Religion is a certain way of life arising out of a certain set of views about man and the universe. It is something following from conclusions reached in regard to the nature of life. Since it is secondary in this way, as such, religions will tend to be non-inclusive and rigid. A certain way of life when formulated, will contribute to an identity, in the face of contending ways and mores. Ofcourse depending upon the starting direction and evolution of such ideas and practices, religions tend to be more or less aggressive and missionary. So some religions will be overtly competitive, but most religions are competitive at some level, in that they appeal to men and draw them to their practice in some way or the other.
Now what is primary, is the actual process of reasoning and the methodology in reaching those conclusions regarding life. This is spirituality, the very basis of religions. But because methodologies can always be refined, based either on more persuasive reasoning or on definitive experience, spirituality cannot be rigid. Ultimately, if there is a fundamental Truth, then the different methods of reasoning must complement if not overlap each other or lead to one from another. With spirituality, there is thus always a promise of kinship, a hope for dialogue, and an oppotunity to expand. This has been the message of spiritual Hinduism for hundreds of years and more so in the last hundred years. Through a profound consideration of life, through an intense understanding of spirituality, religions can give up inhuman cut-throat competitiveness. This idea has percolated through to many Indic religions.
The essential problem of our times is the terrible way in which this understanding has been lost or undermined. Religion without spirituality or a way of life without insight into how it came about, is like going on a journey unaware of the goal. And spirituality without religion, might be useless, like being aware of the goal but roaming about aimlessly. The big tragedy of our world today is the way religious people have stopped enquiring into the spiritual values they seek to adhere to. In attending to the rigmarole of rigid do's and don'ts and defending these, they have forgotten to allot time to douse the fires of anger and other passions in their hearts for fellow life. So much blood is spilt today because religious people have forgotten the primary end, spirituality and confused the end with the means. People who merely claim spirituality dont help either, by mocking religions from the outside. It cannot be denied that religion, or life honed by spirituality remains an important impulse of humankind. Without active participation, nobody ever learns the pulse of any field, let alone solve the malaises afflciting it: religion is no different!
Recently the Pope has called for a dialogue of religions- specifically, Islam and Christianity. It is my considered view, tha there cannot be any dialogue among religions. But dialogue is possible among differerent streams of spirituality. Unfortunately, mainstream Christianity and Islam, by persecuting their mystics and alienating their spiritual side, probably do not have the capability of holding such a dialogue.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Its raining mildly and I can feel the drenched wind. The sky has gone pale grey and the trees have been bent. The smell of earth has filled the air all around. Oh that monsoon, beloved Indian monsoon, I'm reminded of! Flush with downpour, downpour almost of love from above, the feet would feel the roads, melting into soft clay and to walk would no more be the desire but to dance ance through that monsoon, beloved Indian monsoon. Music from a streetvenors shop would pulse gently tugging at the heart, adding rhythm to the rhythm of breeze and children's laughter. There and then, could time stop? Or maybe now, with that sweet memory!
Monday, July 03, 2006
wisdom
Joy, the joy of pure being, pure happpiness, is it a state of the mind? I think, it is more, a state of no-mind. When the mind- cogitation, reflection, judegement, ego, emotion, memory- stays resolved without jumbling one of its different states with the egoity, the natural joy of pure being shines forth. At that instant, it is timelessness of the 'now'. time is but a marker of change. change causes anxiety. in changeless pure being, in timelessless, it is all untainted joy. At every instant, if this state is attained, when mind rests as no-mind, the pure intelligence of the Divine can work unencumbered in the being. this is Yoga, this is wisdom and the great goal presented by Hinduism.
Friday, June 09, 2006
This is a lovely poem from Swami Vivekananda. His blessings!
A Blessing
The Mother's heart, the hero's will,
The softest flowers' sweetest feel;
The charm and force that ever sway
The altar-fire's flaming play;
The strength that leads, in love obeys;
Far-reaching dreams, and patient ways,
Eternal faith in Self, in all,
The light Divine in great, in small;
All these and more than I could see,
Today may "Mother" grant to thee!
A Blessing
The Mother's heart, the hero's will,
The softest flowers' sweetest feel;
The charm and force that ever sway
The altar-fire's flaming play;
The strength that leads, in love obeys;
Far-reaching dreams, and patient ways,
Eternal faith in Self, in all,
The light Divine in great, in small;
All these and more than I could see,
Today may "Mother" grant to thee!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Monday, May 29, 2006
while I will continue that short piece of literature on the journey through tranisitions the other day, a muse for today here.
Is life purposeless? Or does it have atleast some purpose, if not something deep, rich? Well, I reckon these days, maybe its all in the mind. If we look at this life with all its irrationalities, the day to day bursts of seemingly nonsensical chores, the hundred hatreds and angers and troubles and miseries that we must endure until we get to one bowl of nourishment to keep vision intact for the next dawn, it all seems meaningless. No meaning there is, to all this. What bloody purpose on earth has that dying young antelope serve, being chased and hunted cruelly down to death by a hungry lion? What purpose do all those almsot endless types of bacteria or fish for that matter serve, anything better than as food, for other bacteria and fish? Life, with its rich confluence of colours, seems one big meandering surge of nothingness to nothingness.
OK hang on, before you get the feeling that I'm going to say what other purpose does your life serve than as rich source of proteins to hungry bacteria waiting to devour them in your grave. All this is looking from only one angle, trying to bully the complexity of nature to bend and pass through the destructive lens of my oppressive straightjacket of a purpose. Otherwise, there are a hundred purposes to life. Sample just one. That primeval fish ancestor of all land animals which died to prey transmitted that necessity for adaptation to its other surviving relatives. The survivors from some of whom eventually used those survival lessons to ultimately end up walking on land. That same lesson the dying antelope too transmitted. The lessons learnt surviving in some remote jungle in Africa stood in good stead for the eventual wordwide march of that biped a descendent of whom is today typing away these lines. Each lesson that is deep enough to ensure a better life is being lodged deeper, being mastered, transmitted, onward, onward, onward. In the comfort of a preyless survival and the shade of a promise of a life, there is the cool breeze of happiness. In the smile of a young one raised in an atmosphere free from fear, in the happiness of a family, in the shared laughter of a village, there is joy. Extending this joy of being, maybe, is one purpose of life.
And others...? Muwwah, now I'm sleepy.
Is life purposeless? Or does it have atleast some purpose, if not something deep, rich? Well, I reckon these days, maybe its all in the mind. If we look at this life with all its irrationalities, the day to day bursts of seemingly nonsensical chores, the hundred hatreds and angers and troubles and miseries that we must endure until we get to one bowl of nourishment to keep vision intact for the next dawn, it all seems meaningless. No meaning there is, to all this. What bloody purpose on earth has that dying young antelope serve, being chased and hunted cruelly down to death by a hungry lion? What purpose do all those almsot endless types of bacteria or fish for that matter serve, anything better than as food, for other bacteria and fish? Life, with its rich confluence of colours, seems one big meandering surge of nothingness to nothingness.
OK hang on, before you get the feeling that I'm going to say what other purpose does your life serve than as rich source of proteins to hungry bacteria waiting to devour them in your grave. All this is looking from only one angle, trying to bully the complexity of nature to bend and pass through the destructive lens of my oppressive straightjacket of a purpose. Otherwise, there are a hundred purposes to life. Sample just one. That primeval fish ancestor of all land animals which died to prey transmitted that necessity for adaptation to its other surviving relatives. The survivors from some of whom eventually used those survival lessons to ultimately end up walking on land. That same lesson the dying antelope too transmitted. The lessons learnt surviving in some remote jungle in Africa stood in good stead for the eventual wordwide march of that biped a descendent of whom is today typing away these lines. Each lesson that is deep enough to ensure a better life is being lodged deeper, being mastered, transmitted, onward, onward, onward. In the comfort of a preyless survival and the shade of a promise of a life, there is the cool breeze of happiness. In the smile of a young one raised in an atmosphere free from fear, in the happiness of a family, in the shared laughter of a village, there is joy. Extending this joy of being, maybe, is one purpose of life.
And others...? Muwwah, now I'm sleepy.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
A shepherd's journey
I wandered through the desert all morning and forenoon. It felt like I had embraced the embrace of death, like I had wandered into a rain of fire. Up until far ahead all I could see was baked brown earth spread before me, with not a sign of life anywhere. I had set out from home early, to try and find a pasture. Drought had brought my land to a parched pitch-halt. The heat was sweltering and wind had as if entered into an evil collaboration with it. As it blew, it carried all its rage straight into our hearts. The little water left was enough for us to drink and keep selves and bodies together. In the four directions all around, there was nothing but dry broken earth left. The music of the wind raging through the day sounded like the song of death. Nights brought no cheer. Clouds too brought none, they just sneaked past our heads high up in the sky. Today I needed to find a pasture, if my cattle was to survive. So I left home, left early today. I had to find something before all of them died. They had already started dying, one by one. So I wandered on.
I wandered through the desert all morning and forenoon. It felt like I had embraced the embrace of death, like I had wandered into a rain of fire. Up until far ahead all I could see was baked brown earth spread before me, with not a sign of life anywhere. I had set out from home early, to try and find a pasture. Drought had brought my land to a parched pitch-halt. The heat was sweltering and wind had as if entered into an evil collaboration with it. As it blew, it carried all its rage straight into our hearts. The little water left was enough for us to drink and keep selves and bodies together. In the four directions all around, there was nothing but dry broken earth left. The music of the wind raging through the day sounded like the song of death. Nights brought no cheer. Clouds too brought none, they just sneaked past our heads high up in the sky. Today I needed to find a pasture, if my cattle was to survive. So I left home, left early today. I had to find something before all of them died. They had already started dying, one by one. So I wandered on.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Some inspirational words
Just as I was thinking along these lines, they occur in the interview a sportsman gave. This is a man I've admired for a while now, for all his calmness through achievements, a man who came back from failures, but all the time remaining gloriously controlled and dignified. This is the sort of character I like for a role model: a man with a drive for achievement, tempered with dignity, culture and composure. He brings an intensity into the game that is as focused on the goals as is measured. Well, the sport is cricket and I'm Indian, so no marks for guessing that its Rahul Dravid. Here's the quote I was talking about earlier, and its from this interview:
Q: Your cricket is characterised by intensity ... whether it's batting or captaincy. How do you manage to sustain that intensity over a long period?
RD: You have to enjoy playing. And you have to make sure you never forget that it's just a game. You have to love the game. I always think about how I began.
When I was a young kid I remember what it felt like to come back from school, throw the bags, quickly get something to eat and then get out to the street to play cricket. We played for two-three hours and how we enjoyed it. It was so much fun. Then there were the school nets and I couldn't wait to go out and play. I was so keen just to hear the bell ring so I could get out there and bat. That's something that never goes away.
Obviously when you're playing professionally for such a long period of time the pressures are different. You taste success, you face defeats, there are some lonely days on the road ...
but if you can always go back to the joy of why you began playing the game in the first place, then the intensity will automatically come whether you're playing your first game, the second or the hundredth.
Q: Your cricket is characterised by intensity ... whether it's batting or captaincy. How do you manage to sustain that intensity over a long period?
RD: You have to enjoy playing. And you have to make sure you never forget that it's just a game. You have to love the game. I always think about how I began.
When I was a young kid I remember what it felt like to come back from school, throw the bags, quickly get something to eat and then get out to the street to play cricket. We played for two-three hours and how we enjoyed it. It was so much fun. Then there were the school nets and I couldn't wait to go out and play. I was so keen just to hear the bell ring so I could get out there and bat. That's something that never goes away.
Obviously when you're playing professionally for such a long period of time the pressures are different. You taste success, you face defeats, there are some lonely days on the road ...
but if you can always go back to the joy of why you began playing the game in the first place, then the intensity will automatically come whether you're playing your first game, the second or the hundredth.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Self-giving and self-discipline
I have often thought on the theme of self-giving and selfless patriotism, ever since I read Swami Vivekananda's views on patriotism some 7 years ago.
Swamiji's ideas, to me, for the first time, showed that patriotism could be an intense spiritual practice, and in the light of his ideas, patriotism could also raise us to a summit from where we could survey our own role in the larger context of human welfare.
But this greater idea of patriotism also means, we need to exert ourselves more to achieve it. Because it is easy to be patriotic in the sense of cheering one's national sports team or being passionately jingoistic about one's own national ideals. It is easy to even die for one's nation. But it is more difficult to mould oneself according to, and live for, a noble ideal.
If to be patriotic means to feel the suffering of fellowmen coursing through the veins every second, and work in that attitude, the idea enters the rarified realm of the sublime. In that realm, self-giving is the meaning of love. To love then means to suffuse oneself with the ideal. Then, life of the self is control of the self.
Ofcourse the more someone wants to conform to these ideals, the more he or she has to strive to manifest them. But if patriotism must lead to human welfare, it must be practiced in no less a light than this!
Swamiji's ideas, to me, for the first time, showed that patriotism could be an intense spiritual practice, and in the light of his ideas, patriotism could also raise us to a summit from where we could survey our own role in the larger context of human welfare.
But this greater idea of patriotism also means, we need to exert ourselves more to achieve it. Because it is easy to be patriotic in the sense of cheering one's national sports team or being passionately jingoistic about one's own national ideals. It is easy to even die for one's nation. But it is more difficult to mould oneself according to, and live for, a noble ideal.
If to be patriotic means to feel the suffering of fellowmen coursing through the veins every second, and work in that attitude, the idea enters the rarified realm of the sublime. In that realm, self-giving is the meaning of love. To love then means to suffuse oneself with the ideal. Then, life of the self is control of the self.
Ofcourse the more someone wants to conform to these ideals, the more he or she has to strive to manifest them. But if patriotism must lead to human welfare, it must be practiced in no less a light than this!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Bhajans and Ambulance Sirens
As the evening draws close, the temples in our Varanasi resonate with peace- the chimes of bells, evening Aratis, the aspiration of the human soul for the Divine all merge to create an atmosphere of bliss. It feels like Gods descend on earth to savour the sublime flavour of the hour.
Not on tuesday. The sirens of ambulances that immediately fileld the air after the blasts, perhaps modified and modulated the evening Bhajans: 'Lord, show us a way of of this madness'.
What do Hindus do?
They have a religious leadership which is confused and rudderless and unable to respond to times. A secular leadership which cares more about power and votes. A government that cannot protect their interests. A law enforcement mechanism which is medieval. And the miscreants who aid these inhuman deeds are almost invisible amongst the sea of innocent Muslim citizens of the nation.
A thousand years later, we are free in our lands. But our lives, religion and culture are not still safe. Each new incident only reminds the sad fact more poignantly, 15 August 1947 was only an illusory day of freedom.
Not on tuesday. The sirens of ambulances that immediately fileld the air after the blasts, perhaps modified and modulated the evening Bhajans: 'Lord, show us a way of of this madness'.
What do Hindus do?
They have a religious leadership which is confused and rudderless and unable to respond to times. A secular leadership which cares more about power and votes. A government that cannot protect their interests. A law enforcement mechanism which is medieval. And the miscreants who aid these inhuman deeds are almost invisible amongst the sea of innocent Muslim citizens of the nation.
A thousand years later, we are free in our lands. But our lives, religion and culture are not still safe. Each new incident only reminds the sad fact more poignantly, 15 August 1947 was only an illusory day of freedom.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
From Spenglers's regular at Asia Times online, a translation of this beautiful poem by Heinrich Heine, the 19th century German Jewish poet:
Skip the learned exegesis
Skip the reverential blessing,
Solve the damned conundrum for us
Just this once without digressing:
Why the righteous bear a cross
Along their road of woe, and bleed,
While the scoundrel trots victorious,
Happy on his lofty steed?
Who's to blame for this?
Might God's Omnipotence be less than full?
Or does He play these pranks on purpose?
Oh, that would be contemptible!
Every day we ask until
The question wears us out like cancer.
Then a shovelful of dirt stops up our
Muzzles - but is that an answer?
Skip the learned exegesis
Skip the reverential blessing,
Solve the damned conundrum for us
Just this once without digressing:
Why the righteous bear a cross
Along their road of woe, and bleed,
While the scoundrel trots victorious,
Happy on his lofty steed?
Who's to blame for this?
Might God's Omnipotence be less than full?
Or does He play these pranks on purpose?
Oh, that would be contemptible!
Every day we ask until
The question wears us out like cancer.
Then a shovelful of dirt stops up our
Muzzles - but is that an answer?
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
The Milkmaid's rapture
But why should I worry if Akrura took Him physically away?
When did my Kanha ever live in the world out there?
How can Sunrise affect the moonlit scenery in the heart?
Here in heart's chamber flows timeless, the music of His flute
Wafting through midnight's breeze fresh by Jamuna's touch
How can even a drought affect this eternal inner spring?
O this dark youth, swathed in yellow robes, adorned of
wild flowers and the peacock feather on his crown, has
enraptured the heart; what is time and where the world?
But why should I worry if Akrura took Him physically away?
When did my Kanha ever live in the world out there?
How can Sunrise affect the moonlit scenery in the heart?
Here in heart's chamber flows timeless, the music of His flute
Wafting through midnight's breeze fresh by Jamuna's touch
How can even a drought affect this eternal inner spring?
O this dark youth, swathed in yellow robes, adorned of
wild flowers and the peacock feather on his crown, has
enraptured the heart; what is time and where the world?
The Milkmaid's song
The whiz of husking, chatter of womenfolk,
and the whish of churning have stopped
Nanda's village has gone calm, its twilight:
Awaiting the return of men who left early;
It is so many years now since Akrura
summoned our beloved cowherd away
but still, this evening, my heart stops
as I hear this nearing clatter: of hooves,
stray moos, and desultory voices of men
Maybe, suddenly, out of that raised dust
He will appear, the dark one, like on that
distant day, He loomed sublime, dancing,
of swarthy Jamuna, on the serpent's head
The whiz of husking, chatter of womenfolk,
and the whish of churning have stopped
Nanda's village has gone calm, its twilight:
Awaiting the return of men who left early;
It is so many years now since Akrura
summoned our beloved cowherd away
but still, this evening, my heart stops
as I hear this nearing clatter: of hooves,
stray moos, and desultory voices of men
Maybe, suddenly, out of that raised dust
He will appear, the dark one, like on that
distant day, He loomed sublime, dancing,
of swarthy Jamuna, on the serpent's head
Monday, February 13, 2006
The lamp of hope
I have lit the evening lamp in this
my small hut; It is really the lamp
of hope: this dusk like on so many
past ones, I sit still by the window
looking, into the courtyard, will my
Kanha, black like a monsoon cloud
appear out of the darkness today?
I have swept the dust out of this
my small hut, really, the dust of
distractions, today like on so many
past days; the evening breezes in
as I look anxiously outside: will my
Kanha, black like moonless nights
appear out of darkness today?
I have adorned the insides of this
my small hut, with flowers of best
fragrance: this day like on so many
past ones, I plucked'em finest, from
love's labour, in the garden of life;
I long for my Kanha, when will he
come drive this unreal light away?
I have lit the evening lamp in this
my small hut; It is really the lamp
of hope: this dusk like on so many
past ones, I sit still by the window
looking, into the courtyard, will my
Kanha, black like a monsoon cloud
appear out of the darkness today?
I have swept the dust out of this
my small hut, really, the dust of
distractions, today like on so many
past days; the evening breezes in
as I look anxiously outside: will my
Kanha, black like moonless nights
appear out of darkness today?
I have adorned the insides of this
my small hut, with flowers of best
fragrance: this day like on so many
past ones, I plucked'em finest, from
love's labour, in the garden of life;
I long for my Kanha, when will he
come drive this unreal light away?
Monday, February 06, 2006
another way os saying the same thing I was saying in the post below:
...
I have shut the world out of my room;
But looking at moonbeams trickling in,
I wish these delightful ones could
somehow come alive and give company
I have locked my lips from talking;
But I wish, this winter breeze could beat
with the sorrow of my heartbeats and
carry it away into that glowing distance
I wish I could be just my shadow-
Even if I wept with my muscles flexed
All that people could see would be
that strength in the silhouette
I cant even cast my present off,
move on: I'm addicted to this sad song
played out by the winds of time blowing
through this hollow reed of my life
To want and to deserve are things
quite apart: the waves of the oceans
all desire the blue sky above but
perish, in this very attempt to soar high.
...
I have shut the world out of my room;
But looking at moonbeams trickling in,
I wish these delightful ones could
somehow come alive and give company
I have locked my lips from talking;
But I wish, this winter breeze could beat
with the sorrow of my heartbeats and
carry it away into that glowing distance
I wish I could be just my shadow-
Even if I wept with my muscles flexed
All that people could see would be
that strength in the silhouette
I cant even cast my present off,
move on: I'm addicted to this sad song
played out by the winds of time blowing
through this hollow reed of my life
To want and to deserve are things
quite apart: the waves of the oceans
all desire the blue sky above but
perish, in this very attempt to soar high.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
This excerpt from TVR Shenoy's latest opinion piece sums up the UPA's 'constitutionalism'. And the national media went to sleep because the mischeif maker is Congress, their own darling imp:
Prime Minister Manmohan Singh is old enough to recall why January 26 is something more than just another holiday. It is the day we adopted our own Constitution. It is also the day we snapped all links to an alien crown, replacing a governor-general with a president — Dr Rajendra Prasad. This Republic Day, a man whose action was condemned as “unconstitutional” by the apex court, took the salute in Dr Rajendra Prasad’s home state, at a place named after the Father of the Nation.
Be honest with India, Mr Prime Minister, were these really reasons to celebrate Republic Day?
Prime Minister Manmohan Singh is old enough to recall why January 26 is something more than just another holiday. It is the day we adopted our own Constitution. It is also the day we snapped all links to an alien crown, replacing a governor-general with a president — Dr Rajendra Prasad. This Republic Day, a man whose action was condemned as “unconstitutional” by the apex court, took the salute in Dr Rajendra Prasad’s home state, at a place named after the Father of the Nation.
Be honest with India, Mr Prime Minister, were these really reasons to celebrate Republic Day?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)