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We speak to be understood
We write to be understood
We sing to be understood
We play to be understood

Just Love and you will be understood loud and clear.♥

Love is the universal language. All other languages speak from mind to mind..Love speaks heart to heart.

Though some might complain that though Love is the language of the heart and that it is heard only if the other heart is open, But true Love conquers all. Over a period of time even the tightest of heart squeeze open to the incessant ray of love.

Krishnamachari Santhanam

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Santhanam Krishnamachari Sri Sri on M.F.Hussain.(This is an extract of posting on FB on the controversial subject of M.F.Hussain’s nude painting of Hindu Goddesses and his own subsequent citizenship with Qutar.)

Yesterday at 10:28pm Only Friends · Comment ·LikeUnlike · View Feedback (9)Hide Feedback (9)

Aarthi Sampath likes this.

Santhanam Krishnamachari

BANGALORE: Spiritual guru Sri Sri Ravi Shankar Monday expressed surprise over the "hue and cry" over painter M.F. Husain’s move to give up Indian citizenship and chided him for painting Indian gods in the nude.

"While India has a policy of free expression, one cannot accept blatant insult to the heroes of its land. It is the intention behind a man’s creativity which is questionable, " Ravi Shankar said in a statement.

"In one of Husain’s paintings of Mahatma Gandhi, Karl Marx, Albert Einstein and Hitler, he painted only Hitler nude and said that his way of humiliating a person is to paint him nude.See More

"No one has ever sculpted Rama and Sita as nude. Creative expression is always welcome. No country has been as liberal as India… Any nude woman could have been painted by him but calling the women Sita, Lakshmi (and) Saraswati shows his perversion and hatred.

"Will M.F. Husain show the same creativity and the same spirit with Islamic heroes and would he, then, be able retain his Qatari citizenship?

Double standards, bias and hatred do not go well with men of excellence

Yesterday at 10:29pm ·

Vasudevan S. Raghavan

I am happy that you have brought this issue for information of our facebook members. Subsequent to my sending this news through mail to many people, I received one reply which I reproduce hereunder and my reply to him :


Yes Sir; you are right in your view because you think about communal harmony. But there are other views of people and they analyse the matters from the perverted angle of the creator. More than that they see the exploitation of our weakness in the name of communal harmony.

You are broad-minded and soft-hearted and so you see the creation only but they are concerned from the broader point of exploitation of our weakness.

And this is my personal view.


Yesterday at 11:14pm ·

Santhanam Krishnamachari

The above mail is contradictory. He is agreeing with Sri Sri on the content but disagreeing on the header!
Today at 8:42am ·

Santhanam Krishnamachari

Also as an artist he has the supreme responsibility to border his art based on sensitivity to people. Sri Sri’s question is not answered it. Will MF paint such a thing on the prophet under the guise of artist’s freedom and still retain his qutari citizenship. Next i will post a video of missionaries in india who force the converts to step on God’s See Morepictures and burn them. I do beleive in a free society and universal beleif but that agenda does not include interference in another faith and beleif.
As samuel Johnson said your right t wave the cane stops when another’s nose comes in the way!
Today at 8:46am ·

Vasudevan S. Raghavan

He is disagreeing with Ravi Shankar by his statement "What useful purpose they achieve by such action which results only in religious disharmony".
Today at 8:50am ·

Santhanam Krishnamachari

This is a question to be directed to Mf!
Today at 8:51am ·

Santhanam Krishnamachari

In france due to the algerian influence there are shops which print pictures og gods and jesus in shoes and undergarments. Next if we comment on that can the same question apply? The bane in India is to be passive for everything and when somebody voices another openion it is taken as a disturbance to the blissful sleep of ignorance.
Today at 8:54am ·

Vasudevan S. Raghavan

Equality, democracy, right, etc. are only for select few and definitely not for those who raise objection.
Today at 8:58am ·
Write a comment…
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Porcelain Gods

Singapore girl wins Commonwealth essay prize!

A 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean, competing against 16-> 18-year-olds, has
won the top prize in a writing contest that drew 5,300 entries from 52

In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of
Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) chose to compete in the older category and
won with a piece on the restlessness of modern life.

Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the
conflict in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter.

‘Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-vs-West
struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young people
in my country,’ said Amanda, who likes drama, history and literature and wants
to become a lawyer and a politician.

Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a ‘powerfully moving
and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel

The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of dialogue.
Amanda gets (S$1,590). A Singaporean last won the top prize in
2000, said Britain ‘s Royal Commonwealth Society, which has been organising
the competition since 1883. Singaporeans also came in second in the 14 to
15-year-old category, and fourth in the under-12s. Other winners included
students from Australia , Canada and South Africa


What the Modern Woman Wants… By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen

The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it
careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap,
afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with
trembling hands she pulled the seat belt tighter but was careful not to touch
the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned
her not to dirty it, ‘Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.’

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver
mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand.
‘Finance’, ‘Liquidation’, ‘Assets’, ‘Investments’… Her voice was crisp and
important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it.

Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television.
She was speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval….. ‘I absolutely
cannot have this. We have to sell!’ Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as
she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping
onto the steering wheel in irritation.

‘I can’t DEAL with this anymore!’ she yelled as she clicked the
phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit
the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She
calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.

‘Sorry, Ma,’ she said, losing the American pretence and switching
to Mandarin. ‘I have a big client in America . There have been a lot of

The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and

Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering
what she was thinking. Her mother’s wrinkled countenance always carried the
same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful
digital tune, which broke the awkward silence.

‘Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.’ Elaine. The old woman
cringed. I didn’t name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling
her, how an English name was very important for ‘networking’, Chinese ones
being easily forgotten.

‘Oh no, I can’t see you for lunch today. I have to take the
ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.’
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was
referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother’s silence
meant she did not comprehend.

‘Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!’ The
old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in

The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked
almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple’s roof. The old
woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and
stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother’s

‘Ma, I’ll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,’
she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she
knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.
Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these
years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a
young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a
swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her
love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man.
Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she
says.. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except
happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her
roots while reaping the harvest of success.

What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She
gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me
only because I affect her happiness.. A young woman does not want to be
hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.

The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.
Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss
stick into an urn of smoldering ashes.

She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her
daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she
came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.
Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb,
bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a
girl. Her husband had ticked and punched her for producing a useless baby
who could not work or carry the family name.

Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied
to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have
everything she ever wanted.

Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never
have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a
great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A
woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman
who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to
speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen. She will not be
like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away
from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood.

She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl to one who
openly defied her, calling her laotu, old fashioned…. She wanted her
mother to be ‘modern’, a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered
why she had prayed like that. The Gods had been faithful to her persistent
prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the
girl’s roots and now she stood faceless with no identity, bound to the soil of
her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.

Her daughter had forgotten her mother’s value. Her wants were so
ephemeral, that of a modern woman. Power, wealth, access to the best fashion
boutiques and yet her daughter had not found true happiness.
The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less.
When her daughter left the earth, everything she had would count for
nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman
but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt
paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes
and prayers for her daughter now that she had looked out of the temple gates.
She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and
worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one
way to go from there – down.

The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a
packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for
worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and
expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own
gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she enslaved to and
worshipped every day of her life.

Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped
counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly
suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty souless shell at the altar.
The old woman watched the joss stick. The dull heat had left a
teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.

Modern woman nowadays, the old lady signed in resignation, as she
bowed to the east bone final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays
want so much that they lose their souls and wonder whey they cannot find it.
Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her
daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched
on her daughter’s face.

An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of
her wants looking for the one thing that would sown the seeds of happiness.
They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove
along the highway, this time not to fast as she had done before.
‘Ma,’ Bee Choo finally said. "I don’t know how to put this.
Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big
house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer
willing to pay us seven million for it. We decided we’d prefer a cosier
penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road . Once
we move into our apartment, we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have
more space to ourselves…."

The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. "We’d
get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out – but once the
maid is gone, there won’t be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully
lonely at home and, besides that the apartment is rather small. There won’t
be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing
for you is if you moved to a Home. There’s one near Hougang – it’s a
Christian home and a very nice one."

The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. I"ve been there, the
matron is willing to take you in. It’s beautiful with gardens and lots of
old people to keep you company! Hardly have time for you, you’d be happier
there." "You’d be happier there, really." her daughter repeated as if to
affirm herself.

This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offering to
cling tightly to, she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would
protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into
the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag and her fingers trace the white

Ma, her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her
mother. "Is everything okay?

What had to be done, had to be done. "Yes" she said firmly,
louder than she intended, ‘if it will make you happy,’ she added more

‘It’s for you, Ma! You will be happier there. You can move
there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.’ Elaine said
triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.
‘I knew everything would be fine.’ Elaine smiled widely; she felt
liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She
had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of
happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever
wanted; money, status, career, love, power and now freedom without her mother
and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down……

Yes she was free. Her phone butted urgently, she picked it up and
read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. "Stock 10% increase."
Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her and while
searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen,
the old woman in the backseat became invisible and she did not see her in


So fellow friends, save enough for your old age and don’t try to rely on your children.

Your responsibility is to give them the necessary education/training and life after that is theirs.

If they chose to look after you, it is a bonus and thank the gods for it.

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Nirvanashtakam-By adi Sankaracharya-Transalation by my beloved Master Swami Vivekanandha

I am neither the mind, nor the intellect, nor the ego, nor the mind-stuff ;
I am neither the body, nor the changes of the body ;
I am n…either the senses of hearing, taste, smell, or sight,
Nor am I the ether, the earth, the fire, the air ;
I am Existence Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, Bliss Absolute—
I am He, I am He. (Shivoham, Shivoham).

I am neither the Prâna, nor the five vital airs ;
I am neither the materials of the body, nor the five sheaths ;
Neither am I the organs of action, nor object of the senses ;
I am Existence Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, Bliss Absolute—
I am He, I am He. (Shivoham, Shivoham).

I have neither aversion nor attachment, neither greed nor delusion;
Neither egotism nor envy, neither Dharma nor Moksha;
I am neither desire nor objects of desire ;
I am Existence Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, Bliss Absolute—
I am He, I am He. (Shivoham, Shivoham).

I am neither sin nor virtue, neither pleasure nor pain ;
Nor temple nor worship, nor pilgrimage nor scriptures,
Neither the act of enjoying, the enjoyable nor the enjoyer ;
I am Existence Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, Bliss Absolute—
I am He, I am He. (Shivoham, Shivoham).

I have neither death nor fear of death, nor caste ;
Nor was I ever born, nor had I parents, friends, and relations ;
I have neither Guru, nor disciple ;
I am Existence Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, Bliss Absolute—
I am He, I am He. (Shivoham, Shivoham).

I am untouched by the senses, I am neither Mukti nor knowable ;
I am without form, without limit, beyond space, beyond time ;
I am in everything ; I am the basis of the universe ; everywhere am I.
I am Existence Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, Bliss Absolute—
I am He, I am He. (Shivoham, Shivoham)

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We worship female Godesses but do not want female children

As John-Thor Dahlburg points out, "in rural India, the centuries-old practice of female infanticide can still be considered a wise course of action." (Dahlburg, "Where killing baby girls ‘is no big sin’," The Los Angeles Times [in The Toronto Star, February 28, 1994.]) According to census statistics, "From 972 females for every 1,000 males in 1901 … the gender imbalance has tilted to 929 females per 1,000 males. … In the nearly 300 poor hamlets of the Usilampatti area of Tamil Nadu [state], as many as 196 girls died under suspicious circumstances [in 1993] … Some were fed dry, unhulled rice that punctured their windpipes, or were made to swallow poisonous powdered fertilizer. Others were smothered with a wet towel, strangled or allowed to starve to death." Dahlburg profiles one disturbing case from Tamil Nadu:

Lakshmi already had one daughter, so when she gave birth to a second girl, she killed her. For the three days of her second child’s short life, Lakshmi admits, she refused to nurse her. To silence the infant’s famished cries, the impoverished village woman squeezed the milky sap from an oleander shrub, mixed it with castor oil, and forced the poisonous potion down the newborn’s throat. The baby bled from the nose, then died soon afterward. Female neighbors buried her in a small hole near Lakshmi’s square thatched hut of sunbaked mud. They sympathized with Lakshmi, and in the same circumstances, some would probably have done what she did. For despite the risk of execution by hanging and about 16 months of a much-ballyhooed government scheme to assist families with daughters, in some hamlets of … Tamil Nadu, murdering girls is still sometimes believed to be a wiser course than raising them. "A daughter is always liabilities. How can I bring up a second?" Lakshmi, 28, answered firmly when asked by a visitor how she could have taken her own child’s life eight years ago. "Instead of her suffering the way I do, I thought it was better to get rid of her." (All quotes from Dahlburg, "Where killing baby girls ‘is no big sin’.")
A study of Tamil Nadu by the Community Service Guild of Madras similarly found that "female infanticide is rampant" in the state, . "Of the 1,250 families covered by the study, 740 had only one girl child and 249 agreed directly that they had done away with the unwanted girl child. More than 213 of the families had more than one male child whereas half the respondents had only one daughter." (Malavika Karlekar, "The girl child in India: does she have any rights?," Canadian Woman Studies, March 1995.)

The bias against females in India is related to the fact that "Sons are called upon to provide the income; they are the ones who do most of the work in the fields. In this way sons are looked to as a type of insurance. With this perspective, it becomes clearer that the high value given to males decreases the value given to females." (Marina Porras, "Female Infanticide and Foeticide".) The problem is also intimately tied to the institution of dowry, in which the family of a prospective bride must pay enormous sums of money to the family in which the woman will live after marriage. Though formally outlawed, the institution is still pervasive. "The combination of dowry and wedding expenses usually add up to more than a million rupees ([US] $35,000). In India the average civil servant earns about 100,000 rupees ($3,500) a year. Given these figures combined with the low status of women, it seems not so illogical that the poorer Indian families would want only male children." (Porras, "Female Infanticide and Foeticide".) Murders of women whose families are deemed to have paid insufficient dowry have become increasingly common, and receive separate case-study treatment on this site.

India is also the heartland of sex-selective abortion. Amniocentesis was introduced in 1974 "to ascertain birth defects in a sample population," but "was quickly appropriated by medical entrepreneurs. A spate of sex-selective abortions followed." (Karlekar, "The girl child in India.") Karlekar points out that "those women who undergo sex determination tests and abort on knowing that the foetus is female are actively taking a decision against equality and the right to life for girls. In many cases, of course, the women are not independent agents but merely victims of a dominant family ideology based on preference for male children."

Dahlburg notes that "In Jaipur, capital of the western state of Rajasthan, prenatal sex determination tests result in an estimated 3,500 abortions of female fetuses annually," according to a medical-college study. (Dahlburg, "Where killing baby girls ‘is no big sin’.") Most strikingly, according to UNICEF, "A report from Bombay in 1984 on abortions after prenatal sex determination stated that 7,999 out of 8,000 of the aborted fetuses were females. Sex determination has become a lucrative business." (Zeng Yi et al., "Causes and Implications of the Recent Increase in the Reported Sex Ratio at Birth in China," Population and Development Review, 19: 2 [June 1993], p. 297.)

Deficits in nutrition and health-care also overwhelmingly target female children. Karlekar cites research

indicat[ing] a definite bias in feeding boys milk and milk products and eggs … In Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh [states], it is usual for girls and women to eat less than men and boys and to have their meal after the men and boys had finished eating. Greater mobility outside the home provides boys with the opportunity to eat sweets and fruit from saved-up pocket money or from money given to buy articles for food consumption. In case of illness, it is usually boys who have preference in health care. … More is spent on clothing for boys than for girls[,] which also affects morbidity. (Karlekar, "The girl child in India.")

Krishnamachari Santhanam

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Arunachala Pancharathna

The fifth hymn, ‘Five Stanzas to Sri Arunachala’ (Arunachala Pancharatna), is of a different nature to the first four. The great Sanksrit poet and devotee Ganapati Sastri, who was a follower of Bhagavan, begged him to write a poem in Sanksrit. Bhagavan replied, laughing, that he scarcely knew any Sanksrit and no Sanksrit metres. Sastri, however explained a metre to him and repeated his request. When he returned the same evening this hymn had been written in perfect, flawless Sanskrit.

Devotee: I have been reading the Five Hymns. I find that the hymns are addressed to Arunachala by you. You are an advaitin. How do you then address God as a separate Being?

Maharshi: The devotee, God and the Hymns are all the Self.

Devotee: But you are addressing God. You are specifying this Arunachala Hill as God.

Maharshi: You can identify the Self with the body. Should not the devotee identify the Self with Arunachala?

Devotee: If Arunachala be the Self why should it be specially picked out among so many other hills? God is everywhere. Why do you specify Him as Arunachala?

Maharshi: What has attracted you here to this place? What has attracted all these people around?

Devotee: Sri Bhagavan.

Maharshi: How was I attracted here? By Arunachala. The Power cannot be denied. Again Arunachala is within and not without. The Self is Arunachala.

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Once Arjuna was walking with Krishna by his side. Sri Krishna wanted to teach humility to his great devotee. As they were walking by Krishna showed to Arjuna a mound of flowers and mentioned casully that is from my greatest devotee! Arjuna immediately interjected-me? A question expecting an asuured answer of affirmation.

Krishna feigned surprise-You? No No. The flowers you have offered to me are over there and showed a small mound. Arjuna was miffed- then who is this devotee who had offered you so many flowers? He maybe is doing laksharchana everyday and not be riddled with protecting a nation like me. Now you can see Arjuna going on the defence.
Krishna says No on the contratry He is also a kshatriya Involved in governance just like you.

Arjuna could not take the suspense anymore. asked Krishna Who is he?
Krishna smiled sweetly and said your own brother Bhima.
Now Arjuna was even more intrigued- what Bhima? If you had mentioned Dharmaraja i could beleive but Bhima?the guy with the eternal apetite? NO way…
But still Krishna would not lie…
So as a last face saving device he asked-Krishna you mean it?
Krishna says-absolutely,every word of it..If you want go and ask Bhima.
Arjuna went to Bhima and explained the situation and asked him when you have offered these flowers to Krishna.
Bhima said in all simplicity- Oh these flowers? Whenever I pass by the hillside and see these flowers I used to be lost in its beauty and grandeure and think of Krishna and his myraid taste in creating these flowers. So i used to offer it to Krishna in my mind-as a trbute-offering what was and is originally His. Apart from this where is the time to do Pooja and all the stuff? He laughed and went off.

Now Arjna had learnt his lesson and so have we- God is not looking at the number of times we have perambualated or the number of flowers or incense we have offered or the number of mala we have rotated. What is not His which we can offer to him
Remebrance is everything.
Krishnamachari Santhanam.

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The sweetness is the nature of sugar; but that sweetness is there only so long as the sugar is present. Once the sugar has been consumed or thrown away, there is no more sweetness. So this knowledge "I am," this consciousness, this feeling or sense of Being, is the quintessence of the body. And if that… body essence is gone, this feeling, the sense of Being, will also have gone. This sense of Being cannot remain without the body, just as sweetness cannot remain without the material, which is sugar.

Nisagradatta Maharaj

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SILENCE – Ignored Companion of a Busy Life

If you can stop occasionally, and fine tune your perception a little, you will find silence is all around you everywhere. It’s in the soundless valley in the early morning mists. It’s in the stillness of the evening of a long hot summers day. It’s in the calm of the ocean before the coming of the storm. It’s in the café conversation in the pause between opinions. It’s in the deafening, noiseless vastness of the desert. And it’s in that awesome panorama from the mountain peak.

There is the remembered silence of the past, in childhood memories of hide and seek. There is the projected silence of the future in the possibility of the end of suffering. There is the silence of the present moment when the history of yesterday and the mystery of tomorrow are dissolved in the practice of being fully present here and now. There is the silence of a city overcome by sleep. And there is the silence of the countryside, when only vines and foxes creep. And if you can rest your attention, on the last peel of the village bell, you can ride the sound as it fades to silence, and you may come to know the deepest inner peace, of which all meditators do tell!

Sweet silence, the ignored companion of a busy life.

There is the dead silence in the passing of the soul from yet another body. There is the muffled silence at the heart of the forest as trees stand tall and thick in a conspiracy to absorb any foreign sound. There is a joyful silence when the mind takes a break from its illusions called ‘I know’ and sees everything exactly as it is, and not by it’s label. Look beyond the form and colour in a painting and you may see the silence of the canvas that holds the artists creative noise together. Listen closely to the symphony and you will hear pure silence between the notes without which the beauty of such music would be lost. Become aware of the space between your thoughts, go through that space, and you will emerge into the silence of your being, and be reunited with your power as a master creator. All creation emerges from silence, is shaped by the power of silence and is moved by the silent power of ‘being’.

Why do all the mystics and yogis talk so much about silence? Why do they make so much sound about the soundless? Because they discover that only in silence can everything that has true and eternal value be known. In silence they see the original and singular cause of all action, and how the root of all things comes from ‘no thing’. In silence they are reunited with the consciousness of the unity of all things, in all time, and in all space. In silence they can float any question out into the ocean of their inner silent emptiness and know, with absolute unwavering faith, that the answer will return to find them, no matter what may pe-occupy their mind. And they remind us that only when our whole being is ‘in silence’ can our spiritual heart receive and absorb the light and love of the Source – the power of the silent One. In that same profoundly silent state, they tell us, we may rediscover and be moved by your own latent benevolence towards all creatures great and small.

Sweet silence. Do you know silence? Have you felt its sweetness? Do you know your own silent self beyond noisy thinking patterns, beyond the crashing waves of emotion, beyond the invading forces of a world that is addicted to sound? Are you addicted to sound?

So few have been into their silence and returned with it’s power and its fragrance to hush a noisy world. Would you value the ability to enter such an inner space where all is available to the searching soul, where all that you yearn for can be found in full, in an instant? In the silence of the heart of you , everything that you are, and everything that you have, is known and felt to be pure and incorruptible. That ‘everything’ is love, it is light and it is power. All that you have been taught to identify with and pursue in the world is then seen for what it is – illusion and delusion.

Step away from the world ‘out there’, step away from the world that is ‘on your mind’, step away from the world that has shaped the story of your life, step away from your story, step away from all worldly desire, your day-to-day cleverness and every urge to judge another, and you step through the doorway into the deepest peace and the place where all becomes clear. Silence is pure peace. Silence sees with pure vision.

Step into your self, into your eternal silent self, and know your self … again. Step into the light of your heart, your silent heart, and know the light that can never be extinguished … again. Let go and step into the boundariless, infinite space that exists forever behind your busy mind, and know what it is to just ‘be’ … again.

Question: Why do you think the awareness of silence and the feeling of stillness are so empowering?

Reflection: If you cannot hear my silence you will not hear my words – what does this mean?

Action: Create Space and Time – In your home create a space, a corner, perhaps a room, that will be your silent space. Then create a regular time you will ‘go to’ and ‘be in’ that space and practice stilling your mind without force.

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