Wednesday, August 31, 2011

From ‘My Life and Quest’ by Arthur Osborne

When a devotee complained to the Maharshi that other thoughts arose more forcibly when he tried to meditate, he replied: “Yes, all kinds of thoughts arise in meditation. That is only right, for what is hidden in you is brought out. Unless it rises, how can it be destroyed? Thoughts rise up spontaneously, but only to be extinguished in due course, thus strengthening the mind”……. When a person first understands and sets forth on the spiritual quest one may see a new radiance overspread him, a sort of foreshadowing of his perfected state, making him altogether delightful. However, this will not last. It will be followed by a stage when all his lowest possibilities come to the surface and he seems to be worse than before. At this time patience is needed.

When his body’s death seemed imminent and some devotees asked how they could pursue their sadhana without his continued guidance, he replied with the cryptic rebuke: “You attach too much importance to the body.”

Sometimes Bhagavan would say: “Your duty is simply to be; not to be this or that.” ……. He also often quoted the sentence from the Psalms: ‘Be still and know that I am God.’ Keep the mind still, free from thoughts, and know that the ‘I am’, the pure Being, is God.



When Life moves on with unperturbed stride,
As though you had not been. Even while you are,
Nothing is there secure, little for pride.
Health is on loan from time; frustrations mar
Ambition and achievement; friendships end
In death or forgetting. From afar
Old age creeps on, filching the zest you lend
To work and pleasure, chilling the vital power,
Still narrowing the circle you defend
Of life’s attachments, till the final hour
When thoughts, drawn in from schemes for which you fought,
From work you lived for, office held or power,
From wife and friend, from child, things sold and bought,
Converge on one point only, your next breath;
Stripped of attachment, to naked being brought,
To be squeezed out through the narrow womb of death.

To Whom?
Why fumble about blindfold
In the box of things
The future may hold?
They will take to their wings
In whatever form time brings,
Never as told.
Give them no chance
To lodge in your mind,
Or soon you will find
A true devil’s dance
Going on without cease,
No respite, no peace.

Let the mind be still,
Like a clear lake
Where no waves break.
Then, come what will,
The thoughts that fly over
Have no cause to hover,
No place to nest
In a mind at rest.

If still they come,
Never follow them home;
Ask only to whom
The thoughts come.

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