Showing posts with label Mysticism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mysticism. Show all posts

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Things are such

Things are such, that someone lifting a cup,
or watching the rain, petting a dog,

or singing, just singing - could be doing as
much for this universe as anyone.

Jelaluddin Rumi

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Music and Mysticism




















I have a very layman's understanding of Western classical music (I appreciate it without any understanding), but this passage is beautiful to me in more ways than the obvious one  (the brilliant parallel between music and mysticism) - what really moved me was the beauty and precision of the language, I could "see" it all, the sound, and abstract experience, flowing through circles and lines, radiating, and returning.

............................................................................................................

"There is an interesting parallel to be found in J.W.N.Sullivan's book, Beethoven, first published in 1927. After discussing the significance and usefulness of conventional sonata form to express psychological processes, he goes on to write:

"But in the quartets we are discussing, Beethoven's experience could not be presented in this form. The connection between the various movements is altogether more organic than that of the four-movement sonata form. In these quartets the movements radiate as it were, from a central experience.

They do not represent stages in a journey, each stage being independent and existing in its own right. They represent separate experiences, but the meaning they take on in the quartet is derived from their relation to a dominating, central experience. This is characteristic of the mystic vision, to which everything in the world appears unified in the light of one fundamental experience."

Wilfrid Mellers writes in similar terms about the Diabelli Variations, Beethoven's longest piano work, which was published in 1823. He calls them

"a circular rather than linear work... Like Bach's Goldberg Variations, and despite the difference between the two composers' approach, they rather see a 'world in a grain of sand', making us aware that experience is a totality in which the trivial and the sublime coexist."

Page 172,  The Third Period, from Anthony Storr's 'Solitude'

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Pace

"Dheere Dheere Re Mana, Dheere Sub Kutch Hoye
Mali Seenche So Ghara, Ritu Aaye Phal Hoye."

Slowly slowly O mind, everything happens in its own pace
The gardener may pour a hundred buckets,
the fruit arrives only in its season.

Kabir 1398-1518

Mystic


"You will not be a mystic until you are like the earth - both the righteous and the sinner tread upon it - and until you are like the clouds - they shade all things - and until you are like the rain - it waters all things, whether it loves them or not."

Bayazid Bistami

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Dissolve




















I am Al-Kahira, the comparer of nonsense and flowers.

I am grateful for my stupidity, admitted easily, yet I am concerned with specific details of style as I sit here in rags.

By circumstance not by choice this shrub has blossomed: by choice and not by circumstance this life has been kept plain.

I made an effort and found stuff to ignore, leaving rusty strings unstruck.
I neglect the spectacular and overlook the apparently important with deliberation.

I've waited aeons for the reversal of my interests: Now life has become the joke and the sweetness and hilarity of my own thoughts have turned into a point of fascination for me.

No matter what anyone tells you: I don't belong to any creed or sect, culture or race, nor to any period in history.

My only qualification is the age of my soul: I own three hillside palaces of quiet pre-dawn moon sound.

Humiliation is my clothing that I wear to sit and bark with the dogs. I disconnect like dusk and most likely no one will bring flowers to my grave.

I am ardent without deed and I am information zero, unimportant iridescent: Grand Palace of Mercy.

Till now I stayed in one place not avoiding you: now that the traditions are beginning to dissolve, I put on my winter coat and walk away. Business done.

My contemporaries have declared society to be the central item and are discussing things of importance as I'm speaking to you now.
As my mother taught me to, I keep to myself a lot.

I am the lover of trees, found worthy of loneliness.
I could be the postman, the milkman, the sick person, the transvestite.
It takes one, to recognize one…….

I am the unknown dervish."

Monday, October 1, 2007

To sit apart



....What I most want
is to spring out of this personality,
then to sit apart from that leaping.
I've lived too long where I can be reached.

Who says the eternal being does not exist?
Who says the sun has gone out?
Someone who climbs up on the roof,
and closes his eyes tight, and says,
--I don't see anything.

.....With one silent laugh
You tilted the night
and the garden ran with stars.

Jelaluddin Rumi

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Give me your hand


God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Friday, September 21, 2007

Until only the mountain remains...




















The birds have vanished down the sky.
The last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and I,
Until only the mountain remains...

Li Po, 'Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain'

Li Po (701 – 762): https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/li-po

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Ghazal

"...The complaint which does not reach the lips leaves a mark on the heart;
The drop of water that fails to become a river is simply food for dust on earth.

If, at the time of telling, blood does not flow from each eyelash,
The story would not be of love merely (but simply as) the story of Hamza.

If it cannot see the entire Tigris in a drop and the whole in a part,
Such an eye would merely be a child’s game, not the eye of a wise man."

Mirza Ghalib

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Blog Archive