Rishi : The Misunderstood Messiah

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awozewup.ml/1481.php The Nathanamavali of the Nath Yogis, which we will be considering later on, says that Isha reached India when he was fourteen. It is also a title of Shiva. The masters also instructed Jesus in the form his spiritual teachings should take and the specific yogic practices that should be given to his disciples. It was also decided that one of those disciples should be sent to India for the identical spiritual empowerment and instruction that was being imparted to Jesus.


For some time Jesus meditated in a cave north of the present-day city of Rishikesh, one of the most sacred locales of India. In the years He spent in the Himalayas, He attained the supreme heights of realization. To augment the teachings he had received in the Himalayas, Jesus was sent to live in Benares, the sacred city of Shiva. The worship of Shiva centered in the form of the natural elliptical stone known as the Shiva Linga Symbol of Shiva was a part of the spiritual heritage of Jesus, for His ancestor Abraham, the father of the Hebrew nation, was a worshipper of that form.

The Linga which he worshipped is today enshrined in Mecca within the Kaaba. The stone, which is black in color, is said to have been given to Abraham by the Archangel Gabriel, who instructed him in its worship. Such worship did not end with Abraham, but was practiced by his grandson Jacob, as is shown in the twenty-eighth chapter of Genesis.

Unwittingly, because of the dark, Jacob used a Shiva Linga for a pillow and consequently had a vision of Shiva standing above the Linga which was symbolically seen as a ladder to heaven by means of which devas shining ones were coming and going. Recalling the devotion of Abraham and Isaac, Shiva spoke to Jacob and blessed him to be an ancestor of the Messiah. Upon awakening, Jacob declared that God was in that place though he had not realized it. The light of dawn revealed to him that his pillow had been a Shiva Linga, so he set it upright and worshipped it with an oil bath, as is traditional in the worship of Shiva, naming it not the place Bethel: the Dwelling of God.

From thenceforth that place became a place of pilgrimage and worship of Shiva in the form of the Linga stone. A perusal of the Old Testament will reveal that Bethel was the spiritual center for the descendants of Jacob, even above Jerusalem. Although this tradition of Shiva [Linga] worship has faded from the memory of the Jews and Christians, in the nineteenth century it was evidenced in the life of the stigmatic Anna Catherine Emmerich, an Augustinian Roman Catholic nun.

On several occasions when she was deathly ill, angelic beings brought her crystal Shiva Lingas which they had her worship by pouring water over them. When she drank that water she would be perfectly cured. Furthermore, on major Christian holy days she would have out-of-body experience in which she would be taken to Hardwar, a city sacred to Shiva in the foothills of the Himalayas, and from there to Mount Kailash, the traditional abode of Shiva, which she said was the spiritual heart of the world. Benares, the spiritual heart of India, was the major center of Vedic learning.

In Benares Jesus engaged in intense study of the spiritual texts of Sanatana Dharma, especially the upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita—which he later quoted in his discourses in Israel. When Jesus had come to the point where the acharyas of Benares were satisfied with his level of scriptural and philosophical knowledge, he was sent to the sacred city of Jagannath Puri, which at that time was a great center of the worship of Shiva, second only to Benares.

In Puri Jesus lived some time in the famous Govardhan Math, today a major center of the monastic order of the foremost philosopher-saint of India known as Adi Shankaracharya. There he perfected the synthesis of yoga, philosophy and renunciation, and began to publicly teach the Eternal Dharma.

He was writing a book on the subject, but died before it could be finished. Unfortunately the fate of his manuscript and research is presently unknown. As a teacher Jesus was as popular as he was proficient in teaching, and gained great notoriety among all levels of society. However, those who were making religion into a business became intensely jealous and even began to plot his death.

Therefore he left Puri and returned to the Himalayan regions. There final instructions were given him regarding his mission in the West and the way messages could be sent between Jesus and his Indian teachers. Jesus also lived in various Buddhist monasteries in the Himalayan region at this time.

Articles of Faith

When the jet containing the adolescent living God and disciples touched down in India,. I have been given some degree of freedom to share what I have learned. If no Holy scenes then no Mahdi. Once it is reported that a stranger suddenly entered the mosque where the Founder of Islam was sitting along with his companions. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Their fighting among themselves is severe. They were great scientists, discoverers, and research guides; and inventors offood-grain to fruits and flowers; of ploughs and yoke to Ayurveda and herbal medicines; from boats and ships to road-transports and planes; of everything that we possess today, from celestial bodies to metaphysics, geometry, trigonometry, algebra and photography, and numerous other things.

Jesus was aware of the form and purpose of his death from his very birth. But it was the Indian masters who made everything clear to him regarding them. Jesus then set forth on his return journey to Israel with the blessings of the masters. All along his way, Jesus taught those who were drawn to his spiritual magnetism and who sought his counsel in the divine life. He promised that after some years he would be sending them one of his disciples who would give them even more knowledge and benefit.

Arriving in Israel, Jesus went directly to the Jordan where his cousin John, the Master of the Essenes, was baptizing. In this way His brief mission to Israel was begun. Its progress and conclusion are well known, so we need not recount it here except to rectify one point. Throughout the Gospels we see that the disciples of Jesus consistently misunderstood his speaking of higher spiritual matters. When he spoke of the sword of wisdom they showed him swords of metal to assure him they were well equipped Luke Having eyes, see ye not?

How is it that ye do not understand? Even in the moment of his final departure from them, their words showed that they still believed the kingdom of God was an earthly political entity and not the realm of spirit Acts This being so, the Gospels themselves must be approached with grave caution and with the awareness that Jesus was not the creator of a new religion, but a messenger of the Eternal Religion he had learned in India.

Tasya vak dvitiya asit. Krishna Yajurveda, Kathaka Samhita, Having confused Christ with Jesus, things could only go downhill for them and their followers until the true Gospel of Christ was buried beneath two millennia of confusion and theological debris.

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It is generally supposed that at the end of his ministry in Israel Jesus ascended into heaven. But Saint Matthew and Saint John, the two Evangelists that were eye-witnesses of his departure, do not even mention such a thing, for they knew that he returned to India after departing from them. Saint Mark and Saint Luke, who were not there, simply speak of Jesus being taken up into the heavens.

This form of travel is not unknown to the Indian yogis. That Jesus did not leave the world at the age of thirty-three was written about by Saint Irenaeus of Lyon in the second century. He claimed that Jesus lived to be fifty or more years old before leaving the earth, though he also said that Jesus was crucified at the age of thirty-three.

This would mean that Jesus lived twenty years after the crucifixion. This assertion of Saint Irenaeus has puzzled Christian scholars for centuries, but if we put it together with other traditions it becomes comprehensible. Why did Jesus return to India? Even more, everyone there understood everything Jesus had to say and teach.

In contrast, he was little liked in Israel and virtually no one knew what he was talking about. This would certainly be an inducement to return. There may be another reason. Swami Bhaktivedanta, founder of the Hare Krishna movement said the same. If this is so, then Jesus was really returning to the homeland of his ancestors. And finally, Jesus may have realized that his teachings could only be preserved in the context of Eastern religion and philosophy.

A contemporary written record of the life and teachings of Jesus in India was discovered in by the Russian traveler Nicholas Notovitch during his wanderings in Ladakh. But both Swami Abhedananda and Swami Trigunatitananda—direct disciples of Sri Ramakrishna and preachers of Vedanta in America—went at separate times to the Himis monastery.

They were to buy the manuscripts and bring them to their employers to be destroyed. Whether this shameful ruse succeeded to any degree we have no knowledge. Swami Trigunatitananda not only saw the manuscript in Himis, he also was shown two paintings of Jesus. One was a depiction of his conversation with the Samaritan Woman at the well. The other was of Jesus meditating in the Himalayan forest surrounded by wild beasts that were tamed by his very presence.

In America the Swami described the painting to an artist who produced the following:. Later, Dr. In Elizabeth Caspari visited the Himis monastery. Robert Ravicz, a former professor of anthropology at California State University at Northridge, visited Himis in Some of these figures are said to represent a certain prophet who is living in the heavens, which would appear to point to Jesus Christ. When Swami Abhedananda was in the Himis monastery doing his research on the records of Jesus life in India he was told by the abbot that Jesus had not departed from the earth at the time his apostles saw him ascend, but that he had returned to India where he lived with the Himalayan yogis for many years.

The Bengali educator and patriot, Bipin Chandra Pal, published an autobiographical sketch in which he revealed that Vijay Krishna Goswami, a renowned saint of Bengal and a disciple of Sri Ramakrishna, told him about spending time in the Aravalli mountains with a group of extraordinary ascetic monk-yogis known as Nath Yogis. The monks spoke to him about Isha Nath, whom they looked upon as one of the great teachers of their order. When Vijay Krishna expressed interest in this venerable guru, they read out his life as recorded in one of their sacred books, the Nathanamavali.

It was the life of him whom the Goswami knew as Jesus the Christ! Here is the relevant portion of the Nathanamavali:. After this he returned to his own country and began preaching. Soon after, his brutish and materialistic countrymen conspired again him and had him crucified. After crucifixion, or perhaps even before it, Isha Natha entered samadhi by means of yoga.

At that very moment however, one of his gurus, the great Chetan Natha, happened to be in profound meditation in the lower reaches of the Himalayas, and he saw in a vision the tortures which Isha Natha was undergoing. He therefore made his body lighter than air and passed over to the land of Israel. When Chetan Natha arrived, he took the body of Isha Natha from the tomb, woke him from his samadhi, and later led him off to the sacred land of the Aryans.

Isha Natha then established an ashram in the lower regions of the Himalayas and he established the cult of the lingam there. We will speak more on that later. This assertion is supported by two relics of Jesus which are presently found in Kashmir. One is his staff, which is kept in the monastery of Aish-Muqan and is made accessible to the public in times of public catastrophe such as floods or epidemics.

This linga is kept in the Shiva temple at Bijbehara in Kashmir. In ancient Sanskrit the word ka means to please and to satisfy—that which Shiva does for His worshippers. One ancient book of Kashmiri history, the Bhavishya Maha Purana , gives the following account of the meeting of a king of Kashmir with Jesus sometime after the middle of the first century:. Being given to truth and penances, I preached the Dharma to the mlecchas.

Remember the Name of our Lord God. Meditate upon Him Whose abode is in the center of the sun. I asked human beings to serve the Lord. But I suffered at the hands of the wicked and the guilty.

In truth, O King, all power rests with the Lord, Who is in the center of the sun. And the elements, and the cosmos, and the sun, and God Himself, are forever. Perfect, pure, and blissful, God is always in my heart. Thus my Name has been established as Isha Masiha. The word mleccha means a foreigner, a non-Indian. Another Kashmiri history, the Rajatarangini , written in A. For when Jesus came to the Jordan at the beginning of his ministry, he had spent more years of his life in India than in Israel.

And he returned there for the remainder of his life, because he was a spiritual son of India—the Christ of India. During this period, from his thirteenth to his thirty-first year, he came to India and practiced Yoga. He visited Varanasi, Rajgriha and other places in India. He spent several years in Hindustan. Jesus lived like a Hindu or a Buddhist monk, a life of burning renunciation and dispassion. He assimilated the ideals, precepts and principles of Hinduism. Christianity is modified Hinduism only, which was suitable for those people who lived in the period of Christ.

Really speaking, Jesus was a child of the soil of India only. That is the reason why there is so much of similarity between his teachings and the teachings of Hinduism and Buddhism. This being so, the character and mission of Jesus the Christ of India can be traced in that of his apostle Thomas. After the departure of Jesus from Israel and the empowerment bestowed on the Apostles at Pentecost, it was decided that they would separate and go throughout the Mediterranean regions teaching those who sought the revelation of their own Christhood. Accordingly, eleven of the Twelve Apostles and many of the Seventy determined through divination where they should go and preach the Good News of Christ.

Thomas was to depart for India where he would live with Jesus and those great masters who had taught Jesus before him. For Jesus had destined him for a work completely unlike that of the other Apostles. It is a matter of record that Judas Thomas was also physically identical to Jesus. This was unusual but not impossible or even unknown, since he was a cousin of Jesus—as were most of the Apostles.

In the forty days between his resurrection and his leaving Israel Jesus had fully outlined to the apostles and disciples how they should teach others who would also spiritually be his disciples through them. So overwhelming did his task seem to Saint Thomas that he tried to avoid this mission. Yet it was not long before a government official from India came to Israel to find an architect for his king, who wished a palace built by an artisan from the land of the renowned Hiram Abiff, whose construction of the Temple of Solomon was known throughout the world.

Jesus manifested in a physical body and sold Saint Thomas to the man as a slave, giving him a signed document to that effect. It also provides solutions for extreme poverty and ways to find sustainable growth where happiness is the harbinger of an individual as well as universal welfare. It explains the intricate connection between individual happiness and institutional prosperity.

It has everything for everyone. For individuals desiring to live in peace with modest aspirations, it provides ideas to protect their interest from troublesome people. For people in business aspiring profitability, it explains the dynamics of social, economic, and political factors and finding ways to protect their commercial interests. For politicians and diplomats, it meticulously explains the nature of power and ways to achieve and sustain it.

Besides, the Kautilya a. It teaches you to find happiness instantaneously and effortlessly while pursuing the objectives and tackling challenges and hurdles in your path. And that is why anyone who has benefited from Yoga, Ayurveda or any other Vedic knowledge must at least try connecting with more excellent knowledge taught in Kautilya a. For more info visit www. You must be logged in to post a comment.

Login Sign Up Shopping Cart. Remember Me. You may also like to read Vedic Leadership Podcasts with U. Mahesh Prabhu. Purusharthas: Giving life a meaning Essential leadership wisdom from Shukracharya Niti Shastra, a collection of quotes from various rishis, is believed to have been compiled in an abridged form, originally, by Shukracharya - a great Rishi sage. It is an ancient India classic on l. We are all born into this body without possessing anything. All that we gain is after the birth of this body. We are also sure to die, after which all that we have accumulated and achieved must be lef.

Lakshmi: The Vedic science of Wealth Rose before foes! Lord Krishna has a surprising formula for overcoming the despondency that arises from a sudden waking to this web of lies. It occurs before the great duel between Karna and Arjuna. He turns, on his stretcher, in great humiliation and bitterness of mind, to berate Arjuna with ill deserved taunts of cowardice and sloth. He says Arjuna should hand over his divine weapon, the Gandiva bow, to someone more worthy to wield it. Arjuna gives way to fierce resentment. He is preparing to draw his sword on his elder brother for, as he tells Krishna, he has vowed to kill the man who would have him yield his bow to another.

It seems the divine weapons that the different heroes have acquired over the course of the epic are all, in some sense, part of their essence. They will kill rather than part with, or, indeed, be forced to share, these instruments of universal death. The Gandharva, Chitrangada- a Prince of the faery order, we may recall from the Book of Origins- felt similarly about his own name. In semiotics the distinction is made between paradigmatic and syntagmatic analysis.

It appears, in the Mahabharata, the divine weapons which come in to the possession of heroes are paradigmatic- they serve to identify each warrior with a specific deity or super-natural being. The Kurukshetra battle then becomes the earthly mirror of a contentious polytheistic Universe.

But to what purpose? In the end, it seems, they serve but to cancel out each other; or - in the aftermath of the final night slaughter of the apocalyptic Sauptikaparvan- to rend the veil of human agency, exposing all the intense human drama that had gone before as a mere pantomime of nullity, revealing the dread visage of the skull garlanded Goddess whose tongue is ever thirstily outstretched to receive the shed blood of her children.

Krishna explains that Arjuna- bound, now, his brother both to kill and obey- does not know the Law, his intuitions about morality are faulty. However, there is a way he can both fulfill his vow of annihilating his insulter without incurring the terrible guilt of fratricide. He can insult his insulter. An insult is very death to an honorable man. Thus counseled, Arjuna reproaches Yuddhishtra in round terms, condemning him for his addiction to gambling, his weakness in war, his prevarication in peace, the all-round disaster that he has been for his family.

However, Arjuna- unable to bear up to what he has just done- is ready to draw his sword upon himself in a paroxysm of self-loathing. Krishna points out a way in which he can slay himself and yet not be guilty of the wretched crime of suicide. Thou shalt then, O Partha, have slain thy own self. It is a basic human belief that all laws are in some sense organically connected or consubstantial in essence.

Thus, to break one law, to commit one sin, is felt to involve the transgression of all the norms of ethical life. Notice that Lord Krishna uses the same argument. This type of law is applicable to the action of Pinchas, the zealot, who killed Prince Zimri and his shiksa succubus, Kosbi. In other words, the fact that the All Holy approves the action of Pinchas, thus showing it was halachah, also prohibits any student of Scripture from performing a like action.

However, if a single part of the law is of this paradoxical sort, then the entire nature of the Law is utterly changed. The Judge, then, becomes the only truly tragic figure in what is otherwise a comedy- your legal rights and entitlements becoming defeasible simply by being spelled out to you. Indeed, your claims on others, once upheld beyond infirmity of suspicion or hope of appeal, may now appear to you as injustices or injuries for which you owe reparation. Considered from this point of view, the true sin of the ten spies, mentioned in Numbers , was to have hidden what they should have gloriously revealed rather than, once safe back home, garrulously recount what policy bade them hide.

The paradox that the Law, once proclaimed, can function to prohibit its own operation- that infinite defeasibility is the essence of deon- absent an all embracing spiritual revolution- is what ensures that the Law has a living essence; a face ever turned towards us as everything else goes to destruction. By contrast, poetry- as now read, as now written- is Lawlessness in the raw. How so? They ended up serving the Imperial Bureaucracy of Hell- which, by its bare existence, annexes Heaven and Earth.

Holy Gita, pleased to meetya! The Gita, as received in English, appears a poem like every other in its class- viz. Yet, at least in English, they appear to be saying the same thing. However, the Gita was neither written in English nor emerged from a literary mode of production of which English retains any trace. Indeed, since its producers were also its chief consumers, it is likely that poesis and hermeneutics fed off each other in a manner subversive of a substantive pragmatics.

Which is a particularly witless way of saying, the objectionable portions of the Gita are actually utterly hilarious. No translator, living or dead, has been able to bring out the marvelous humor of this great work. But what touches me is the enormous pathos of God literally killing himself to save his B. Warning, fart joke fast approaching! If the Gita was about deontological vs. But nobody does that. Something undoubtedly happens to inter-subjective Reality when empathy- Poetry, properly so called- operates to collapse a counterfactual mythos such that only its sweet mathetic fruit is received.

Someday, perhaps, I too will see it. Nose before rose! Or if that aint portentous enough, A. Why write poetry? Poetry is the cheapest hobby- or resource of interior decoration- a person can indulge in. Choli ke peeche Stool samples, no doubt, have their place- though, in my experience, it is an adolescent mistake to seek to arouse the interest of your inamorata- even if she is training to be a Doctor- with such gifts, but why anthologise their literary equivalent?

The answer, at least for me, has to do with rasabhasa- inappropriate rasa, bad taste- since all mental objects turn out on analysis to be inappropriate predicates for Concrete Universals, all poetry is guilty of rasabhasa. However, rasabhasa is appropriate for hasya- that is comedy- which precisely for that reason includes all the other rasas- including shanta, the highest. However, the paradox arises that, whereas the operation of rasabhasa permits the redemption of every rasa by hasya, that saviour alone is unredeemed. Comedy is the mirror which functions as the Messiah of all other literary modes, but only by smashing its own surface and forbidding its resurrection to such shattered slivers as constitute but our World.

Oopar ya Nietzche? They break what they steal! Now, my fortunes wane each passing year None remain I held once dear Who love but feign, that seems clear Each breath is pain, the end seems near. So even the balm of that book is denied to me The chosen subject of my Poetry And I court the Muse with as little hope As of piercing Maya, taking the snake for a rope And with so little scaffolding I begin to build Lacking straw for bricks, yet thinking to gild for Kovalan's Love, an English Mausoleum styled for the echoes of a Tamil Te Deum Kanagi!

O Kanagi! Thus, in her eyes, unshed tears As, in state, the groom appears And looking into his face She finds she cannot see As is always the case Facing Destiny O tender bride! Your body, now, is her very own And you- my God! Thus sundered each day Their work seeming play Going about their tasks they were, but, wearing masks Each eve they would shed Then giggle, then bed. But, this was not how it was With our happy pair, dumb because They employed their tongues but to enhance their raptures Which e'en Ilango's rhyme rather trails than captures.

While amongst Men today the thoroughest Trappist The most querulous to speak and quickest to slap wrist At the simplest Anthem whose Anathemas are hurled His Vision is most cluttered with Words and the World. In every Suburb we see them- in brick embowered Strangers to Art, with Appliances endowered Passing their days in meaningless chatter or, if Meaning intrudes- it becomes a Police matter Ploughing but that weeds might flourish The carrion crow, thy seed doth nourish Veneris a fly trap, the Womb a Prison Nailed to that Cross, which Saviour has risen?

And the true emblem of our Apollonian Culture Is not the Bald Eagle, but the Vulture We devise new tricks and whip on our wit To dip our wicks between the piss and shit. Times change and Manners too Petrol fumes stain the blue The eye of Heaven blinks and waters We forget all the Sages taught us. Deaf to the strictures of mere Sittlichkeit I mourn the glamour, but not the Gemutlichkeit of a conjugal Love, Love conjured away So God, once more, in Mud, could play.

Futile this sale of Hymenal torches What cares the flame for the moth it scorches? The things of the World are things cheapen'd in use And Love, in the World, the coarsest term of abuse What is but possessed finally pollutes and is impure What is ever repossessed, is both fever and cure Thus loath to offer what they can, but, afford Lovers, broken speech'd, are never bored Why attempt the dragon's word horde?

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Who had wings, never have soared. Luckier now than Bonnie and Clyde Kovalan and his laughing bride if one plott'd a raid on lay vocabulary t'other was deputized by Love's constabulary How foolish it would be to resist arrest! Or if, of Judgement, the Judge grows coy and suspends sentence- to annoy the Defence then vies with the Prosecution in pleading for summary Execution.

For Venus still reckons it deep disgrace in the Sun's orbit to take second place And spurns Earthly Spirits that onwards hurry to freeze or fry on Mercury To rather quibble than kiss argues loss of reason But, all lovers being Mad, Venus still holds it treason And tho' treasonous vermin die on the block Losing their heads, still they will talk. Lovers, 'tis notorious, know naught of Rhetoric nor much use Memory - that Whorish trick But are, by both, much besieged and beset And, holding their notes, are dunned for a debt. Individual Love pacts gave rise to Civilization Which coming between each couple becomes Syphilization Nor seduced, nor sheep like, nor caring for who talks For the sake of the children, each catches the pox.

Far easier to forgive is mere fleshly infidelity Then among mots and choses to lose one's chastity A baby is bonny no matter how begot Painful the pallor of the children of Thought. And who, from being a face, became a feeling And, from being a body, became a mode of believing ceases to please us and digs Beauty's grave toiling with tweezers, to her mirror a slave Of both we're well rid - Passion and Piety When both are suborned agents of Society Tight bound by the web, there's no bliss beside her We worship and wed, for the convenience of the spider.

Who made all things, forbore giving them names We call it Love and perish in its flames We are words that claim a divine provenance But what we mean, we have not connaissance. We fall in Love taken by its glamour and parlous, attempt to parse, God's grammar Gestating Meaning, belly horribly swollen Desire a full stop and deliver a colon. Paranoid about how perceived, but with no Passion for Perception Seeing a stranger in the Mirror, we delight at our Deception Find nothing so marvellous as a meretricious metonymy And cease to be a metaphor, seized by a mercenary eponymy.

Fostering Universal Brotherhood in Our Global Village

Pitiable the poet who, Woe's wight, Purposes to pen, in Doom's despite, The idylls of an Idol, exquisitely antique Inhabiting a World, inherited by the Meek. Does she yet live - the Goddess Kanagi? Whom sculptor and Songster so vividly see Statues and Stanzas we cannot animate but fuel our fervour and seal our fate. Thinking we field when all we do is juggle We struggle to limn, but limn only our struggle Even if our vision were avowed what would it avail us?

Trading but in tokens, visions too will fail us. Others have penned lines that penned themselves on minds, through minds without end Less heartening rill than hoarsened rasp We are the Poem that eludes our grasp. A shifting shadow forest, a silvered Sylvan glade the bolder he grows the more she's afraid His quiver aquiver- body a bowstring to pluck The deeper its driven, the more she'll buck! Magnificent the Mountain and prouder the peak Laboured her breathing and Resistance weak Shame 'd be that Sherpa who'd, now, tire or retire Tho' he can but cling, she climbs higher and higher!

In Hind, Hymen, tho' fondled and fed Rice In the same nest scorns to stop twice But amongst varying scenes delights to roam being much persecuted, pausing at home. For narrow is the court and numerous the kin Snoring all about and raising such a din Oblivious to their own offence, yet how light they sleep! If any two creep hence, a tryst to keep. Of bridal bliss the scolds are jealous And of contriving chores the elders zealous With longing looks, yet so little leisure Each for the other is buried treasure.

Years pass and an unqickened womb Invites their gall and adds to her gloom For doubtful's that love that has this defect to be so compelling a cause yet barren in effect. The Clan is rich tho' of frugal habits His brothers boors - they breed like rabbits Returning each night, from his forests and fields He bemoans his plight- to talk to yokels of yields And thus driven by degrees, Kovalan is drawn To pleasure's precincts, where swains swear the morn Commences not yet, till MADHAVI shows her face And day's work is a debt, cancelled by Dawn's disgrace.

What it is to enter that tall and tapered Hall! To pause upon the threshold and remit the acclaim of all To know oneself intricate in all lapidary ways As richly rewarding as rewarded by their gaze. Trees dance, but never dance away Flowers clamour, but are crushed in play Hills leap and Mountains skip They're good ole boys, but hardly hip. All the Earth we inhabit is only this body Sell all you have and go and buy toddy!

Think not Ocean to drain, or Himalay to humble You throw down Himalay, in drink when you stumble. As little in charge as an infant at nurse Dumbly he nods and surrenders his purse. But tho' all about they murmur "Madhavi!

Jesus the Misunderstood Messiah (cont.) (11/29/17 - 12 noon)

As one enisled who glimpses the Main As one hot pursued, quitting the Plain His spirits surge in splendid Orison To harmonise with a lifted Horizon. There are more worlds within us than the Universe can hold More tales about us than can, even in tale, be told Yet, self forgetful Sultans, we greet with acclaim Any strolling Minstrel with a rumour of our fame. What baseness is it in us to quit the well seamed ore? To delight less in the Act than its paltry description And forget the Physic, clutching the prescription.

And thus it happened to Kovalan dazzled by a candle, he discarded the Sun Shrugging off scandal, quitting Kanagi Dance being to him what Verse is to me. The Toddy tree shelters some who seek but for shade The Stews, some, who scorn the wares there displayed But by no dint of denial is the supposition scotched these ones are drunkards, those others debauched.

And tho' drawn, but, by dance and a cultured coterie All view him askance as Venus' votary While pestered with Pity and unsolicited advice His wife holds to Smriti and swears it all lies. Drunkards and dancers are alike but in this They yeast when they yearn, they lie when they kiss Alcoholics and Artists ever long for that Lover The Soul slaking spouse, they'd leave in an hour. And undone by that egotism that triumphs in Wine He roots at her feet, thinking- 'tis pearls before swine. To feel estranged in one's body and shamed to feel shy To know smoother rapture and swifter revival For it's ever a departure and never arrival.

And then score some more. This now is our creed, our creed International On this we're agreed, in this all are Rational Sloe eyed or slant eyed, we maximise Utility Ad man or Had man, we inherit Futility. An irresistible call in our post-Einstienian age Where each new savant seeks the last to upstage And the World is a knot tied in umpteen dimensions And Man is a verb with varying declensions. A point moves- a line. A line moves- a plane. A line read, resolved, a mere point again. A plane moves- an object.

Objects move in Time. Ineluctable modality of Music and of Rhyme. Embedded wherein, world line becomes wave function Entombed therein, we tremble at extreme unction Hounded, unhaltingly, yet spying new hideaways Moving in Time, Minds, alone, move sideways. Through those cruel reveries our parents called viciousness. Tho' the circle was vicious, we achieved Consciousness Zigzagging between impossible Pasts, implausible Futures We'd crash again and again, all smiles now sutures.

A stinking pyre is our brain, in our blood Oceans drown How many wagon trains have we not ridden down? Yet, reeking of rapine, we stumble on another And, seizing, are surprised, their sister is a brother. This wave woven world, this moved, marble, Mind Mirroring each other, to each other are blind What is that Love others have found? Who binds billows, themselves unbound?

But, brave tho' betrayed, Kanagi does not flinch Economises in secret so not he feels the pinch Gives alms with aplomb, nor seems to dread it When the tradesman knocks- which strengthens his Credit. All this done without Hysteria or Histrionics Sorrow's sincerest student, seeming one of Eudemonics And tho' Love was the bitterest cup now placed before her For Love's sake she drained it- so he could, more blithely, ignore her Courage is never in big things, Courage always in small Adventurers are cowards, all in Adrenalin's thrall Men lay claim to courage and into Chaos are hurled For Courage is a Woman.

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Shakti sustains the World. A process that's progressed till anything felt or thought Can be expressed by the brands that are bought. His appearance is unaltered yet how much he is changed! If with doubt she'd been dowered, she'd doubt herself deranged Knowing herself widowed without knowing how or why She's an unresisting Suttee, in the pyre of his eye. Marriage is a yoking - a Yoga never over till aloft like the swan above Mansarovar Fidelity triumphs tho' the flesh be faithless once For Crematorium smoke is the wing of Parmahans.

Proving again what drabs well know Fortune's ebb is Passion's flow. Now taunted for his former lofty style now turned away without guilt or guile Now harrowed by her harlot lore Now embraced as he was before Sure of nothing, suspecting much in Tantalus torment for her touch He little knows if he sleeps or wakes And now of gall, now manna, partakes.

While Ash is left to stir and embers to warm Who'd winnow the flesh to worship Form? Tho' ever decaying, 'tis deathless - Matter Form's a flower that, sniffed, doth shatter. Rather choosing to part than be held by her Art tho' not spurned from her door he goes there no more. Wandering the wastes and the wilds thoughts - now a God's, now a child's Swell, like bubbles- then burst her name - now blessed, now cursed. The absence that aches in his eyes Nature's green Physic defies Nor the wind nor the waves can please him Choreographing colours, they tease him.

Nor the brisk squirrel, the motionless kite 's drama distracts tho' it mirrors his plight Fruits of the Earth nourish the knights of the Air Who'd take flight, first feasts on the fair. We learn to Love when we begin to die Besiege a "Thou", bare holding the "I" Our desires and deeds have this common textuality Our Death colophon to our "History of Sexuality.

Penitent for the Past, yet numb to feel Wounded by the Vast, he'll never heal She sorrows twice whose tears are hidden Never cleansed, her mind a midden. Embarrassed by echoes, their speech is small Fearing to fetter, they scarce embrace at all What words are there to silence words? How cage the song, yet free the birds? Homelands can become Hellscapes the householder flees Venus, as much as Mars, can boast her Refugees In coarse travelling garb, quitting the well loved scene Their eyes track the dust, not the paddy field's green.

The restless roads, the unstopping Seas The unsettling rumour of the breeze Whip on the weary, the loath to leave And who were leery are forced to Believe. Beginning where waters mingle- both salt and sweet They end on lonely mountains- with lacerated feet. Exchanging sea shore tumult for the torpid plain Quitting Puhar, they sight the Pandya's demesne Glimpsing golden gopurams that gladden the eye And, through morning's mist, the maze of Madurai.

Kovalan tosses back the trinket, for its tinkling melodious Revives memories of Madhavi and much that is odious And, with its bells dinning in his ear, steps up his stride Like a homicidal husband fleeing the ghost of his bride. Plunging through the streets without purpose or plan They, finally, collapse - having walked all they can At last, admitting defeat, seeing his wife so wan So, at least they can eat, he takes the anklet to pawn.

Now, for an imaginary crime, Kovalan is lashed As Kanagi's felicity was ferociously smashed Interpolations undermine a common textuality Kovalan expires in an adulterated Reality. Reward me for this my ditty It's blokes like me secure your City What need you fear from Kanagi? Fill my jug and let me be. That done, he goes out into the desert and dedicates himself to solitude and self-abnegation. Oct-Nov A forlorn and feckless father, the dirge I drink to drown Was uttered for Indrajeet, heir to Lanka's crown Nor know I to assuage, nor own Art to augment Ten tongued Ravan's ill-tendered lament.

Serpentine the sinews of that oak knotted neck From which ten heads arise, a score hands at their beck They writhe at me those visages, each vivid with woe With a cacophonous clamour, a Ruth wracking roar. The first couplet ever coined, rang with Rage and Sorrow That of two birds, Love joined, only one fed the arrow. But, to the demonic discord of the Lankan Lord's dirge No words can accord, nor the world, nor its verge. By the Vulture, not the Dove, the Wars of Peace clarified. The God's grant their best boon to their bitterest bane Felicity to their foemen, to their followers, pain.

With, one tongue to a tumult, we speak as we can. Behold ten headed Ravan, he spoke as a man! And the Schizophrenic, startling, to his, sub-vocal, soliloquy Has for Doctor, a dummy, working the World's Ventriloquy With Gods silenced by our Silence, we but speak as we are bid Discerning ten Rasas6 in Ravan, dismissing a post Reichian Id. I blink not at lightning but was dazzled by his eye. Swallowing their spite, colicky clouds crept away. My tot was grand! One who out dazzled the dazzler in the dew of his days.

Your house so nice! Did he not bleach the purple dye of the Sky dyer? How died he?

Talk:Prem Rawat/Archive 49

Did he blanch at the flame dye of the Flower dyer? Say the welkins water, say not that Ravan cries! Don't ask how she misses His kiss, his touch, God's kiss on our kisses Don't ask what she bears Her mighty nonesuch! Death's belly tears Its counterfeits rue the day. Veil'd you from my sight Son- dancing in your eyes Say- did I once marry Light? Sun- poor pun. To be allowed to watch but forbidden to warn To Love without evolving Love You, I can't forgive… "That I was adopted! Or in a more abstract mode to personalise the impersonal Powers of new types of Property.

To paint the dwarf crowned with his new cap of invisibility Pausing his primping to pose Against the backdrop of his new fangled Principality. But, of Art, of Science - what did he really know?

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Love - he dreamt of, not as Bedouins dream of rivers in Paradise but as bored City children in sullen reverie Picture still, silent, warriors silver silhouetted against sombre skies. Simultaneous their startling to each other's presence. Setting spur to mount, they drop down from dune's dry eminence to charge across darkling desert flats And the thicket of Crescent Moons shimmering scimitars set up are both bride and bower Anticipation and Consummation Perfect Tryst and primal Trauma for souls who are nonetheless love-sick for being sick of Love.

But, Love when it came, was not something apart form the skeins of which his World was woven the girl was not a dream, nor a waking from a dream Rather a subtle enrichment of the fabric A ripening of colours whose threads had always been there. Nothing Startling, no sudden edge to the known world, no rent in the nimbus shift, no fierce Sudden flash of flesh. The masks not growing more otiose, more bizarre Rather the reverse, a freer flow of expression, each distinct, unambiguous All the more unsettling then for one who had, after all, hoped for an eventual unmasking Not in the manner of the Lover or the Mystic but as one weary from long reading the effort of decipherment who, half against himself, hopes for a quickening of the pace, a sudden ceasing even though that would violate a favourite genre's canon Rob reading of its pleasures.

But, Love, he knew, is different. It cannot Be bought. What then can it be? But an Advertisement. It's something Hollywood in the late '50's seemed always about to say but stopped, self censored, short. As also Narcissus No one does not know this drew back from the Pool the soul slaking stream "I'm not ready! Vats filled by kenosis Look not for Engagement here. More typical is the engaged tone that special cacophony that names the modern silence not Love without dialogic But messages re-routed, derailed connections fail by reason of other connections or, if the phone is off the hook, there's the intenser dialogue the Self whose implied existence Lets, leaves, Everyone off the hook.

What's Love any more, any way? It's a strange heirloom more fit for the Attic than the living room in these Executive Estates Ranch style dwellings, Colonial Mansions, un petite, the lofts are crammed with relicts of hobbies that more than unhonoured Ancestors shaped and framed the Homo Aequalis underneath the roof and it is when disaster strikes that Love like the lustreless Holbein the chapped commode in another age, amongst another class is suddenly rediscovered in Act - the last Briefly paraded, it Provenance purveyed to the knowing stranger, then thankfully traded for brief solvency the Sanity of a febrile age.

No harsh wind is needed here. The Young disperse too soon. The old flap their wings Only by way of courtesy Crane their necks shuffle sidelong in slow hopping dance An Ethology without an Ecology A code remembered from a forgotten War and, yet , while the code exists Victory is still possible.

Defeat inevitable. Consciousness, this small shallow stream in which soldiers dip their cups their hands palsied, their lips convulsed by Life's bitter rictus this legible liquid dribbled rather than drunk What else can save us? There is nothing else The demonic Pool Yudhistra exorcised by returning always the normal answer Parrying Paradox with Prose. Taking his stand always on the human. An odd Posture for a Warrior we may think Until the cohorts advance.

The Mass in us all. Education, Canetti, a cordon sanitaire, Mass Education, Canetti, simply another way to have the order obeyed unopened Unregistered. Plausible deniability the hand freed from the eye's grasp the eye - an optional accessory in a Video game the Mind Alternatively informed. Why sits he to a meal who rather grazes and flees?

Dying or, to keep to the metaphor, putrefying only when the roaring Baronet is seduced by something more vulgar yet or if this seems obscure perhaps you forget when Strudel did service for honeyed marmoset. Why drink? Use your head! Strategically sited, resource rich and - Dead No Native problem. Below The Natives look up and see their Mahdi's face Who, himself mindful of his God's covenant cannot with propriety pray for another deluge and so schemes instead for a tide not of water but blood to wipe clean the Land of all guilty of even Memory's transubstantiations the Alchemy on which the drunkard places his faith for the Faith is contaminated by the Faith of all those not of the Faith and that Faith too is dangerous.

Make it hard Plant the Way with thorns Let there be no Faith unless it be Faith in you for the rest let it be false to be True The Grabber becomes the one winning with His body straggled For the fare was not small He was helped to stand. You're sure? For sure. Get in there son! Your's innit? That's wot its there for "Listen mate "I'd tell her straight "Don't 'esitate "It's like a Man's got to do wot a man's got to do "Don't like it then lump it - fuck you! Don't thank me Lock, stock and barrel Get on with what you've got on Ya rags! Ya stinkin' apparel! The sodden colours of a young wife's Hysteria So Siddharta steals from sweet Yashoda's side Not in the moonlit glamour of an occluded Grace But mere drunkenness "Summer woods have cuckoo voices "To draw one down the paths to Death" Sweltering in Solitude - he too will seek Arcadia In Vain.

Know the weeds overflowing your own back garden have choked the forest. Ego is the cuckoo nestling. The song bird best left unsought But this is to get ahead There are still some semblances of Stability some certitudes Like rotten teeth to be probed by two tongues until the demon dentist comes Great Crippen! Our Christ! You who never reached California Stand tall, for we who have seized the communion Cup fear not to own ya.

He heard the crackling of conversation in the heaped Hearths of Commercial humanity- in Baker Street and Bayswater. Nothing ill Bitter by the pint. Eking Out an essenceless existence by drawing upon the metamorphic horde plundered by purposeless Nights unreplenished by impenitent days.. George Steiner announces the death of Tragedy Ariadne at the Daedaelean disco treads a measure with the brute stranger then returns to Dionysus not to go into labour without ever giving birth but to become the sterile Sybil of a more Eugenic Earth Tolstoy reading King Lear fells no thrill of prescient fear instead fulmines at - "the senselessness of it Was ever a man more haunted?

Ours is not an essence Acquired by some travail of Volition nor yet that slow stain - Adversity's increment nor can any sudden effect of Revelation or Obliteration Affect us other than as Dissonance which tho', for others, may have a Resonance Yet it is wordy Inflation to gaud as Destiny And Blasphemy to the Eucharist and false Soteriology to laud the spectacle as Redemptive tragedy.

Brandt offerings as ineffectual as the erstwhile policy of drift So soon being born human will become a crime Somewhere, therefore everywhere, the plea Of impossible attempt failing for, you see, That was ever the essence of Humanity And no Hope of Appeal. For there have always been inside out men In them Public and Private are relentlessly reversed Nourished in Secret, their evacuations are open Living without laughter, their lessons a Joke Having no history, they wear History as a Watch Skimming the Surface, yet signifying the depths Untouched by Sorrow, yet symbols of Suffering so touching!

It is time to gather in my harvest of unmeaning "In the next Century, everyone will be neurotic" Time to read the Schizophrenic's love letter "And then, in Africa, everything became embryonic" Time to give Gassire his lute a Heart. The even plains of Light. Cheat with full measure Only Alcohol's Amnesia can filch my last treasure. We'll starve, they'll dine Off the cherished silver of our songs. Given the wall by the acclaim of all Now I go to it Not even I rue it. They're not what they're painted! Faint trace of hyacinth No. Not our dishevelled ways Memory's labyrinth. This wind that blanches your face, has withered me to the root.

The child punished. Punished- hark! His snore punctures the gloom. The bottle drained All Moons have waned. Say, how return more? We gave them water and to dusty oblivion returned them once more. Till, in like case, I - in after years- Understood- not water, tears. A self reflecting Retina. Take a Concept for Credo Leave Love for later. Bestways' bright check-out girl Checking out British Wine.

My senses swirl She laughs, then looks Pain halves, then brooks No further interference This requires perseverance. Between policeman and publican My domicile is never in doubt The one so anxious to take me in The other to throw me out! How look they askance! Trying to say what we needn't or can't Who'd eat a cucumber sandwich?

In this caravanserai of tenements grey Must needs Iyer thus hasten to the Wine Shop, pray? Not Spring will visit- till he has gone his way. My heart - his toy Because I loved past all rueing It plotted my boy. What more meet? All Light's a leper. Don't be stupid! Break the loom to snap a thread! Friend Death, futile sorrow,- discharge thou my name. O Eye refined! Darwinningest algorithm of the mind We are Monads synchronised by a watchmaker- blind. I told her so How did Death come to hear?

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No one was near. Re-light the candle, uncork the flask. Wine presses vie to publish my disgrace. To be evicted from my body I petition the Queen! Ashamed of your Bacchic backsliding? I hold with my heart. Frail Fichte28, again, to an absconded Fatherland? Soiled linen. Wretched cast off of her Veils30, each Season scamps its work. Leave the cinders where they lie. De Gama got it wrong! I must die! And keep me in for a broken rule? As, to play, the children fly Gating the pupil of your eye. The scoundrel dead, or a separation arranged? That star was drowned in the well of her eyes. The ford that you made has won immortal renown You taught water to wade- for fear it might drown.

Now that race is done I see, the best man won. To hear faith praised by an infidel! Drawn the bow without an arrow? Boreal billows lave The scorching rays of her gaze. Dear Lady, you were not tender So, tell, what tithe I can bring? Dread Lady, what ripeness render?

You come at Fall but fail at Spring. It appears Tears of Wine Alone are mine. That lying parole to sentenced Sorrow… Drunk today; hung-over tomorrow! After such Communion, what dispersal? Envoi- Prince! Shanti, Shanti! Love, loves prove but a notion Mine? Or midnight song starry shepherds sing? Just throw him away! For on this image alone we can set up house The stolen mangos stuffed in your blouse! Such Passion! So much fury! So much fear!