herself So changed. O Father, if you knew all this You cannot know, then you would know too, Father, And only then, if God can pardon me. What can be told I'll tell, if you will hear. I passed a village-fair upon my road, And thought, being empty-handed, I would take Some little present: such might prove, I said, Either a pledge between us, or (God help me!) A parting gift. And there it was I bought The knife I spoke of, such as women wear. That day, some three hours afterwards, I found For certain, it must be a parting gift. And, standing silent now at last, I looked Into her scornful face; and heard the sea Still trying hard to din into my ears Some speech it knew which still might change her heart, If only it could make me understand. One moment thus. Another, and her face Seemed further off than the last line of sea, So that I thought, if now she were to speak I could not hear her. Then again I knew All, as we stood together on the sand At Iglio, in the first thin shade o' the hills. “Take it,” I said, and held it out to her, While the hilt glanced within my trembling hold; “Take it and keep it for my sake,” I said. Her neck unbent not, neither did her eyes Move, nor her foot left beating of the sand; Only she put it by from her and laughed. Father, you hear my speech and not her laugh; But God heard that. Will God remember all? It was another laugh than the sweet sound Which rose from her sweet childish heart, that day Eleven years before, when first I found her Alone upon the hill-side; and her curls Shook down in the warm grass as she looked up Out of her curls in my eyes bent to hers. She might have served a painter to pourtray That heavenly child which in the latter days Shall walk between the lion and the lamb. I had been for nights in hiding, worn and sick And hardly fed; and so her words at first Seemed fiftul like the talking of the trees And voices in the air that knew my name. And I remember that I sat me down Upon the slope with her, and thought the world Must be all over or had never been, We seemed there so alone. And soon she told me Her parents both were gone away from her. I thought perhaps she meant that they had died; But when I asked her this, she looked again Into my face and said that yestereve They kissed her long, and wept and made her weep, And gave her all the bread they had with them, And then had gone together up the hill Where we were sitting now, and had walked on Into the great red light; “and so,” she said, “I have come up here too; and when this evening They step out of the light as they stepped in, I shall be here to kiss them.” And she laughed. Then I bethought me suddenly of the famine; And how the church-steps throughout all the town, When last I had been there a month ago, Swarmed with starved folk; and how the bread was weighed By Austrians armed; and women that I knew 10 For wives and mothers walked the public street, Saying aloud that if their husbands feared To snatch the children's food, themselves would stay Till they had earned it there. So then this child Was piteous to me; for all told me then Her parents must have left her to God's chance, To man's or to the Church's charity, Because of the great famine, rather than To watch her growing thin between their knees. With that, God took my mother's voice and spoke, And sights and sounds came back and things long since, And all my childhood found me on the hills; And so I took her with me. I was young. Scarce man then, Father: but the cause which gave The wounds I die of now had brought me then Some wounds already; and I lived alone, As any hiding hunted man must live. It was no easy thing to keep a child In safety; for herself it was not safe, And doubled my own danger: but I knew That God would help me. Yet a little while Pardon me, Father, if I pause. I think I have been speaking to you of some matters There was no need to speak of, have I not? You do not know how clearly those things stood Within my mind, which I have spoken of, Nor how they strove for utterance. Life all past Is like the sky when the sun sets in it, Clearest where furthest off. I told you how She scorned my parting gift and laughed. And yet A woman's laugh's another thing sometimes: I think they laugh in Heaven. I know last night I dreamed I saw into the garden of God, Where women walked whose painted images I have seen with candles round them in the church. They bent this way and that, one to another, Playing: and over the long golden hair Of each there floated like a ring of fire Which when she stooped stooped with her, and when she rose 11 Rose with her. Then a breeze flew in among them, As if a window had been opened in heaven For God to give His blessing from, before This world of ours should set; (for in my dream I thought our world was setting, and the sun Flared, a spent taper; ) and beneath that gust The rings of light quivered like forest-leaves. Then all the blessed maidens who were there Stood up together, as it were a voice That called them; and they threw their tresses back, And smote their palms, and all laughed up at once, For the strong heavenly joy they had in them To hear God bless the world. Wherewith I woke: And looking round, I saw as usual That she was standing there with her long locks Pressed to her side; and her laugh ended theirs. For always when I see her now, she laughs. And yet her childish laughter haunts me too, The life of this dead terror; as in days When she, a child, dwelt with me. I must tell Something of those days yet before the end. I brought her from the city—one such day When she was still a merry loving child,— The earliest gift I mind my giving her; A little image of a flying Love Made of our coloured glass-ware, in his hands A dart of gilded metal and a torch. And him she kissed and me, and fain would know Why were his poor eyes blindfold, why the wings And why the arrow. What I knew I told Of Venus and of Cupid,—strange old tales. And when she heard that he could rule the loves Of men and women, still she shook her head And wondered; and, “Nay, nay,” she murmured still, “So strong, and he a younger child than I!” And then she'd have me fix him on the wall Fronting her little bed; and then again She needs must fix him there herself, because I gave him to her and she loved him so, And he should make her love me better yet, If women loved the more, the more they grew. But the fit place upon the wall was high 12 For her, and so I held her in my arms: And each time that the heavy pruning-hook I gave her for a hammer slipped away As it would often, still she laughed and laughed And kissed and kissed me. But amid her mirth, Just as she hung the image on the nail, It slipped and all its fragments strewed the ground: And as it fell she screamed, for in her hand The dart had entered deeply and drawn blood. And so her laughter turned to tears: and “Oh!” I said, the while I bandaged the small hand,— “That I should be the first to make you bleed, Who love and love and love you!”—kissing still The fingers till I got her safe to bed. And still she sobbed,—“not for the pain at all,” She said, “but for the Love, the poor good Love You gave me.” So she cried herself to sleep. Another later thing comes back to me. 'Twas in those hardest foulest days of all, When still from his shut palace, sitting clean Above the splash of blood, old Metternich (May his soul die, and never-dying worms Feast on its pain for ever! ) used to thin His year's doomed hundreds daintily, each month Thirties and fifties. This time, as I think, Was when his thrift forbad the poor to take That evil brackish salt which the dry rocks Keep all through winter when the sea draws in. The first I heard of it was a chance shot In the street here and there, and on the stones A stumbling clatter as of horse hemmed round. Then, when she saw me hurry out of doors, My gun slung at my shoulder and my knife Stuck in my girdle, she smoothed down my hair And laughed to see me look so brave, and leaped Up to my neck and kissed me. She was still A child; and yet that kiss was on my lips So hot all day where the smoke shut us in. For now, being always with her, the first love I had—the father's, brother's love—was changed, I think, in somewise; like a holy thought Which is a prayer before one knows of it. 13 The first time I perceived this, I remember, Was once when after hunting I came home Weary, and she brought food and fruit for me, And sat down at my feet upon the floor Leaning against my side. But when I felt Her sweet head reach from that low seat of hers So high as to be laid upon my heart, I turned and looked upon my darling there And marked for the first time how tall she was; And my heart beat with so much violence Under her cheek, I thought she could not choose But wonder at it soon and ask me why; And so I bade her rise and eat with me. And when, remembering all and counting back The time, I made out fourteen years for her And told her so, she gazed at me with eyes As of the sky and sea on a grey day, And drew her long hands through her hair, and asked me If she was not a woman; and then laughed: And as she stooped in laughing, I could see Beneath the growing throat the breasts half-globed Like folded lilies deepset in the stream. Yes, let me think of her as then; for so Her image, Father, is not like the sights Which come when you are gone. She had a mouth Made to bring death to life,—the underlip Sucked in, as if it strove to kiss itself. Her face was pearly pale, as when one stoops Over wan water; and the dark crisped hair And the hair's shadow made it paler still:— Deep-serried locks, the dimness of the cloud Where the moon's gaze is set in eddying gloom. Her body bore her neck as the tree's stem Bears the top branch; and as the branch sustains The flower of the year's pride, her high neck bore That face made wonderful with night and day. Her voice was swift, yet ever the last words Fell lingeringly; and rounded finger-tips She had, that clung a little where they touched And then were gone o' the instant. Her great eyes, That sometimes turned half dizzily beneath The passionate lids, as faint, when she would speak, 14 Had also in them hidden springs of mirth, Which under the dark lashes evermore Shook to her laugh, as when a bird flies low Between the water and the willow-leaves, And the shade quivers till he wins the light. I was a moody comrade to her then, For all the love I bore her. Italy, The weeping desolate mother, long has claimed Her sons' strong arms to lean on, and their hands To lop the poisonous thicket from her path, Cleaving her way to light. And from her need Had grown the fashion of my whole poor life Which I was proud to yield her, as my father Had yielded his. And this had come to be A game to play, a love to clasp, a hate To wreak, all things together that a man Needs for his blood to ripen; till at times All else seemed shadows, and I wondered still To see such life pass muster and be deemed Time's bodily substance. In those hours, no doubt, To the young girl my eyes were like my soul,— Dark wells of death-in-life that yearned for day. Sig. And though she ruled me always, I remember That once when I was thus and she still kept Leaping about the place and laughing, I Did almost chide her; whereupon she knelt And putting her two hands into my breast Sang me a song. Are these tears in my eyes? 'Tis long since I have wept for anything. I thought that song forgotten out of mind; And now, just as I spoke of it, it came All back. It is but a rude thing, ill rhymed, Such as a blind man chaunts and his dog hears Holding the platter, when the children run To merrier sport and leave him. Thus it goes:— La bella donna* Piangendo disse: “Come son fisse Le stelle in cielo! Quel fiato anelo Dello stanco sole, 15 Quanto m' assonna! E la luna, macchiata Come uno specchio Logoro e vecchio,— Faccia affannata, Che cosa vuole? “Chè stelle, luna, e sole, Ciascun m' annoja E m' annojano insieme; Non me ne preme Nè ci prendo gioja. E veramente, Che le spalle sien franche E la braccia bianche She wept, sweet lady, And said in weeping: “What spell is keeping The stars so steady? Why does the power Of the sun's noon-hour To sleep so move me? And the moon in heaven, Stained where she passes As a worn-out glass is,— Wearily driven, Why walks she above me? “Stars, moon, and sun too, I'm tired of either And all together! Whom speak they unto That I should listen? For very surely, Though my arms and shoulders Dazzle beholders, And my eyes glisten, All's nothing purely! What are words said for At all about them, If he they are made for Can do without them?” She laughed, sweet lady, And said in laughing: 16 “His hand clings half in My own already! Oh! do you love me? Oh! speak of passion In no new fashion, No loud inveighings, But the old sayings You once said of me. “You said: ‘As summer, Through boughs grown brittle, Comes back a little Ere frosts benumb her,— So bring'st thou to me All leaves and flowers, Though autumn's gloomy To-day in the bowers.’ “Oh! does he love me, When my voice teaches The very speeches He then spoke of me? Alas! what flavour Still with me lingers?” (But she laughed as my kisses Glowed in her fingers With love's old blisses.) “Oh! what one favour Remains to woo him, Whose whole poor savour Belongs not to him?” E il seno caldo e tondo, Non mi fa niente. Che cosa al mondo Posso più far di questi Se non piacciono a te, come dicesti?” La donna rise E riprese ridendo:— “Questa mano che prendo È dunque mia? Tu m' ami dunque? Dimmelo ancora, Non in modo qualunque, Ma le parole 17 Belle e precise Che dicesti pria. ‘Siccome suole La state talora (Dicesti) un qualche istante Tornare innanzi inverno, Così tu fai ch' io scerno Le foglie tutte quante, Ben ch' io certo tenessi Per passato l' autunno.’ “Eccolo il mio alunno! Io debbo insegnargli Quei cari detti istessi Ch' ei mi disse una volta! Oimè! Che cosa dargli,” (Ma ridea piano piano Dei baci in sulla mano,) “Ch' ei non m'abbia da lungo tempo tolta?” That I should sing upon this bed!—with you To listen, and such words still left to say! Yet was it I that sang? The voice seemed hers, As on the very day she sang to me; When, having done, she took out of my hand Something that I had played with all the while And laid it down beyond my reach; and so Turning my face round till it fronted hers,— “Weeping or laughing, which was best?” she said. But these are foolish tales. How should I show The heart that glowed then with love's heat, each day More and more brightly?—when for long years now The very flame that flew about the heart, And gave it fiery wings, has come to be The lapping blaze of hell's environment Whose tongues all bid the molten heart despair. Yet one more thing comes back on me to-night Which I may tell you: for it bore my soul Dread firstlings of the brood that rend it now. It chanced that in our last year's wanderings We dwelt at Monza, far away from home, If home we had: and in the Duomo there I sometimes entered with her when she prayed. An image of Our Lady stands there, wrought 18 In marble by some great Italian hand In the great days when she and Italy Sat on one throne together: and to her And to none else my loved one told her heart. She was a woman then; and as she knelt,— Her sweet brow in the sweet brow's shadow there,— They seemed two kindred forms whereby our land (Whose work still serves the world for miracle) Made manifest herself in womanhood. Father, the day I speak of was the first For weeks that I had borne her company Into the Duomo; and those weeks had been Much troubled, for then first the glimpses came Of some impenetrable restlessness Growing in her to make her changed and cold. And as we entered there that day, I bent My eyes on the fair Image, and I said Within my heart, “Oh turn her heart to me!” And so I left her to her prayers, and went To gaze upon the pride of Monza's shrine, Where in the sacristy the light still falls Upon the Iron Crown of Italy, On whose crowned heads the day has closed, nor yet The daybreak gilds another head to crown. But coming back, I wondered when I saw That the sweet Lady of her prayers now stood Alone without her; until further off, Before some new Madonna gaily decked, Tinselled and gewgawed, a slight German toy, I saw her kneel, still praying. At my step She rose, and side by side we left the church. I was much moved, and sharply questioned her Of her transferred devotion; but she seemed Stubborn and heedless; till she lightly laughed And said: “The old Madonna? Aye indeed, She had my old thoughts,—this one has my new.” Then silent to the soul I held my way: And from the fountains of the public place Unto the pigeon-haunted pinnacles, Bright wings and water winnowed the bright air; And stately with her laugh's subsiding smile She went, with clear-swayed waist and towering neck 19 And hands held light before her; and the face Which long had made a day in my life's night Was night in day to me; as all men's eyes Turned on her beauty, and she seemed to tread Beyond my heart to the world made for her. Ah there! my wounds will snatch my sense again: The pain comes billowing on like a full cloud Of thunder, and the flash that breaks from it Leaves my brain burning. That's the wound he gave, The Austrian whose white coat I still made match With his white face, only the two grew red As suits his trade. The devil makes them wear White for a livery, that the blood may show Braver that brings them to him. So he looks Sheer o'er the field and knows his own at once. Give me a draught of water in that cup; My voice feels thick; perhaps you do not hear; But you must hear. If you mistake my words And so absolve me, I am sure the blessing Will burn my soul. If you mistake my words And so absolve me, Father, the great sin Is yours, not mine: mark this: your soul shall burn With mine for it. I have seen pictures where Souls burned with Latin shriekings in their mouths: Shall my end be as theirs? Nay, but I know 'Tis you shall shriek in Latin. Some bell rings, Rings through my brain: it strikes the hour in hell. You see I cannot, Father; I have tried, But cannot, as you see. These twenty times Beginning, I have come to the same point And stopped. Beyond, there are but broken words Which will not let you understand my tale. It is that then we have her with us here, As when she wrung her hair out in my dream To-night, till all the darkness reeked of it. Her hair is always wet, for she has kept Its tresses wrapped about her side for years; And when she wrung them round over the floor, I heard the blood between her fingers hiss; So that I sat up in my bed and screamed Once and again; and once to once, she laughed. Look that you turn not now,—she's at your back: 20 Gather your robe up, Father, and keep close, Or she'll sit down on it and send you mad. At Iglio in the first thin shade o' the hills The sand is black and red. The black was black When what was spilt that day sank into it, And the red scarcely darkened. There I stood This night with her, and saw the sand the same. What would you have me tell you? Father, father, How shall I make you know? You have not known The dreadful soul of woman, who one day Forgets the old and takes the new to heart, Forgets what man remembers, and therewith Forgets the man. Nor can I clearly tell How the change happened between her and me. Her eyes looked on me from an emptied heart When most my heart was full of her; and still In every corner of myself I sought To find what service failed her; and no less Than in the good time past, there all was hers. What do you love? Your Heaven? Conceive it spread For one first year of all eternity All round you with all joys and gifts of God; And then when most your soul is blent with it And all yields song together,—then it stands O' the sudden like a pool that once gave back Your image, but now drowns it and is clear Again,—or like a sun bewitched, that burns Your shadow from you, and still shines in sight. How could you bear it? Would you not cry out, Among those eyes grown blind to you, those ears That hear no more your voice you hear the same,— “God! what is left but hell for company, But hell, hell, hell?”—until the name so breathed Whirled with hot wind and sucked you down in fire? Even so I stood the day her empty heart Left her place empty in our home, while yet I knew not why she went nor where she went Nor how to reach her: so I stood the day When to my prayers at last one sight of her Was granted, and I looked on heaven made pale With scorn, and heard heaven mock me in that laugh. O sweet, long sweet! Was that some ghost of you, 21 Even as your ghost that haunts me now,—twin shapes Of fear and hatred? May I find you yet Mine when death wakes? Ah! be it even in flame, We may have sweetness yet, if you but say As once in childish sorrow: “Not my pain, My pain was nothing: oh your poor poor love, Your broken love!” My Father, have I not Yet told you the last things of that last day On which I went to meet her by the sea? O God, O God! but I must tell you all. Midway upon my journey, when I stopped To buy the dagger at the village fair, I saw two cursed rats about the place I knew for spies—blood-sellers both. That day Was not yet over; for three hours to come I prized my life: and so I looked around For safety. A poor painted mountebank Was playing tricks and shouting in a crowd. I knew he must have heard my name, so I Pushed past and whispered to him who I was, And of my danger. Straight he hustled me Into his booth, as it were in the trick, And brought me out next minute with my face All smeared in patches and a zany's gown; And there I handed him his cups and balls And swung the sand-bags round to clear the ring For half an hour. The spies came once and looked; And while they stopped, and made all sights and sounds Sharp to my startled senses, I remember A woman laughed above me. I looked up And saw where a brown-shouldered harlot leaned Half through a tavern window thick with vine. Some man had come behind her in the room And caught her by her arms, and she had turned With that coarse empty laugh on him, as now He munched her neck with kisses, while the vine Crawled in her back. And three hours afterwards, When she that I had run all risks to meet Laughed as I told you, my life burned to death Within me, for I thought it like the laugh 22 Heard at the fair. She had not left me long; But all she might have changed to, or might change to, (I know nought since—she never speaks a word—) Seemed in that laugh. Have I not told you yet, Not told you all this time what happened, Father, When I had offered her the little knife, And bade her keep it for my sake that loved her, And she had laughed? Have I not told you yet? “Take it,” I said to her the second time, “Take it and keep it.” And then came a fire That burnt my hand; and then the fire was blood, And sea and sky were blood and fire, and all The day was one red blindness; till it seemed, Within the whirling brain's eclipse, that she Or I or all things bled or burned to death. And then I found her laid against my feet And knew that I had stabbed her, and saw still Her look in falling. For she took the knife Deep in her heart, even as I bade her then, And fell; and her stiff bodice scooped the sand Into her bosom. And she keeps it, see, Do you not see she keeps it?—there, beneath Wet fingers and wet tresses, in her heart. For look you, when she stirs her hand, it shows The little hilt of horn and pearl,—even such A dagger as our women of the coast Twist in their garters. Father, I have done: And from her side now she unwinds the thick Dark hair; all round her side it is wet through, But, like the sand at Iglio, does not change. Now you may see the dagger clearly. Father, I have told all: tell me at once what hope Can reach me still. For now she draws it out Slowly, and only smiles as yet: look, Father, She scarcely smiles: but I shall hear her laugh Soon, when she shows the crimson steel to God. ~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti,

   3 Yoga
   2 Poetry
   2 Hinduism
   1 Philosophy
   1 Integral Yoga


   3 Swami Vivekananda


   2 Raja-Yoga

1.01 - SAMADHI PADA, #Patanjali Yoga Sutras, #Swami Vivekananda, #Hinduism   good habits. Go on doing good, thinking Holy Thoughts   continuously; that is the only way to suppress base

1.01 - The First Steps, #Raja-Yoga, #Swami Vivkenanda, #unset   Those of you who can afford it will do better to have a room for this practice alone. Do not sleep in that room, it must be kept holy. You must not enter the room until you have bathed, and are perfectly clean in body and mind. Place flowers in that room always; they are the best surroundings for a Yogi; also pictures that are pleasing. Burn incense morning and evening. Have no quarrelling, nor anger, nor un Holy Thought in that room. Only allow those persons to enter it who are of the same thought as you. Then gradually there will be an atmosphere of holiness in the room, so that when you are miserable, sorrowful, doubtful, or your mind is disturbed, the very fact of entering that room will make you calm. This was the idea of the temple and the church, and in some temples and churches you will find it even now, but in the majority of them the very idea has been lost. The idea is that by keeping holy vibrations there the place becomes and remains illumined. Those who cannot afford to have a room set apart can practice anywhere they like. Sit in a straight posture, and the first thing to do is to send a current of Holy Thought to all creation. Mentally repeat, "Let all beings be happy; let all beings be peaceful; let all beings be blissful." So do to the east, south, north and west. The more you do that the better you will feel yourself. You will find at last that the easiest way to make ourselves healthy is to see that others are healthy, and the easiest way to make ourselves happy is to see that others are happy. After doing that, those who believe in God should pray not for money, not for health, nor for heaven; pray for knowledge and light; every other prayer is selfish. Then the next thing to do is to think of your own body, and see that it is strong and healthy; it is the best instrument you have. Think of it as being as strong as adamant, and that with the help of this body you will cross the ocean of life. Freedom is never to be reached by the weak. Throw away all weakness. Tell your body that it is strong, tell your mind that it is strong, and have unbounded faith and hope in yourself.

1.09 - Concentration - Its Spiritual Uses, #Raja-Yoga, #Swami Vivkenanda, #unset   The mind, to have non-attachment, must be clear, good, and rational. Why should we practice? Because each action is like the pulsations quivering over the surface of the lake. The vibration dies out, and what is left? The Samskras, the impressions. When a large number of these impressions are left on the mind, they coalesce and become a habit. It is said, "Habit is second nature", it is first nature also, and the whole nature of man; everything that we are is the result of habit. That gives us consolation, because, if it is only habit, we can make and unmake it at any time. The Samskaras are left by these vibrations passing out of our mind, each one of them leaving its result. Our character is the sum-total of these marks, and according as some particular wave prevails one takes that tone. If good prevails, one becomes good; if wickedness, one becomes wicked; if joyfulness, one becomes happy. The only remedy for bad habits is counter habits; all the bad habits that have left their impressions are to be controlled by good habits. Go on doing good, thinking Holy Thoughts continuously; that is the only way to suppress base impressions. Never say any man is hopeless, because he only represents a character, a bundle of habits, which can be checked by new and better ones. Character is repeated habits, and repeated habits alone can reform character.

1.17 - Religion as the Law of Life, #The Human Cycle, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga   This revolt in its extreme form tried to destroy religion altogether, boasted indeed of having killed the religious instinct in man,a vain and ignorant boast, as we now see, for the religious instinct in man is most of all the one instinct in him that cannot be killed, it only changes its form. In its more moderate movements the revolt put religion aside into a corner of the soul by itself and banished its intermiscence in the intellectual, aesthetic, practical life and even in the ethical; and it did this on the ground that the intermiscence of religion in science, thought, politics, society, life in general had been and must be a force for retardation, superstition, oppressive ignorance. The religionist may say that this accusation was an error and an atheistic perversity, or he may say that a religious retardation, a pious ignorance, a contented static condition or even an orderly stagnation full of Holy Thoughts of the Beyond is much better than a continuous endeavour after greater knowledge, greater mastery, more happiness, joy, light upon this transient earth. But the catholic thinker cannot accept such a plea; he is obliged to see that so long as man has not realised the divine and the ideal in his life, and it may well be even when he has realised it, since the divine is the infinite,progress and not unmoving status is the necessary and desirable law of his life,not indeed any breathless rush after novelties, but a constant motion towards a greater and greater truth of the spirit, the thought and the life not only in the individual, but in the collectivity, in the communal endeavour, in the turn, ideals, temperament, make of the society, in its strivings towards perfection. And he is obliged too to see that the indictment against religion, not in its conclusion, but in its premiss had something, had even much to justify it,not that religion in itself must be, but that historically and as a matter of fact the accredited religions and their hierarchs and exponents have too often been a force for retardation, have too often thrown their weight on the side of darkness, oppression and ignorance, and that it has needed a denial, a revolt of the oppressed human mind and heart to correct these errors and set religion right. And why should this have been if religion is the true and sufficient guide and regulator of all human activities and the whole of human life?   We need not follow the rationalistic or atheistic mind through all its aggressive indictment of religion. We need not for instance lay a too excessive stress on the superstitions, aberrations, violences, crimes even, which Churches and cults and creeds have favoured, admitted, sanctioned, supported or exploited for their own benefit, the mere hostile enumeration of which might lead one to echo the cry of the atheistic Roman poet, To such a mass of ills could religion persuade mankind. As well might one cite the crimes and errors which have been committed in the name of liberty or of order as a sufficient condemnation of the ideal of liberty or the ideal of social order. But we have to note the fact that such a thing was possible and to find its explanation. We cannot ignore for instance the bloodstained and fiery track which formal external Christianity has left furrowed across the mediaeval history of Europe almost from the days of Constantine, its first hour of secular triumph, down to very recent times, or the sanguinary comment which such an institution as the Inquisition affords on the claim of religion to be the directing light and regulating power in ethics and society, or religious wars and wide-spread State persecutions on its claim to guide the political life of mankind. But we must observe the root of this evil, which is not in true religion itself, but in its infrarational parts, not in spiritual faith and aspiration, but in our ignorant human confusion of religion with a particular creed, sect, cult, religious society or Church. So strong is the human tendency to this error that even the old tolerant Paganism slew Socrates in the name of religion and morality, feebly persecuted non-national faiths like the cult of Isis or the cult of Mithra and more vigorously what it conceived to be the subversive and anti-social religion of the early Christians; and even in still more fundamentally tolerant Hinduism with all its spiritual broadness and enlightenment it led at one time to the milder mutual hatred and occasional though brief-lived persecution of Buddhist, Jain, Shaiva, Vaishnava.

1.ww - The Excursion- V- Book Fouth- Despondency Corrected, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen   On the first motion of a Holy Thought;   Vigils of contemplation; praise; and prayer--

5.04 - Formation Of The World, #Of The Nature Of Things, #Lucretius, #Poetry   Seemeth the doctrine which the Holy Thought   Of great Democritus lays down: that ever

Liber 46 - The Key of the Mysteries, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction      great and Holy Thought.      "To pray together is to communicate in the same hope, the same

Sayings of Sri Ramakrishna (text), #Sayings of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism   sacred spot or a place of pilgrimage, you must take hold of the Holy Thoughts that arose in the mind   while there, sit down in a solitary corner and think of them till you are immersed in them. You must not

the Eternal Wisdom, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction   9) Whosoever purifies his own nature by Holy Thoughts, good words and good actions, has the real purity. Right nature is the true purification. In this visible world the true purification is for each man the right nature of his own natural being. And this nature is right in him when he purifies himself by Holy Thoughts, good words and good actions. ~ Avesta: Vendidad   10) Whosoever recognises at all times his faults of omission and cleanses himself by observing the ways of purity in each one of his actions, shall attain to perfection. ~ Udanavarga