Heart

Fine-Tuning The Fears

Poem

Facing the fears.
[Image by Alexandra Haynak from Pixabay]

*

No, not the fear of the ultimate ending

Binds or resides within;

It is the opposing voices cascading,

Confusing, crippling, caricaturing

Us and the peace within.

*

No, not the fear of a sickness

Troubles or tortures the heart;

It is our hopelessness,

A steady bleakness,

And the habitual surrendering of our craft.

*

No, not the fear of failure

Numbs or stuns the mind;

It is the snagging daily battle

Against the monsters of routine life;

Those are treacherous, lazy and anything but kind.

*

No, not the fear of the invisible

Tricks or fools us;

It is our way to define,

Design and create

The heroes, the villains and the fuss.

*

No, not the fear of the word fear

Lurks or creeps today;

It is our forgetfulness that steers…

… And suddenly, in haste one remembers

Fine-tuning life’s fears to Play.

*


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Enlightenment Pocketed

Lotus Koan.
Image by Marek Studzinski from Pixabay.

“The enjoyment of art is an act of recreation, or rather of creation in the reverse direction, towards the source of intuition, i.e., an act of absorption, in which we lose our small self in the creative experience of a greater universe.”

Anagarika B. Govinda

I happen to have a small sweet book titled Art & Meditation (actually a few years back I took it from my brother), written by Lama Anagarika B. Govinda – an artist, a Buddhist monk, traveller and writer.

Sharing his paintings, poems and thoughts with us, he talks about the ineffaceable, elusive yet real, sublimely beautiful link between art and meditation; how true art merges with true religion and vice-versa.

It is not digressive or sluggishly cumbersome, this thought, rather it is stimulating for the one who is not in a hurry.

The author wishes his essays and artwork to serve as koans i.e. ‘meditative problems’ for his readers that churn our thoughts and act as an impetus for continuing the search.

I have gone through this insightful book twice now. What struck me this time was its size, how come Lama Anagarika Govinda’s lectures on art and meditation along with his artwork were capsuled in such a tiny book?

Of course, there must be other collections of his essays and pictures, surely in not-so-tiny a book.

But here I would intentionally turn this coincidence into a grand undertaking and happily say something ambitious.

This beautiful book holds, yes-yes it does, the secret to enlightenment and simply because of its humble, calm and forgiving nature, affordable price, elucidations of the artwork and colour schemes given and the profound ideas shared.

With these balmy thoughts, I will read this book again in the near future for then it will reveal a new secret to me.

Leaving you with an edifying thought –

“Art in itself is a sort of a paradox, a Koan in the deepest sense of the word, and that is why the followers of Zen prefer it to all other mediums of expression. For only the paradox escapes the dilemma of logical limitation, of partiality and one-sidedness. It cannot be bound down to principles or conceptual definitions, because it exaggerates or abstracts intentionally in such a way that it is impossible to take it literally: its meaning is beyond the incongruity of the words.”

Anagarika B. Govinda

Enlightenment, Pocketed-

Calm mind beams

Together with the heart.

Haiku – Jagriti Rumi

Also read other posts on art and meditation –

Buddhahood

I wish to SEE Tibet

Thunderous Applause… And the Warli Drama Unfolds

कलाकार/ Artist

Transient Permanence


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Crescent Moon Lights

“Crescent moon lights

Buckwheat flowers

This hazy earth.”  

Basho  

*

*

The moon is being carved, I can hear the hammers, the chisels, it is raining white shimmer… the crescent shape will light up every heart soon.  

And the valley of buckwheat flowers will then dance the dance of love, soothing the eyes of a traveller.  

Intoxicated, the earth will then spin and stagger making, as always, a painter’s painting hazy.


Complement this haiku post with similar ones –

Basho’s Haiku Pond

Violets

Fetching Water from a Haiku-Well


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The Little Prince

After crossing the vast desert, sailing through the green ocean, the Little Prince reached another desert. Golden sand waves welcomed him or so he thought.  

The Little Prince walked alone. And the narrator’s voice followed him, sometimes foretelling and sometimes sharing.  

“But this is not possible, for I cannot hear this voice”, says the Little Prince.

“Still, you can feel it”, replies the narrator.

The Little Prince inquires, “Feel the voice?”“Yes, you can feel what the voice says, the emotions, the connections, the ideas, the realisations… this, you can surely feel”, says the narrator.  

The Little Prince sat on the sand cross-legged and pondered over this thought. The desert wind tried to disturb him, but he stayed still, allowing the wind to settle in his golden hair.  

“Yes, I surely feel… and I am glad I do… then what you speak is true”, says the Little Prince as if reciting a haiku.

“True for you and true for me… true for those who can hear me”, replies the narrator in a cheerful tone.  

This made the Little Prince laugh loudly. The narrator and the desert wind joined him.  

“Hey voice, yours is a pleasant sound… keep following me, keep foretelling and sharing, for I am on a long journey”, standing up says the Little Prince.

“I will, I will… for every journey needs a narrator”, says the narrator.  

The Little Prince nodded and started walking, allowing his feet to sink a little and then rise, allowing the wind to tease him, holding his gaze up at the sky, waiting for the stars to show up.

For he knew a star that would lead him to his destination, he felt it deep in his heart. He felt it!  

Prince with his friend, Fox.
Image from Pixabay.

(This post is dedicated to Antoine de Saint-Exupery, author of the novella The Little Prince.

[Source – Wikipedia]

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What Is So Grand In The Way Dragons Fly?

Eyes gaze at the grandiose being, follows its path, amazed and overwhelmed by the unbelievable. What is so grand in the way dragons fly? It is just in its element, it is its utmost self.

The dragons are awed by every mind that is familiar with its stories. Fire breathing, winged, snake like, four legged, cave dwellers, treasure keepers, proud and wise. Flying high above the clouds, quasi-free from bondage, they come back on the ground to quench their thirst. They don’t kill for joy, they understand the laws of nature.

Mythical or not, dragons are glorious creatures. I say mythical or not for a storytellers’ imagination is an entity in itself, very much alive, though in thoughts, formless and fluid, but true. Found in a story, the dragons thrive in this other realm.

Storytellers gave something more than just a pair of wings to the dragons, that something is splendour and beauty. Thus, right in the thought there was magnanimity and ferocity. What else is a dragon if not a magnanimous loveable beast? Ah, here is what sprinkles magic in a dragon’s story, they are loveable beasts. Our storyteller friends didn’t suffer, at least, and I thank every heaven, from poverty of mind; they dared to imagine and realized that nothing is more powerful than true love, not even a dragon.

So rhythmically every dragon’s story is about love; a hero either fights back or fights along the dragon and wins back her love/ life and is showered with unheard grandeur. Always a talk of antiquity, dragons are, but worth noticing is not the ‘antiquity’ bit, it is the ‘always’ bit. Always remembered, locked in the heart.

But what is so grand in the way dragons fly? It is just in its element, it is its utmost self. Exactly, it is its utmost self. Like the storyteller who thought of it with utmost concentration, power, passion and love. Maybe just for a few minutes the storyteller was in her element, she was her utmost self, and thus, she gave birth to the dragon.

These legendary creatures ruled the sky once upon a time, and they still do, just travel to their realm and witness how majestically they fly.  

Photo courtesy – Google 

Only a few arrive at nothing, because the way is long – Antonio Porchia

To keep walking is hard. Repeatedly dying on the way is a normal occurrence, but not less significant.

What breaks the heart often is not the crude world or a passer-by, but the heart itself. It allows itself to be crushed. And as funny as it may sound, the truth doesn’t change that the heart also heals itself.

Let us keep aside the magical part for it blindfolds the ones with sightless minds and talk about reason and logic. Oh! But that is already done – heart breaks itself and heals itself… very straightforward indeed. Brain, heart, brain, heart… and this is the journey.

Carrying on kills, but so does not-carrying on; carrying on also gives you a chance to live and to experience the universe. It is a long, long, long journey and then you reach nothing.

At nothing, you become everything.