George Krokos, 29 february 2016
To reverse the trend, where possible, of an adverse condition or situation
one must take certain specific opposite measures with due consideration.
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George Krokos, 29 february 2016
The homecoming of the soul is a great affair of joy and sweetness
but is also characterised by a feeling of surrender and meekness.
After having gone astray through ignorance into the world of pain and sorrow
it returns back home like a prodigal son with joy and thought for the morrow.
_____________________________
George Krokos, 29 february 2016
Do not ever pretend to be something that you are really not,
a hypocrite is someone who their own self have not fully got.
Yet being our real self is a state most of us seem to have lost
as we have allowed a false self to take control at a great cost.
_________________________
George Krokos, 29 february 2016
Oh Swami Muktananda Paramahansa that bliss of liberation you attained
by Guru Nityananda's grace emancipation in this very life you had gained.
You were a representative of the lineage of poet-saints that had gone before
showing how easy it was, by chanting the name of God, to meditate for sure.
You stressed the importance of repeating the mantra 'Om Namah Shivaya'
and that if done with love would bear fruit regardless of who was the sayer.
There was so much energy about you that one could feel, like an ever present force,
the supreme blessing of Guru Nityananda was with you always being its very source.
You were a living embodiment of chitishakti or divine power-knowledge-bliss
and most of all those who came before you could also easily experience this.
It appeared at times you were unapproachable if one was by your presence overawed
and that you were on the constant lookout for any sincere aspirant who was not bored.
You also emphasized and revealed the true nature of the guru-disciple relationship
stating in plain modern words what was expected of one like in an apprenticeship.
Many secrets of the inner path you divulged and laid bare in all your writings and talks
saying the receiving of Guru's grace was what made a difference on the path one walks.
A book called 'The Play of Consciousness' explained some of the inner experiences you had
your spiritual autobiography for the world at large making many inspired and extremely glad.
To many it meant that someone was still around living these days who had been through it all
and was available to instruct and guide others on the path to the goal he'd been to well before.
You were a living True Saint, Sadguru or Perfect Master to many it seemed
and showed the way or path of the Siddhas being the one which you deemed.
Living at a place called Ganeshpuri in India nearly fifty miles from Bombay
many came from all parts of the world to see you and in your ashram stay.
In the abode you named 'Shree Gurudev Ashram' in that land of yoga where people came
many found what they were after becoming your devotees to whom you gave a new name.
There was a strict daily discipline of chanting certain scriptures, work, study and meditation
and also the occassional all night chanting of the name of God which was a holy dedication.
The atmosphere in that place was so pervaded by the energy radiating from your being
almost as if one were living in another world and could not help what they were seeing.
The whole place resembled that of a temple palace attracting people from far and wide
who came to experience what with your grace you said was to be found but only inside.
You opened up a whole new ancient path of spiritual experience leading gradually to the goal
that people from all walks of life could participate in and regain the lost treasures of their soul.
By one-pointed devotion, self-effort, obedience, meditation and the blessings of Guru's grace
anyone could practice Yoga easily without much struggle and attain that inner peaceful place.
There were many new centres that opened by enthusiastic devotees in far away lands;
with the money, sweat and labour of all those who selflessly gave by their willing hands.
And it didn't really matter at what distance or place this centre was situated from you,
although not physically present your spirit, being all pervasive, was subtly there for you.
You also visited many of the countries where your devotees lived both in the east and west
giving darshan to all those old and new followers of the Siddha path you said was the best.
Initiating many people by either a look, word, thought, touch or even by your physical presence;
and all who received of your grace getting a real buzz, were invited to tell others of its essence.
It was mostly at a certain two day program, held every one or two months, called an "Intensive"
anyone could partake of the Siddha Yoga Initiation offered, at a price, which wasn't expensive.
This was also designed to enhance and recharge those who were already practising meditation
involving chanting, meditation and talk sessions including a lunchtime meal and brief relaxation.
One had to participate fully, from about nine to five, over the two days, usually on a weekend
to get the full benefit of what the program had to offer and experience Guru's grace descend.
This was really the main date on the calendar for all those into meditation that were not to miss
if they had nothing better to do and wanted to get a lift in their 'sadhana' and acquire some bliss.
It remotely seemed to be a bit of a fund raising venture with all the money seen changing hands
but to those who couldn't afford it, must of been painful missing out, one somehow understands.
There was also the question, which crossed one's mind, as to what was being bought and sold?
- a meditative experience the result of Nityanandaji's grace through Swami Muktananda's hold!
Although no one was ever heard to complain about not getting their share of what was being given
and with the attitude of 'the more you put into something the more you'll get back' one was driven.
It also depended a lot on how much in tune you were and what prior preparation had been made;
how sincere you were in your effort also what devotion and faith at the feet of the Guru one laid.
There were no restrictions, it appeared, to either old or young, male or female to begin meditation,
all could profit and benefit in one way or another in the process and practice of Self contemplation.
One had to have an open mind and heart to receive and partake surely of the Grace that was there;
that power of the True Living Master, which was so all pervading, being available for any to share.
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Satish Verma, 29 february 2016
Without pretension I try to dissect the truth
with a leap of faith,
which was a whole of me
and no outside fable.
The part ambition and part failure,
become a lump in the throat.
An intense enquiry starts with a shudder.
A crystal depth spills in cosmos, the words scream
you die for a chaste language.
The clarity of wing’s span,
and the purity of essence.
Yet life repeats some relevant,
questions of unknown,
of livid pain and sorrow.
As preamble to witness
a sad demise of a vision,
shock of abandonment
of a dream of future intellect,
the valley of clouds suffers a set back.
The ambition collapses like a failed god.
Satish Verma, 28 february 2016
I was not ready
when the gift arrived.
Today I cannot share my laugh,
my tears
with you.
The debt of ashes
was climbing up.
Clouds outside,
clouds inside.
My room was full of friends.
Wind was coming in,
wind was going out.
And I was trying to convince them
about euthanasia.
What was I dreaming? Mutation versus creation?
Botox? Somebody removing the wrinkles?
Augmenting the breasts with implants?
Black insanity?
Death was another name of birth?
Now I was transfixed:
Love birds were feeding their kids!
Joe Breunig, 28 february 2016
Is it possible, to be walking worthily,
before our God, in a world that’s dying?
While we have some defined understanding
of the constraints that are placed on us,
are we making the effort or even trying?
Are we operating with humbled mindsets
of lowliness, meekness and long-suffering?
Have we grasped the full purpose and plans,
for our vocation within His eternal Kingdom?
Do our actions show that we’re endeavoring
to move beyond personal crusades and desires
to impress anyone, whose lives intersect ours?
Is there a unity of The Spirit, whereby we
can have serenity with everyone around us?
Are we being productive or just wasting hours?
Does our Christian lifestyle reflect the idea
of us having one Lord, one Faith and one Baptism?
Are those, within the Church or outside of it,
being edified by the way we conduct ourselves?
Or are we acting out… in spiritual vigilantism?
Author notes
Inspired by:
Eph 4:1-16
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 27 february 2016
In dark I perceive soundless steps
shifting restlessly
rustling of clothes.
gentle tapping on the window
a shadow floats.
I don’t know if I was moving myself
trampling sleep.
Persistent insomnia sometimes creates
strange images.
Heart will toss the words in silence
and I will lit the blue flame in stillness.
That skimpy memory of a half-burned
corpse in a smoked room
haunts me. I carry the imprint of
violence in nerves, throbbing.
A riot of bright color in bougainvillaea
will wake me up in the morning.
Satish Verma, 26 february 2016
When you were searching an answer in
questions,
the end started near the beginning.
And you were still walking alone in the
unbridled tempest.
Lesser the light, stronger was the urge
to move in darkness.
Dirty landscape generated the brilliant stars,
Legs atrophied, frozen looks, I was watching
a strange phenomenon.
The spirit was drinking its own fountain.
Here is my toast to the march of time
Kids are refusing to write on dotted
lines
already the death was tasting the dust.
Satish Verma, 25 february 2016
It was always painful to remember the suicide
of a painter,
who was drawing the landscape
of hunger.
Polishing his art of pretention.
The time whistled past his window
without punctuation.
The terrain was tough, deepened by
requiem, the tears dried up
on the cheeks of chastity.
Script without drum and hue
of glowing eyes,
cracked lips
of us and our instruments of tragedy.
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