The many great gardens of the world, of literature and poetry, of painting and music, of religion and architecture, all make the point as clear as possible: The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden. If you don’t want paradise, you are not human; and if you are not human, you don’t have a soul.
Práce s duší není snadná. Obvykle nás přivádí na taková místa, jejichž návštěvu bychom si raději odpustili, a probouzí takové pocity, o které nejméně stojíme. Nejcennější cesta může být také tou nejobtížnější. Není snadné pohlédnout na obraz, který nám nahání nejvíce strachu. Přesto však duše bývá právě tam, kam dojdeme jen s největším úsilím.
Existují domácí bohové a naše každodenní práce je způsobem, jak projevit uznání těmto domácím duchům, kteří jsou pro udržení našeho života tak důležití. Rýžák je pak posvátným předmětem, a když tento nástroj užíváme s péčí, děláme něco pro duši. V tomto smyslu je čištění koupelny určitým druhem terapie, protože existuje vzájemnost mezi skutečnou místností a jistou komnatou v srdci. Koupelna, která se objevuje v našich snech, je zároveň pokojem našeho domu i poetickým objektem, který popisuje prostor v duši.
Technologies of the soul tend to be simple, bodily, slow and related to the heart as much as the mind. Everything around us tells us we should be mechanically sophisticated, electronic, quick, and informational in our expressiveness – an exact antipode to the virtues of the soul. It is no wonder, then, that in an age of telecommunications – which, by the way, literally means “distant connections” – we suffer symptoms of the loss of soul. We are being urged from every side to become efficient rather than intimate.
… ongoing care for the soul rather than seek for a cure appreciates the mystery of human suffering and does not offer the illusion of a problem-free life.I sees every fall into ignorance and confusion as an opportunity to discover that the beast residing at the center of the labyrinth is also an angel.To approach this paradoxial point of tension where adjustment and abnormality meet is to move closer to the realization of our mystery-filled, star-born nature.It is a beast this thing that stirs in the core of our being, but it is also the star of our innermost nature.We have to care for this suffering with extreme reverence so that in our fear and anger at the beast, we do not overlock the star.~Thomas Moore *Care of the Soul*
Jelikož postrádáme univerzální spiritualitu, redukujeme ji na soupeřící náboženství, což je závažné snižování víry na subjektivní názor, nikoli duchovní moudrost a otevřenost, a na centralistické, autoritářské církevní instituce. Zeptejte se někoho na jeho náboženství a on vám s největší pravděpodobností řekne, ke které organizaci patří, čemu věří nebo do kterého kostela chodí. Nebude mluvit o svých metodách rozjímání ani o své službě lidstvu. Nezmíní se o svém životním poslání ani o své morálce a vizi. Lidé dnes uvažují o náboženství jako o nějaké věci, jako o instituci. Mnozí tudíž opouštějí slovo náboženství a místo toho používají spiritualita.
[The goal is] “liberation from the bondage of rebirth. According to the Vedantists the self, which they call the atman and we call the soul, is distinct from the body and its senses, distinct from the mind and its intelligence; it is not part of the Absolute, for the Absolute, being infinite, can have no parts but the Absolute itself. It is uncreated; it has existed form eternity and when at least it has cast off the seven veils of ignorance will return to the infinitude from which it came. It is like a drop of water that has arisen from the sea, and in a shower has fallen into a puddle, then drifts into a brook, finds its way into a stream, after that into a river, passing through mountain gorges and wide plains, winding this way and that, obstructed by rocks and fallen trees, till at least it reaches the boundless seas from which it rose.””But that poor little drop of water, when it has once more become one with the sea, has surely lost its individuality.”Larry grinned.”You want to taste sugar, you don’t want to become sugar. What is individuality but the expression of our egoism? Until the soul has shed the last trace of that it cannot become one with the Absolute.””You talk very familiarly of the Absolute, Larry, and it’s an imposing word. What does it actually signify to you?” “Reality. You can’t say what it is ; you can only say what it isn’t. It’s inexpressible. The Indians call it Brahman. It’s not a person, it’s not a thing, it’s not a cause. It has no qualities. It transcends permanence and change; whole and part, finite and infinite. It is eternal because its completeness and perfection are unrelated to time. It is truth and freedom.””Golly,” I said to myself, but to Larry: “But how can a purely intellectual conception be a solace to the suffering human race? Men have always wanted a personal God to whom they can turn in their distress for comfort and encouragement.””It may be that at some far distant day greater insight will show them that they must look for comfort and encouragement in their own souls. I myself think that the need to worship is no more than the survival of an old remembrance of cruel gods that had to be propitiated. I believe that God is within me or nowhere. If that’s so, whom or what am I to worship—myself? Men are on different levels of spiritual development, and so the imagination of India has evolved the manifestations of the Absolute that are known as Brahma, Vishnu, Siva and by a hundred other names. The Absolute is in Isvara, the creator and ruler of the world, and it is in the humble fetish before which the peasant in his sun-baked field places the offering of a flower. The multitudinous gods of India are but expedients to lead to the realization that the self is one with the supreme self.
What though the radiance which was once so brightBe now for ever taken from my sight,Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind;In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be;In the soothing thoughts that springOut of human suffering;In the faith that looks through death,In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Put that thing down, girl. Don’t you know it steals part of your soul, that little mechanical masterpiece you hold so frivolously? Don’t you know it’s not just mine it seals into its gears and trick mirrors, but yours, too. What you feel at this moment, what you hope for, what your dreams are, what you think your future will unfold like, it steals it all from you, too. You aren’t safe just because of the side of the lens you’re on. And later, when everything is said and done, and you want to forget everything that happened in these walls, when you’re all alone, this picture, this piece of your soul you didn’t even know was gone, will haunt you. It will come bearing knives and AKs and nine millimeters, and it will destroy you from the inside out. Put that damned thing down and stop acting like any of this is something worth remembering.
I do not know by what power I think; but well I know that I should never have thought without the assistance of my senses. That there are immaterial and intelligent substances I do not at all doubt; but that it is impossible for God to communicate the faculty of thinking to matter, I doubt very much. I revere the Eternal Power, to which it would ill become me to prescribe bounds. I affirm nothing, and am contented to believe that many things are possible than are usually thought so”.
Let us accept the possibility that there is, at death, not an abrupt cessation of energy, rather a dispersal. This seems more than reasonable to me. Mind you, I’ve owned a series of old cars, and I”m used to turning off the motor only to experience a series of rumblings and explosions that would shame many a volcano. This is the sort of thing I’m conceptualizing, a kind of clunky running-on. And just as some cars are more susceptible to this behavior, so people vary in the length of time, and the force with which, their energy sputters and gasps. . . My example is overly dramatic, but it is not wholly unreasonable, and it serves to make this genetic mutation a player at the evolutionary table. You see what I’m getting at: a biologically and evolutionally sound model for the soul. (I didn’t say I’d achieved it.) Let’s conceive of the soul as an aura that human beings wear on their backs, cumberson as a tortoise’s carapace. Some are larger than others.
One reason might be that if I hadn’t tripped, I’d have been hamburger.When this sort of thing occurs, people often say that there was some power greater than themselves at work. This sounds reasonable. I am just suggesting that it is not necessary to equate “greater than ourselves” with “stretched across the heavenly vault.” It could mean “just slightly greater.” A cocoon of energy that we carry with us, that is capable, under some conditions, of affecting physicality. Furthermore, I conjecture that the totality of all these souls is what constitutes the Godhead. I mean this in the same sense as the “Leviathan” of Thomas Hobbes, whereby man, that is everyone together, creates “that great Leviathan called a Commonwealth or State, which is but an artificial man, though of greater statute and strength than the natural, for whose protection and defense it was created.”And that leads me to my Insight: God was not there at the beginning of evolution; God is what lies at the end of it.
The prophecy Revelations tells three stories1) God’s plan to use mankind to transform a darker spirit and soul into light2) To use the Law of Creation and its processes to facilitate this plan3) To guide the collective spirit and consciousness of mankind from dark to light and then then God. As we grow the spirit of business systems that were created over the past several thousand of years will evolve too.
No soul in the world is without a particular mission to perform and accomplish, and the misery of every soul is in not having come to understanding of the purpose for which he is born. The lifetime of confusion is always caused by souls wandering all the time away from the purpose of which they were born.Inayat Khan (1882 – 1927).
We have been cut off from our souls in the West, and because romantic love has become our religion, we think we can find fulfillment through this extraordinary and powerful force that draws us into an illusion of permanence. Passion makes us feel alive, makes us sing, makes us feel in touch with something powerful and wonderful, just as it would if we followed this meaning in life in a more spiritual practice. In the West it is often through such relationships, through another human being, that we search desperately for something, not knowing it is to be found within ourselves.
In-existence, the soul’s greatest imposition is its perfection. It is projected as a perfected form of the physical embodiment, an emblem of things, perhaps hyperreal and untouchably perfect as existence. It can not be! The soul in-existence is nothing of perfection. It is raw potential. The soul is nothing but potential. To be specific, the soul is unordered potential!
But of what use is it to be whitewashed and trim outside, to have pleasant creepers and tidy shutters, when inside one’s soul wanders through empty rooms, mournfully shivers in damp and darkness, is hungry and no one brings it food, is cold and no one lights a fire, is miserable and tired and there’s no chair to sit on?
To deny the existence of God would be to close your eyes to the beauty around you, to close your ears to the symphony of nature, to close your nostrils to the scents wafting on the breeze, to close your mouth to the delicacies of nourishment, to close your hands to the feel of luxury, to close your mind to the ability to think, and to close your heart to the only love that can penetrate the depths of the soul. For in Him all things consist, in Him we live, and move, and have our being, and without Him we cannot help but be fools.
The sun would still rise, the seasons would still come, life would continue. I was thankful to have been a part of it; I would take the memories and savor them for the life ahead. I had been given the components that would comprise the fate of my destiny; they had aged into my soul so that part of the past would always remain with me. They would be there for me to draw strength from on days in my future when death would seem a triumph and life too hard to live any more.
Those were the three words seldom asked to her.Yet, she knew they hold a healing power in them; For they bring a million thoughts to the mind and more to the soul; For the answer is far deeper than what is simply said on the face.She understood, so she asked him what was seldom asked to her,”How are you?
A Strange Prayer:Dear Lord, I, the self searching illusion, has seen and experienced the outer world:relationships,success and failure,true friends, strangers and backbiters.I lived the different emotionsduring different seasons;I witnessed ups & downs,enjoyed love & hate,was good & bad,faced beauty & ugliness.There were times when I was brave,there were times when I was a coward.There were times when I was proactive,there were times when I was indecisive.After, flying high in the skies,and yet being a loser…After, being nothing & no one,and yet feeling content..I have understood the differencebetween lust and love,happiness and sadness,selfishness and selflessness.One often leads to another;another secretly carries the one!Yet I am lostbetween being and becoming.An inner voice admits thatmy heart is an unexplored realm,my mind is a prisoner to my wishful thinking,and the soul is unknown to me.Setting that unknown free… now, this is my heartiest wish.As Saurabh Sharma,the human being,Ialwayspray to thee, ” O lord, set me free.I don’t want love,I don’t want to be loved;I want myself to be love itself now.That beautiful, silent and divine existence…!I want to get merged into that.Please give me wisdom and courage; Merge me into your supreme kingdom by setting my soul free.
ive lived so long a person, they tamed me to be,I spoke with care & held back the real, me. But the time has come, My voice will be heard. My messages are clear& I’m not the same girl. I am wild, my heart is rareI am untameable and I dont fuckin’ care Life is too short, to live for another, I’ve faced the rain, storms and thunder And if there’s one thing, I have kept in my mind It’s i am, who I am and I don’t give a damn if you don’t like.
Toxic people systematically destroy others because if they can not bask in the light then no one else deserves to. Lost people suffer in their darkness, happily dragging your light down into their personal hell so you can listen to all their woes. Soulless people, lacking empathy, suck the light from others to taste that which they can never understand. People can’t be helped until they want to be helped. You can’t be there for others who need you, if any one of these types destroy you. Save yourself… it’s not a sin to love from a distance.
Som barn tänkte jag mig alltid själen som en liten fågel. I en illustrerad världshistoria som min far hade såg också att egypterna avbildade den som en fågel. Men en fågel flyger inte högre än luften räcker, och den räcker inte långt. Den hör till jorden den också. I skolan hade vi en lärare i naturkunnighet som förklarade för oss att ingenting av det som finns på jorden kan komma bort ifrån den.
Sam and I had lived together for many months at this point, and I thought I’d gotten to know her pretty well. I realized I was wrong after watching her dance. I can’t really describe it any better than that I felt like I was taking a peek at someone else’s soul. Not much ever makes me feel like that.
Tuve que ahorrar un poco para mi siguiente obsesión. Los discos de mi padre se me habían quedado cortos, así que finalmente dejé de desayunar durante unas semanas y reuní lo suficiente para una nueva adquisición.Un disco.Era Temptin’ Temptations, de los Temptations. En la portada aparecían cinco jóvenes negros vestidos de blanco inmaculado, con chaquetas cortas de un botón y zapatos negros.Recuerdo la primera vez que lo puse en el tocadiscos. Primero un crujido. Y luego, BAM. Una música elegante, evocadora, romántica. Chirriando, algo lejana, tomando la habitación. La canción era «Since I lost my baby».Mirándolo, comprendí. Esa foto pintaba un mundo superior en el que los hombres eran dandis y toda la música era gloriosa, sus trajes nítidos, blancos, sus caras de ébano, sus zapatos relucientes. Donde cada minuto de vida era así: refinado y pleno, hermoso. Sin manchas. Un mundo irreal en el que nadie envejecía y había códigos de honor, y todo era puro y bello. Un mundo que no se parecía en nada a mi pueblo, a mi instituto, a los jugadores de fútbol que me perseguían para mantearme.Mi tía abuela me ha contado muchas veces cómo entraba en mi cuarto y me encontraba dormido al lado del tocadiscos, durmiendo plácidamente en el suelo. Aquellos discos eran mi medicina y mi vaso de leche caliente, mi primer compadre, mi escondite y mi refugio, mis armas.Con el tiempo llegaron las Marvelettes y los Impressions, los Temptations y Betty Harris, Bobby Womack y Al Green, Sam Dees y los Miracles. También Gloria Jones, Kim Weston, Barbara Acklin, Esther Williams, Curtis Mayfield, los 4 Tops, las Supremes, Chuck Jackson, Z.Z. Hill, Tommy Hunt, Billy Stewart, Sly & The Family Stone, Nina Simone, Billy Butler, Gene Chandler, Shirley Ellis y J.J. Jackson.Nunca volví a escuchar otra cosa
Sometimes callers from a distance invade my solitude, and it is on these occasions that I realize how absolutely alone each individual is, and how far away from his neighbour; and while they talk (generally about babies, past, present, and to come), I fall to wondering at the vast and impassable distance that separates one’s own soul from the soul of the person sitting in the next chair.
You have to love and respect your body, just as you must love and respect your soul, before you can truly love and respect the bodies and souls of those you care for. Of course the body itself is no matter to Heaven for the same reason that matter is no matter. Your gluten and your gluttonous maximus are a corporeal issue. Only your gluttony is an affair of the soul.
She bent and placed a single daisy upon the grave. A simple white daisy. The plainest of flowers, perhaps the purest, Elspeth thought. It had cost next to nothing at all, and perhaps that was the point. She wasn’t being cheap. She was being symbolic. In her mind, Andrea deserved only the unstained purity of the simplest of daisies, a daisy that was unsoiled by a wealth that couldn’t find the money to have claimed her soul.
The woman who first gives life, light, and form to our shadowy conceptions of beauty, fills a void in our spiritual nature that has remained unknown to us till she appeared. Sympathies that lie too deep for words, too deep almost for thoughts, are touched, at such times, by other charms than those which the senses feel and which the resources of expression can realise. The mystery which underlies the beauty of women is never raised above the reach of all expression until it has claimed kindred with the deeper mystery in our own souls.
Soul is not even that Crackerjack prize that God and Satan scuffle over after the worms have all licked our bones. That’s why, when we ponder–as sooner or later each of us must–exactly what we ought to be doing about our soul, religion is the wrong, if conventional, place to turn. Religion is little more than a transaction in which troubled people trade their souls for temporary and wholly illusionary psychological comfort–the old give-it-up-in-order-to-save-it routine. Religions lead us to believe that the soul is the ultimate family jewel and that in return for our mindless obedience, they can secure it for us in their vaults, or at least insure it against fire theft. They are mistaken.