There's so much
of a useless junk.
Like the other day,
I was watching a movie
the one I had seen
a long time back;
wasn't even watching it
forgotten all about it
just hearing what was going on,
I remembered, every word said
and the next line that would be said.
Just a useless junk
forgotten
it's all still there
so are many other things
that I do not remember.
Sometimes it Happens by Brian Patten
And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then
You are not friends,
And friendship has passed.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself.
And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then
You are not loved,
And love is past.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself into the grass.
And sometimes you want to speak to her and then
You do not want to speak,
Then the opportunity has passed.
Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.
And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then
There is somewhere to go,
Then you have bypassed.
And the years flare up and are gone,
Quicker than a minute.
So you have nothing.
You wonder if these things matter and then
As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter
They cease to matter,
And caring is past.
And a fountain empties itself into the grass.
You are not friends,
And friendship has passed.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself.
And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then
You are not loved,
And love is past.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself into the grass.
And sometimes you want to speak to her and then
You do not want to speak,
Then the opportunity has passed.
Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.
And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then
There is somewhere to go,
Then you have bypassed.
And the years flare up and are gone,
Quicker than a minute.
So you have nothing.
You wonder if these things matter and then
As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter
They cease to matter,
And caring is past.
And a fountain empties itself into the grass.
Infinite Monkeys
The advertisement in a daily read
"Wanted computer savy infinite monkeys
perks: best bananas in the industry"
Thus putting togather infinite monkeys
sitting them all at computer keyboards
teaching them to type, the work began:
Works of all bards, and all philosophers
of the past and the infinite time to come
all the old and many new masterpieces galore.
Now the big problem that was encountered
finding monkey that produced the masterpieces,
so infinite monkeys were put on sorting task.
There were reports that Encyclopedia Britannica
all of the volumes were spotted in Esperanto
Entire works of Shakespeare in ancient Martian.
Amongst the infinite gems and gibberish
this poem was discovered by some monkeys
all it took was one monkey an hour to write.
According to the second Borel-Cantelli lemma, given enough time, a chimpanzee at random will almost certainly eventually type out a copy of one of Shakespeare's plays. So monkeys, go on, keep hitting the keyboards.
For further reading visit here
"Wanted computer savy infinite monkeys
perks: best bananas in the industry"
Thus putting togather infinite monkeys
sitting them all at computer keyboards
teaching them to type, the work began:
Works of all bards, and all philosophers
of the past and the infinite time to come
all the old and many new masterpieces galore.
Now the big problem that was encountered
finding monkey that produced the masterpieces,
so infinite monkeys were put on sorting task.
There were reports that Encyclopedia Britannica
all of the volumes were spotted in Esperanto
Entire works of Shakespeare in ancient Martian.
Amongst the infinite gems and gibberish
this poem was discovered by some monkeys
all it took was one monkey an hour to write.
According to the second Borel-Cantelli lemma, given enough time, a chimpanzee at random will almost certainly eventually type out a copy of one of Shakespeare's plays. So monkeys, go on, keep hitting the keyboards.
For further reading visit here
Love doesn't die...
by an anonymous author.
When I die if you need to weep
Cry for your brother or sister
Walking the street beside you
And when you need me put your arms around anyone
And give them what you need to give me.
I want to leave you something
Something better than words or sounds.
Look for me in the people I've known or loved
And if you cannot give me away
At least let me live in your eyes and not on your mind.
You can love me most by letting hands touch hands
And by letting bodies touch bodies
And by letting go of children that need to be free.
Love doesn't die, people do
So when all that is left of me is love
Give me away.
When I die if you need to weep
Cry for your brother or sister
Walking the street beside you
And when you need me put your arms around anyone
And give them what you need to give me.
I want to leave you something
Something better than words or sounds.
Look for me in the people I've known or loved
And if you cannot give me away
At least let me live in your eyes and not on your mind.
You can love me most by letting hands touch hands
And by letting bodies touch bodies
And by letting go of children that need to be free.
Love doesn't die, people do
So when all that is left of me is love
Give me away.
When I Learned to Whistle by Gordon Lea written at age eleven
I remember the day when I learned to whistle,
It was in Spring and new sounds were all around.
I was five or six and my front teeth were missing,
But I blew until my cheeks stuck out.
I remember walking up and down the block,
Trying to impress those that heard me
With the tunes and sounds that came from my mouth,
For I sounded much better than the birds in the trees.
I remember being hurt, for nobody seemed to care,
And then I met an old man who stopped and smiles.
He too blew until his cheeks stuck out.
He sounded just like me, for his front teeth were missing.
It was in Spring and new sounds were all around.
I was five or six and my front teeth were missing,
But I blew until my cheeks stuck out.
I remember walking up and down the block,
Trying to impress those that heard me
With the tunes and sounds that came from my mouth,
For I sounded much better than the birds in the trees.
I remember being hurt, for nobody seemed to care,
And then I met an old man who stopped and smiles.
He too blew until his cheeks stuck out.
He sounded just like me, for his front teeth were missing.
The Gift by Rabindranath Tagore
I want to give you something, my child,
for we are drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart,
and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that
I could buy your heart with my gifts.
Young is your life, your path long, and
you drink the love we bring you at one draught
and turn and run away from us.
You have your play and your playmates.
What harm is there if you have no time
or thought for us.
We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age
to count the days that are past,
to cherish in our hearts what our
hands have lost for ever.
The river runs swift with a song,
breaking through all barriers.
But the mountain stays and remembers,
and follows her with his love.
for we are drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart,
and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that
I could buy your heart with my gifts.
Young is your life, your path long, and
you drink the love we bring you at one draught
and turn and run away from us.
You have your play and your playmates.
What harm is there if you have no time
or thought for us.
We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age
to count the days that are past,
to cherish in our hearts what our
hands have lost for ever.
The river runs swift with a song,
breaking through all barriers.
But the mountain stays and remembers,
and follows her with his love.
The Song of Creation
The Song of Creation
from Rgveda(Ancient Indian Text) translated by Max Mueller
Then there was not non-existent nor existent:
there was no realm of air, no sky beyond it.
What covered in, and where? and what gave shelter?
was water there, unfathomed depth of water?
Death was not then, nor was there aught immortal:
no sign was there, the day's and night's divider.
That one thing, breathless, breathed by its own nature
apart from it was nothing whatsoever.
Darkness there was: at first concealed in darkness,
this All was undiscriminated chaos.
All that existed then was void and formless;
by the great power of warmth was born that unit.
Thereafter rose desire in the beginning,
Desire the primal seed and germ of spirit.
Sages who searched with their heart's thought
discovered the existent's kinship in the non-existent.
Transversely was their severing line extended:
what was above it then, and what below it?
There were begetters, there were mighty forces,
free action here and energy of yonder.
Who verily knows and who can here declare it,
whence it was born and whence comes this creation?
The gods are later than this world's production.
Who knows, then, whence it first came into being?
He, the first origin of this creation,
whether he formed it all or did not form it,
Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven,
he verily knows it, or perhaps he knows it not.
Translated by John Muir
Then there was neither Aught nor Nought, no air nor sky beyond.
What covered all? Where rested all? In watery gulf profound?
Nor death was then, nor deathlessness, nor change of night and day.
That One breathed calmly, self-sustained; nought else beyond it lay.
Gloom hid in gloom existed first - one sea, eluding view.
That One, a void in chaos wrapt, by inward fervour grew.
Within it first arose desire, the primal germ of mind,
Which nothing with existence links, as sages searching find.
The kindling ray that shot across the dark and drear abyss-
Was it beneath? or high aloft? What bard can answer this?
There fecundating powers were found, and mighty forces strove-
A self-supporting mass beneath, and energy above.
Who knows, who ever told, from whence this vast creation rose?
No gods had then been born - who then can e'er the truth disclose?
Whence sprang this world, and whether framed by hand divine or no-
Its lord in heaven alone can tell, if even he can show.
from Rgveda(Ancient Indian Text) translated by Max Mueller
Then there was not non-existent nor existent:
there was no realm of air, no sky beyond it.
What covered in, and where? and what gave shelter?
was water there, unfathomed depth of water?
Death was not then, nor was there aught immortal:
no sign was there, the day's and night's divider.
That one thing, breathless, breathed by its own nature
apart from it was nothing whatsoever.
Darkness there was: at first concealed in darkness,
this All was undiscriminated chaos.
All that existed then was void and formless;
by the great power of warmth was born that unit.
Thereafter rose desire in the beginning,
Desire the primal seed and germ of spirit.
Sages who searched with their heart's thought
discovered the existent's kinship in the non-existent.
Transversely was their severing line extended:
what was above it then, and what below it?
There were begetters, there were mighty forces,
free action here and energy of yonder.
Who verily knows and who can here declare it,
whence it was born and whence comes this creation?
The gods are later than this world's production.
Who knows, then, whence it first came into being?
He, the first origin of this creation,
whether he formed it all or did not form it,
Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven,
he verily knows it, or perhaps he knows it not.
Translated by John Muir
Then there was neither Aught nor Nought, no air nor sky beyond.
What covered all? Where rested all? In watery gulf profound?
Nor death was then, nor deathlessness, nor change of night and day.
That One breathed calmly, self-sustained; nought else beyond it lay.
Gloom hid in gloom existed first - one sea, eluding view.
That One, a void in chaos wrapt, by inward fervour grew.
Within it first arose desire, the primal germ of mind,
Which nothing with existence links, as sages searching find.
The kindling ray that shot across the dark and drear abyss-
Was it beneath? or high aloft? What bard can answer this?
There fecundating powers were found, and mighty forces strove-
A self-supporting mass beneath, and energy above.
Who knows, who ever told, from whence this vast creation rose?
No gods had then been born - who then can e'er the truth disclose?
Whence sprang this world, and whether framed by hand divine or no-
Its lord in heaven alone can tell, if even he can show.
Warning to Children
Children, if you dare to think
Of the greatness, rareness, muchness
Fewness of this precious only
Endless world in which you say
You live, you think of things like this:
Blocks of slate enclosing dappled
Red and green, enclosing tawny
Yellow nets, enclosing white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where a neat brown paper parcel
Tempts you to untie the string.
In the parcel a small island,
On the island a large tree,
On the tree a husky fruit.
Strip the husk and pare the rind off:
In the kernel you will see
Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled
Red and green, enclosed by tawny
Yellow nets, enclosed by white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where the same brown paper parcel -
Children, leave the string alone!
For who dares undo the parcel
Finds himself at once inside it,
On the island, in the fruit,
Blocks of slate about his head,
Finds himself enclosed by dappled
Green and red, enclosed by yellow
Tawny nets, enclosed by black
And white acres of dominoes,
With the same brown paper parcel
Still untied upon his knee.
And, if he then should dare to think
Of the fewness, muchness, rareness,
Greatness of this endless only
Precious world in which he says
he lives - he then unties the string.
by Robert Graves
Of the greatness, rareness, muchness
Fewness of this precious only
Endless world in which you say
You live, you think of things like this:
Blocks of slate enclosing dappled
Red and green, enclosing tawny
Yellow nets, enclosing white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where a neat brown paper parcel
Tempts you to untie the string.
In the parcel a small island,
On the island a large tree,
On the tree a husky fruit.
Strip the husk and pare the rind off:
In the kernel you will see
Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled
Red and green, enclosed by tawny
Yellow nets, enclosed by white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where the same brown paper parcel -
Children, leave the string alone!
For who dares undo the parcel
Finds himself at once inside it,
On the island, in the fruit,
Blocks of slate about his head,
Finds himself enclosed by dappled
Green and red, enclosed by yellow
Tawny nets, enclosed by black
And white acres of dominoes,
With the same brown paper parcel
Still untied upon his knee.
And, if he then should dare to think
Of the fewness, muchness, rareness,
Greatness of this endless only
Precious world in which he says
he lives - he then unties the string.
by Robert Graves
Emptiness by Jalaluddin Rumi
When you are with everyone but me,
you're with no one.
When you are with no one but me,
you're with everyone.
Instead of being so bound up with everyone,
be everyone.
When you become that many, you're nothing.
Empty.
you're with no one.
When you are with no one but me,
you're with everyone.
Instead of being so bound up with everyone,
be everyone.
When you become that many, you're nothing.
Empty.
Tangible Dreams
Look beyond
That what you see
Might fill your mind
With mystery
Seek within
As well without
Those answers that
Dispel your doubt
Slumber with
What you have learned
For within dreams
Such knowledge burns
Then comes that
Fateful day at hand
You live your dreams
And understand
Written by Nazmythian
That what you see
Might fill your mind
With mystery
Seek within
As well without
Those answers that
Dispel your doubt
Slumber with
What you have learned
For within dreams
Such knowledge burns
Then comes that
Fateful day at hand
You live your dreams
And understand
Written by Nazmythian
When Death Comes by Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox:
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox:
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
She Speaks of Death
Oblivion, she said
in a weary voice,
is what is after death.
There is nothing after death
but nothing
and that's all right with me.
It made good scientific sense,
nailed to the cathedral door
of her religious childhood.
And when her husband died
a few years later
oblivion
pinned against eternity
sagged in the middle
and in its folds
sweet disbelief surprised her
and the hope
she hadn't seen the last of him yet.
Written by Barbara Pescan
in a weary voice,
is what is after death.
There is nothing after death
but nothing
and that's all right with me.
It made good scientific sense,
nailed to the cathedral door
of her religious childhood.
And when her husband died
a few years later
oblivion
pinned against eternity
sagged in the middle
and in its folds
sweet disbelief surprised her
and the hope
she hadn't seen the last of him yet.
Written by Barbara Pescan
There is no god, the wicked sayeth
"There is no God," the wicked saith,
"And truly it's a blessing,
For what He might have done with us
It's better only guessing."
"There is no God," a youngster thinks,
"or really, if there may be,
He surely did not mean a man
Always to be a baby."
"There is no God, or if there is,"
The tradesman thinks, "'twere funny
If He should take it ill in me
To make a little money."
"Whether there be," the rich man says,
"It matters very little,
For I and mine, thank somebody,
Are not in want of victual."
Some others, also, to themselves,
Who scarce so much as doubt it,
Think there is none, when they are well,
And do not think about it.
But country folks who live beneath
The shadow of the steeple;
The parson and the parson's wife,
And mostly married people;
Youths green and happy in first love,
So thankful for illusion;
And men caught out in what the world
Calls guilt, in first confusion;
And almost everyone when age,
Disease, or sorrows strike him,
Inclines to think there is a God,
Or something very like Him.
-- Arthur Hugh Clough
"And truly it's a blessing,
For what He might have done with us
It's better only guessing."
"There is no God," a youngster thinks,
"or really, if there may be,
He surely did not mean a man
Always to be a baby."
"There is no God, or if there is,"
The tradesman thinks, "'twere funny
If He should take it ill in me
To make a little money."
"Whether there be," the rich man says,
"It matters very little,
For I and mine, thank somebody,
Are not in want of victual."
Some others, also, to themselves,
Who scarce so much as doubt it,
Think there is none, when they are well,
And do not think about it.
But country folks who live beneath
The shadow of the steeple;
The parson and the parson's wife,
And mostly married people;
Youths green and happy in first love,
So thankful for illusion;
And men caught out in what the world
Calls guilt, in first confusion;
And almost everyone when age,
Disease, or sorrows strike him,
Inclines to think there is a God,
Or something very like Him.
-- Arthur Hugh Clough
A Story Of A Wave
A wave in an ocean
acquired conciousness
just when he was on the rise
While he was rising
he had wonderful visions
he thought how mighty he was
he was proud of the way he moved
he felt being very special
he loved the way wind felt
and felt as if
he was riding the wind
Then he became aware
of other waves
some mightier than him,
some just a little ripples
He felt less special,
infact felt quite common
he was sad and was breaking apart
Yes he'd seen many joys and some sorrows
All of this lasted but an instant
Down he went and he was a wave no more
What was he?
What was he all the time
before he was a wave?
What would he be after
for eternal time to come?
Just a wave?
A wave that was?
Perhaps he didn't even exist at all!
As soon as he stopped being a wave
he became aware what he really was:
he was a mighty ocean
and all the waves and ripples
were nothing but himself
in all the glorious forms
almost came to believe being
just a wave, soon to be forgotten
Being, not being special,
feeling proud of achievements,
joys and sorrows
heaven and hell
didn't quite mean anything at all.
Just some words invented by waves
to last them that brief moment
they ride the winds.
On the earth
a child was born...
somewhere a star was born...
a galaxy of stars is being born...
acquired conciousness
just when he was on the rise
While he was rising
he had wonderful visions
he thought how mighty he was
he was proud of the way he moved
he felt being very special
he loved the way wind felt
and felt as if
he was riding the wind
Then he became aware
of other waves
some mightier than him,
some just a little ripples
He felt less special,
infact felt quite common
he was sad and was breaking apart
Yes he'd seen many joys and some sorrows
All of this lasted but an instant
Down he went and he was a wave no more
What was he?
What was he all the time
before he was a wave?
What would he be after
for eternal time to come?
Just a wave?
A wave that was?
Perhaps he didn't even exist at all!
As soon as he stopped being a wave
he became aware what he really was:
he was a mighty ocean
and all the waves and ripples
were nothing but himself
in all the glorious forms
almost came to believe being
just a wave, soon to be forgotten
Being, not being special,
feeling proud of achievements,
joys and sorrows
heaven and hell
didn't quite mean anything at all.
Just some words invented by waves
to last them that brief moment
they ride the winds.
On the earth
a child was born...
somewhere a star was born...
a galaxy of stars is being born...
In Between the Storms
Since the beginning of the days
our life is tossed and turned
ripped apart by many a storms
These ones, the ones to come
shall all belong to the past
Looking out, through the dust
through the violent cruel winds
this world is not what it seems
Pure and tranquil it always is
as it is between the storms
When the sand storm like-
assault of thoughts begin
with dust blurring judgement
we are not what we think we are,
Just an incoherent caricatures
Let the storms of thoughts die
Let the dust of ignorance clear
Kill the commotions to reveal
our true self, as we always are
as we are in between the storms
our life is tossed and turned
ripped apart by many a storms
These ones, the ones to come
shall all belong to the past
Looking out, through the dust
through the violent cruel winds
this world is not what it seems
Pure and tranquil it always is
as it is between the storms
When the sand storm like-
assault of thoughts begin
with dust blurring judgement
we are not what we think we are,
Just an incoherent caricatures
Let the storms of thoughts die
Let the dust of ignorance clear
Kill the commotions to reveal
our true self, as we always are
as we are in between the storms
Strange Coincidence
After writing the post below a couple of days back, today I was randomly reading some poems, and I found not one but two of the similarly themed poems. The second one is a kind of parody of the first one.
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be
in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull
and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you
compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always
there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your
achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in
the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue
there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full
of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about
love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial
as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of
youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do
not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and
loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you
have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the
universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and
whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep
peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful
world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
-- Max Ehrmannn
Deteriorata
Go placidly amid the noise and waste, remembering what comfort may be found
in owning a piece thereof. Avoid quiet and passive persons unless you are in
need of sleep.
Rotate your wheels, it is what they are for.
Speak glowingly of others greater than yourself, heed well their advice
even though they be turkeys. Know what to kiss, and when.
Consider that two wrongs never make a right. However, three do.
Wherever possible put people on hold and leave for the day. Be comforted
that, in the face of all aridity and disillusionment and despite the
changing fortunes of time, there will always be a big future in computer
maintenance.
Remember the Alamo. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle and
mutilate. Know yourself. If you do not, look in the mirror - that's you.
Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those persons
closest to you. That turkey on your left for instance.
Fall not in love, it will stick to your face and smell of tuna.
Gracefully surrender the things of youth, burgers, coffee and obesity.
Hire people with hooks.
For a good time, Listen to a US foreign policy speech.
Take heart amid the deepening gloom that at least your cat is being fed
well; reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot, at least you don't
live in Ohio.
You are a fluke of the universe: you have no right to be here. Whether or
not you can hear it, the Universe is laughing behind your back.
Therefore make your peace with God, whether you consider him to be clown or
President of the disUnited States.
With all its hopes, dreams and McDonalds, the world will continue to
deteriorate.
-- National Lampoon
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be
in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull
and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you
compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always
there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your
achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in
the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue
there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full
of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about
love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial
as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of
youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do
not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and
loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you
have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the
universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and
whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep
peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful
world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
-- Max Ehrmannn
Deteriorata
Go placidly amid the noise and waste, remembering what comfort may be found
in owning a piece thereof. Avoid quiet and passive persons unless you are in
need of sleep.
Rotate your wheels, it is what they are for.
Speak glowingly of others greater than yourself, heed well their advice
even though they be turkeys. Know what to kiss, and when.
Consider that two wrongs never make a right. However, three do.
Wherever possible put people on hold and leave for the day. Be comforted
that, in the face of all aridity and disillusionment and despite the
changing fortunes of time, there will always be a big future in computer
maintenance.
Remember the Alamo. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle and
mutilate. Know yourself. If you do not, look in the mirror - that's you.
Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those persons
closest to you. That turkey on your left for instance.
Fall not in love, it will stick to your face and smell of tuna.
Gracefully surrender the things of youth, burgers, coffee and obesity.
Hire people with hooks.
For a good time, Listen to a US foreign policy speech.
Take heart amid the deepening gloom that at least your cat is being fed
well; reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot, at least you don't
live in Ohio.
You are a fluke of the universe: you have no right to be here. Whether or
not you can hear it, the Universe is laughing behind your back.
Therefore make your peace with God, whether you consider him to be clown or
President of the disUnited States.
With all its hopes, dreams and McDonalds, the world will continue to
deteriorate.
-- National Lampoon
Blue Print of Life - Rough Draft
Have few basic princples in life. It may be difficult at times, but stick to the rules. If Mother Theresa or Gandhi could do it, so can we.
We don't have to follow every principles of every great people. Just few that make our life worth living.
Live simple, live on minimum possible frills, eat and dress simple. If you have to indulge in luxuries, do it once in a while but always know the difference between need and necessacity. Enjoy thoroughly in any luxuries you indulge in. Never ever get adicted to anything.
Alway be truthful, even when you may think a white lie must be used.
Be passionate about your work up to the limit you enjoy what you are doing, change your work or working style once you stop enjoying.
We don't have to love every one in the world, just few people, love them with all of your heart. Never say no to anything those few people ask from you, it could be your time, or anything else.
If you come across sickness or sorrow, know that its just part of being alive. A part of life without which life will not exist.
When you come across less understanding, less fortunate, cruel or bad people in your lives, know that they are there for a reason, there are many lessons to be learnt from their behaviour.
Treat your emotions as a precious bank balance, you have very little of them to spend, spend them wisely. Balance is the key, cherish happy moments and make them last longer. In sad times dwell on happy moments, once you run out of those, quickly work on creating more of the happy moments. Happiness is your own currency, you can give any value you desire to it, accumulate those. Give as little value and time to sad moments, believe me, they are not worth anything.
Do not hurt anything or anyone out of hatred or revenge.
If you do not believe in any religion, that is fine, but believe in divinity of yourself, your actions should reflect that divinity. If you do not believe in any God, that is ok too, just find a friend who you can have complete faith in, even if the friend is an imaginary one.
* This is work in progress.
We don't have to follow every principles of every great people. Just few that make our life worth living.
Live simple, live on minimum possible frills, eat and dress simple. If you have to indulge in luxuries, do it once in a while but always know the difference between need and necessacity. Enjoy thoroughly in any luxuries you indulge in. Never ever get adicted to anything.
Alway be truthful, even when you may think a white lie must be used.
Be passionate about your work up to the limit you enjoy what you are doing, change your work or working style once you stop enjoying.
We don't have to love every one in the world, just few people, love them with all of your heart. Never say no to anything those few people ask from you, it could be your time, or anything else.
If you come across sickness or sorrow, know that its just part of being alive. A part of life without which life will not exist.
When you come across less understanding, less fortunate, cruel or bad people in your lives, know that they are there for a reason, there are many lessons to be learnt from their behaviour.
Treat your emotions as a precious bank balance, you have very little of them to spend, spend them wisely. Balance is the key, cherish happy moments and make them last longer. In sad times dwell on happy moments, once you run out of those, quickly work on creating more of the happy moments. Happiness is your own currency, you can give any value you desire to it, accumulate those. Give as little value and time to sad moments, believe me, they are not worth anything.
Do not hurt anything or anyone out of hatred or revenge.
If you do not believe in any religion, that is fine, but believe in divinity of yourself, your actions should reflect that divinity. If you do not believe in any God, that is ok too, just find a friend who you can have complete faith in, even if the friend is an imaginary one.
* This is work in progress.
Elephants Are Different to Different People
Wilson and Pilcer and Snack stood before the zoo elephant.
Wilson said, "What is its name? Is it from Asia or Africa? Who feeds
it? Is it a he or a she? How old is it? Do they have twins? How much does
it cost to feed? How much does it weigh? If it dies, how much will another
one cost? If it dies, what will they use the bones, the fat, and the hide
for? What use is it besides to look at?"
Pilcer didn't have any questions; he was murmering to himself, "It's
a house by itself, walls and windows, the ears came from tall cornfields,
by God; the architect of those legs was a workman, by God; he stands like
a bridge out across the deep water; the face is sad and the eyes are kind;
I know elephants are good to babies."
Snack looked up and down and at last said to himself, "He's a tough
son-of-a-gun outside and I'll bet he's got a strong heart, I'll bet he's
strong as a copper-riveted boiler inside."
They didn't put up any arguments.
They didn't throw anything in each other's faces.
Three men saw the elephant three ways
And let it go at that.
They didn't spoil a sunny Sunday afternoon;
"Sunday comes only once a week," they told each other.
-- Carl Sandburg
Wilson said, "What is its name? Is it from Asia or Africa? Who feeds
it? Is it a he or a she? How old is it? Do they have twins? How much does
it cost to feed? How much does it weigh? If it dies, how much will another
one cost? If it dies, what will they use the bones, the fat, and the hide
for? What use is it besides to look at?"
Pilcer didn't have any questions; he was murmering to himself, "It's
a house by itself, walls and windows, the ears came from tall cornfields,
by God; the architect of those legs was a workman, by God; he stands like
a bridge out across the deep water; the face is sad and the eyes are kind;
I know elephants are good to babies."
Snack looked up and down and at last said to himself, "He's a tough
son-of-a-gun outside and I'll bet he's got a strong heart, I'll bet he's
strong as a copper-riveted boiler inside."
They didn't put up any arguments.
They didn't throw anything in each other's faces.
Three men saw the elephant three ways
And let it go at that.
They didn't spoil a sunny Sunday afternoon;
"Sunday comes only once a week," they told each other.
-- Carl Sandburg
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