Faith, Spirituality and Religion

Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;
"Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?" -say,
Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.

I do not look for holy saints to guide me on my way,
Or male and female devilkins to lead my feet astray.
If these are added, I rejoice---if not, I shall not mind,
So long as I have leave and choice to meet my fellow-kind.
For as we come and as we go (and deadly-soon go we!)
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me!
Thus I will honour pious men whose virtue shines so bright
(Though none are more amazed than I when I by chance do right),
And I will pity foolish men for woe their sins have bred
(Though ninety-nine per cent. of mine I brought on my own head).
And, Amorite or Eremite, or General Averagee,
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me!
And when they bore me overmuch, I will not shake mine ears,
Recalling many thousand such whom I have bored to tears.
And when they labour to impress, I will not doubt nor scoff;
Since I myself have done no less and---sometimes pulled it off.
Yea, as we are and we are not, and we pretend to be,
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me!
And when they work me random wrong, as oftentimes hath been,
I will not cherish hate too long (my hands are none too clean).
And when they do me random good I will not feign surprise.
No more than those whom I have cheered with wayside charities.
But, as we give and as we take---whate'er our takings be---
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me!
But when I meet with frantic folk who sinfully declare
There is no pardon for their sin, the same I will not spare
Till I have proved that Heaven and Hell which in our hearts we have
Show nothing irredeemable on either side of the grave.
For as we live and as we die---if utter Death there be---
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me!
Deliver me from every pride---the Middle, High, and Low---
That bars me from a brother's side, whatever pride he show.
And purge me from all heresies of thought and speech and pen
That bid me judge him otherwise than I am judged. Amen!
That I may sing of Crowd or King or road-borne company,
That I may labour in my day, vocation and degree,
To prove the same in deed and name, and hold unshakenly
(Where'er I go, whate'er I know, whoe'er my neighbor be)
This single faith in Life and Death and to Eternity:
``The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me!''

Come back to my dreary heart, do come back;
Evening comes too, where are you my bird,
come back to my nest.


Since the North Star did not see you,
it lost its track shedding tears in a sea of suffering;
Come back to my empty temple,
accompanied with Hari,
who stole and seduced you.


[Original: Fire ay ore fire; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]

LORD BUDDHA, on thy Lotus-throne,
With praying eyes and hands elate,
What mystic rapture dost thou own,
Immutable and ultimate?
What peace, unravished of our ken,
Annihilate from the world of men?


The wind of change for ever blows
Across the tumult of our way,
To-morrow's unborn griefs depose
The sorrows of our yesterday.
Dream yields to dream, strife follows strife,
And Death unweaves the webs of Life.


For us the travail and the heat,
The broken secrets of our pride,
The strenuous lessons of defeat,
The flower deferred, the fruit denied;
But not the peace, supremely won,
Lord Buddha, of thy Lotus-throne.


With futile hands we seek to gain
Our inaccessible desire,
Diviner summits to attain,
With faith that sinks and feet that tire;
But nought shall conquer or control
The heavenward hunger of our soul.


The end, elusive and afar,
Still lures us with its beckoning flight,
And all our mortal moments are
A session of the Infinite.
How shall we reach the great, unknown
Nirvana of thy Lotus-throne?

'Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling;
I stumble as I fare along Earth's way; keep me from falling.


Mine eyes are open but they cannot see for gloom of night:
I can no more than lift my heart to thee for inward light.


The wild and fiery passion of my youth consumes my soul;
In agony I turn to thee for truth and self-control.


For Passion and all the pleasures it can give will die the death;
But this of me eternally must live, thy borrowed breath.


'Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling;
I stumble as I fare along Earth's way; keep me from falling.

Make Islam strong, O God,
let the Muslim world again prosper.
Give it back its sultanate of old,

its ancient prowess and generous soul.

Once again bless Islam
with heroic Ali's sharp-edged Zulfiquar,
give it back its old Caliphs and hashmat,
its glorious Medina and Baghdad.

Bless it with Hamza and the mighty Walid,
give it back its Omar and its Harun-a!-Rashid,
bless it again with a noble Salahuddin,
let once more a holy war be waged

against this sinful world.

Give Islam again its Roomi and Saadi and Hafiz,
once more bless it with Khayyam and Tabriz,
give it again its Akbar and its Shahjehan,
bless it again with that dream in white marble,
the Tajmahal!


Give it a sense of fellow-feeling and unity,
its spirit of self-sacrifice and heroic mind,
let the Muslims of the world form a single community,
let its crescent-bedecked flag fly once again


in the sky.

[Original: Taufiq dao khoda islame; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]

Don't look up to them-those
who have lost faith and hope.
They move-yet they're dead-the living dead,
the devil has finished them, robbed them
of their integrity.
Out of fear, their souls have escaped
to the land of Death.


If there are wants, poverty, debt, disease,
suffering, humiliation-don't just succumb
to hopelessness-fight them!
The real enemy is within-fear; and
only the ones who will accept defeat out of confusion,
lies and unnecessary fear will go on suffering every day.


'Oh, what is going to happen? '-those who just sit at home
trembling in fear, are the ones already defeated
in the battle of life.
They are the captives in the prison
of humiliation and subjugation.


They are repu
Isive-allowing the help
Iess
to be treated with injustice.
They are afraid for no reason, weak and ignorant.
More than pity, I feel infuriated by them.
They lie dead with their tongues stuck out.
Flowers blossom in burial grounds, but
in these dead trees, blossoms nothing.


They are fatalists-sitting alone they think,
'This is my fate, you can't change that! '
They deny their own power,
accepting defeat without a fight.
They are senile, morbid-.don't mix with them.
They are the death's leftover garbage in this world.
They are diseased from the inside,
they see only darkness around them.
With eyes closed, even when they see light,
they say, 'This is not light.'


For those with intense, unshakeable confidence,
waves of youth and life flow melodiously.
They enliven the dead earth-bountiful
with crops, flowers and fruits.
Nothing can block their way.


Fearless-any defeat is their ladder to heaven.
The darker the days, the more they see the light of hope.
Go to them-they wear the amulets
of fearlessness and victory over death.


Those who can imagine loftily, dream nobly,



they are the ones who bring welfare to the earth.
They show the paths of exploring the impossible,
even angels abide by them.


Possessing soul, yet allowing themselves
to suffer bodily pain,
not vowing their lives against the oppressorthey
are like caged animals, not human beings,
their hopelessness leads all human hopes and faith
to dissolution.


Possessing hands and feet, yet sitting inert
hiding faces in a dark muddy hole out of fearthey
have disavowed their humanity.
They belong to burial and cremation groundsnot
amongst us.


I say, listen people, lead a life of fulfillment.
You'll see, the earth is shaken by its power!
This is the message of God: 'Human beings get
what they wish for.'
Their hands, feet, eyes become God's own.


If hopes are lofty, and so are the efforts to achieve them,
then victory awaits at the door.
Impatience never overtakes that soldier
even at times of great difficulties.
Determined, calm, engrossed is the pioneer hero.


He replaces gloom with divine joy.
Like the moon, his love moves the sea of humanity.
His heart is filled with courage.
March along with him on that path of victory!


Have faith- you will get what you hope for!
And don't touch him-he's dead-one
who has lost faith.


[Original: Bishshash o Asha; Translation: Sajed Kamal]

For all the beauties of the day,
The innocence of childhood’s play,
For health and strength and laughter sweet,
Dear Lord, our thanks we now repeat.


For this our daily gift of food
We offer now our gratitude,
For all the blessings we have known
Our debt of gratefulness we own.


Here at the table now we pray,
Keep us together down the way;
May this, our family circle, be
Held fast by love and unity.


Grant, when the shades of night shall fall,
Sweet be the dreams of one and all;
And when another day shall break
Unto Thy service may we wake.

To the Lord General Cromwell

On the Proposals of Certain Ministers of the Committee
for the Propagation of the Gospel


Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,
While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued,
And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,
And Worcester's laureate wreath. Yet much remains
To conquer still; peace hath her victories
No less renowned than war: new foes arise,
Threat'ning to bind our souls with secular chains:
Help us to save free conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.

All the night in woe,
Lyca's parents go:
Over vallies deep.
While the desarts weep.
Tired and woe-begone.
Hoarse with making moan:
Arm in arm seven days.
They trac'd the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep.
Among shadows deep:
And dream they see their child
Starvdd in desart wild.
Pale thro' pathless ways
The fancied image strays.
Famish'd, weeping, weak
With hollow piteous shriek
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman prest,
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
In his arms he bore.
Her arm'd with sorrow sore:
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain,
Soon his heavy mane.
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk'd around.
Smelling to his prey,
But their fears allay,
When he licks their hands:
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes
Fill'd with deep surprise:
And wondering behold.
A spirit arm'd in gold.
On his head a crown
On his shoulders down,
Flow'd his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
Follow me he said,
Weep not for the maid;


In my palace deep.
Lyca lies asleep.
Then they followed,
Where the vision led;
And saw their sleeping child,
Among tygers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell
Nor fear the wolvish howl,
Nor the lion's growl.

When the heart is hard and parched up,
come upon me with a shower of mercy.

When grace is lost from life,
come with a burst of song.

When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from
beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.

When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner,
break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.

When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one,
thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder

We haven't embraced your message,
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
We have forgotten your ideals
And the path for us that you did set.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!


You trampled like dust
Luxury and wealth, O master!
You never dreamed that
We will be kings or lords of disaster!


In this world's resource and treasure
Everyone has right of due measure;
You proclaimed, on this earth,
Equal son's treatment all will get.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!


In your religion, toward the unbelievers
You did not direct any hate;
You served them as your fellows,
For all of them was open your hospitable gate.


To demolish temples of others anywhere on land,
O valiant, you did not ever command;
Now even difference in opinion from others
We can't bear or tolerate.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!


You did not seek in the name of faith
Meaningless and shameful killing or fight;
You did not place sword in our hand,
Rather gave us guidance, so noble and upright.


Ignoring your tolerance and magnanimity
We have elevated fanaticism to a new nobility;
Is that why, from the heavenly fountain,
Does not flow that mercy, so divine and great?
Please forgive us, O Prophet!


We haven't embraced your message
Please forgive us, O Prophet!
We have forgotten your ideals
And the path for us that you did set.
Please forgive us, O Prophet!


[Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]

Send again, Hazrat! from Heaven
The message of justice and toleration!
I can no longer see this hateful hitting
between man and man!


Tell, them Hazrat! tell them all
Who pretend to follow thy divine call,
To love all men as the creatures of God!
And to regard all as the creation of God!


The virtue of Justice and Toleration,
Which was yours and which has made
Half the world to believe in you -
That virtue we have not learnt to value!


The slaves and dupes that we are,
The Queen and Hadith we merely hear!
Despised in the world we are
By disrespecting your commands clear!


The suffering humanity we hate,
But we say: We submit to God Compassionate!


[Translation: Mizanur Rahman]

In the desert's sandy vastness blossomed a bright flower
whose fragrance enamoured the universe.

The moon and tile sun,
the planets and the stars,
all wanted to possess it
The limitless sky bent low

in order to kiss it.
The brightness of that flower

Lit up God's throne.
Wrapping around her its many splendoured hue
the earth grew radiant.
Into the garden of that flower

flew a million birds a
and to clasp it in their breasts
yearned the leaves and the branches

of a thousand trees.

Men, angels, fairies - all craved it.
Saints, emperors and the penniless poor
all wanted to weave a garland

and wear it around their neck.
The nightingale and the bee knew

where to find that flower.
Some called it Hazrat Mohammad,
some simply 'Kamliwallah'!

[Original: Saharate Futlo Re; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]

Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of
Darby at Harefield, by som Noble persons of her Family, who
appear on the Scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat
of State with this Song.

I. SONG.
Look Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence descry
Too divine to be mistook:
This this is she
To whom our vows and wishes bend,
Heer our solemn search hath end.


Fame that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accuse
Of detraction from her praise,
Less then half we find exprest,
Envy bid conceal the rest.


Mark what radiant state she spreds,
In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like silver threds,
This this is she alone,
Sitting like a Goddes bright,
In the center of her light.
Might she the wise Latona be,
Or the towred Cybele,
Mother of a hunderd gods;
Juno dare's not give her odds;
Who had thought this clime had held
A deity so unparalel'd?


As they com forward, the genius of the Wood appears, and
turning toward them, speaks.


GEN. Stay gentle Swains, for though in this disguise,
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes,
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung
Of that renowned flood, so often sung,
Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluse,
Stole under Seas to meet his Arethuse;
And ye the breathing Roses of the Wood,
Fair silver-buskind Nymphs as great and good,
I know this quest of yours, and free intent
Was all in honour and devotion ment
To the great Mistres of yon princely shrine,
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,
And with all helpful service will comply
To further this nights glad solemnity;



And lead ye where ye may more neer behold
What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these shades alone
Have sate to wonder at, and gaze upon:
For know by lot from Jove I am the powr
Of this fair wood, and live in Oak'n bowr,
To nurse the Saplings tall, and curl the grove
With Ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.
And all my Plants I save from nightly ill,
Of noisom winds, and blasting vapours chill.
And from the Boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blew,
Or what the cross dire-looking Planet smites,
Or hurtfull Worm with canker'd venom bites.
When Eev'ning gray doth rise, I fetch my round
Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground,
And early ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the slumbring leaves, or tasseld horn
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout
With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless,
But els in deep of night when drowsines
Hath lockt up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Sirens harmony,
That sit upon the nine enfolded Sphears,
And sing to those that hold the vital shears,
And turn the Adamantine spindle round,
On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in musick ly,
To lull the daughters of Necessity,
And keep unsteddy Nature to her law,
And the low world in measur'd motion draw
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear
Of human mould with grosse unpurged ear;
And yet such musick worthiest were to blaze
The peerles height of her immortal praise,
Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,
If my inferior hand or voice could hit
Inimitable sounds, yet as we go,
What ere the skill of lesser gods can show,
I will assay, her worth to celebrate,
And so attend ye toward her glittering state;
Where ye may all that are of noble stemm
Approach, and kiss her sacred vestures hemm.


2. SONG.
O're the smooth enameld green
Where no print of step hath been,
Follow me as I sing,
And touch the warbled string.



Under the shady roof
Of branching Elm Star-proof,
Follow me,
I will bring you where she sits
Clad in splendor as befits
Her deity.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.


3. SONG.
Nymphs and Shepherds dance no more
By sandy Ladons Lillied banks.
On old Lycaeus or Cyllene hoar,
Trip no more in twilight ranks,
Though Erynanth your loss deplore,
A better soyl shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Maenalus,
Bring your Flocks, and live with us,
Here ye shall have greater grace,
To serve the Lady of this place.
Though Syrinx your Pans Mistres were,
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.


Note: 22 hunderd] Milton's own spelling here is hundred. But in
the Errata to Paradise Lost (i. 760) he corrects hundred to hunderd.

The more I take Muhammad's name
The sweeter it seems to me.
Who knew before that in this name
So much of honey could be!


For the honey of this very name,
The bee of my mind doth hum and flirt
And for the love of this very name,
I have lost my hunger and thirst!


Dearest to me is this name,
Which, like Majnun, I take:
And the nightingale sings
In the rose-bower of my soul
For this name's sake!


For this very name I roam
And wend my way in life:
For this very name I do discard
Even the kingly throne!
May this name, a God! This blessed name
My mind perpetually pervade!

Sweet dreams form a shade,
O'er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams
Sweet sleep with soft down.
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.
Sweet smiles in the night,
Hover over my delight.
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes,
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep sleep happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd.
Sleep sleep, happy sleep.
While o'er thee thy mother weep
Sweet babe in thy face,
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe once like thee.
Thy maker lay and wept for me
Wept for me for thee for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see.
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,
Smiles on thee on me on all,
Who became an infant small,
Infant smiles are His own smiles,
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

Great Jove, to whose almighty throne
Both gods and mortals homage pay,
Ne'er may my soul thy power disown,
Thy dread behests ne'er disobey.
Oft shall the sacred victim fall
In seagirt
Ocean's mossy hall;
My voice shall raise no impious strain
'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.


How different now thy joyless fate,
Since first Hesione thy bride,
When placed aloft in godlike state,
The blushing beauty by the side,
Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smiled,
And mirthful strains the hours beguiled;
The Nymphs and Tritons dances around,
Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd.

Among the holy Mountains high
Is his foundation fast,
There Seated in his Sanctuary,
His Temple there is plac't.
Sions fair Gates the Lord loves more
Then all the dwellings faire
Of Jacobs Land, though there be store,
And all within his care.
City of God, most glorious things
Of thee abroad are spoke;
I mention Egypt, where proud Kings
Did our forefathers yoke,
I mention Babel to my friends,
Philistia full of scorn,
And Tyre with Ethiops utmost ends,
Lo this man there was born:
But twise that praise shall in our ear
Be said of Sion last
This and this man was born in her,
High God shall fix her fast.
The Lord shall write it in a Scrowle
That ne're shall be out-worn
When he the Nations doth enrowle
That this man there was born.
Both they who sing, and they who dance
With sacred Songs are there,
In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance
And all my fountains clear.

HAIL holy light, ofspring of Heav'n first-born,
Or of th' Eternal Coeternal beam
May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,
Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escap't the Stygian Pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne
With other notes then to th' Orphean Lyre
I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night,
Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to reascend,
Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital Lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that rowle in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quencht thir Orbs,
Or dim suffusion veild. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt
Cleer Spring, or shadie Grove, or Sunnie Hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath
That wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor somtimes forget
Those other two equal'd with me in Fate,
So were I equal'd with them in renown.
Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides,
And Tiresias and Phineus Prophets old.
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of Ev'n or Morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the chearful waies of men
Cut off, and for the Book of knowledg fair
Presented with a Universal blanc
Of Natures works to mee expung'd and ras'd,
And wisdome at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather thou Celestial light
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers


Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.

Did I create that sky? Yes, for, if it was anything other than a conception in my mind I
wouldnt have said 'Sky'-That is why I am the golden eternity. There are not two of us
here, reader and writer, but one, one golden eternity, One-Which-It-Is, That-WhichEverything-
Is.


2
The awakened Buddha to show the way, the chosen Messiah to die in the degradation
of sentience, is the golden eternity. One that is what is, the golden eternity, or, God,
or, Tathagata-the name. The Named One. The human God. Sentient Godhood. Animate
Divine. The Deified One. The Verified One. The Free One. The Liberator. The Still One.
The settled One. The Established One. Golden Eternity. All is Well. The Empty One. The
Ready One. The Quitter. The Sitter. The Justified One. The Happy One.


3
That sky, if it was anything other than an illusion of my mortal mind I wouldnt have
said 'that sky.' Thus I made that sky, I am the golden eternity. I am Mortal Golden
Eternity.


4
I was awakened to show the way, chosen to die in the degradation of life, because I
am Mortal Golden Eternity.


5
I am the golden eternity in mortal animate form.


6
Strictly speaking, there is no me, because all is emptiness. I am empty, I am
non-existent. All is bliss.


7
This truth law has no more reality than the world.


8
You are the golden eternity because there is no me and no you, only one golden
eternity.


9
The Realizer. Entertain no imaginations whatever, for the thing is a no-thing. Knowing
this then is Human Godhood.


10
This world is the movie of what everything is, it is one movie, made of the same stuff
throughout, belonging to nobody, which is what everything is.


11
If we were not all the golden eternity we wouldnt be here. Because we are here we
cant help being pure. To tell man to be pure on account of the punishing angel that
punishes the bad and the rewarding angel that rewards the good would be like telling
the water 'Be Wet'-Never the less, all things depend on supreme reality, which is
already established as the record of Karma earned-fate.



12
God is not outside us but is just us, the living and the dead, the never-lived and
never-died. That we should learn it only now, is supreme reality, it was written a long
time ago in the archives of universal mind, it is already done, there's no more to do.


13
This is the knowledge that sees the golden eternity in all things, which is us, you, me,
and which is no longer us, you, me.


14
What name shall we give it which hath no name, the common eternal matter of the
mind? If we were to call it essence, some might think it meant perfume, or gold, or
honey. It is not even mind. It is not even discussible, groupable into words; it is not
even endless, in fact it is not even mysterious or inscrutably inexplicable; it is what is;
it is that; it is this. We could easily call the golden eternity 'This.' But 'what's in a
name?' asked Shakespeare. The golden eternity by another name would be as sweet. A
Tathagata, a God, a Buddha by another name, an Allah, a Sri Krishna, a Coyote, a
Brahma, a Mazda, a Messiah, an Amida, an Aremedeia, a Maitreya, a Palalakonuh, 1 2
3 4 5 6 7 8 would be as sweet. The golden eternity is X, the golden eternity is A, the
golden eternity is /\, the golden eternity is O, the golden eternity is [ ], the golden
eternity is t-h-e-g-o-l-d-e-n-e-t-e-r- n-i-t-y. In the beginning was the word; before the
beginning, in the beginningless infinite neverendingness, was the essence. Both the
word 'god' and the essence of the word, are emptiness. The form of emptiness which is
emptiness having taken the form of form, is what you see and hear and feel right now,
and what you taste and smell and think as you read this. Wait awhile, close your eyes,
let your breathing stop three seconds or so, listen to the inside silence in the womb of
the world, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, re-recognize the bliss you forgot, the
emptiness and essence and ecstasy of ever having been and ever to be the golden
eternity. This is the lesson you forgot.


15
The lesson was taught long ago in the other world systems that have naturally changed
into the empty and awake, and are here now smiling in our smile and scowling in our
scowl. It is only like the golden eternity pretending to be smiling and scowling to itself;
like a ripple on the smooth ocean of knowing. The fate of humanity is to vanish into the
golden eternity, return pouring into its hands which are not hands. The navel shall
receive, invert, and take back what'd issued forth; the ring of flesh shall close; the
personalities of long dead heroes are blank dirt.


16
The point is we're waiting, not how comfortable we are while waiting. Paleolithic man
waited by caves for the realization of why he was there, and hunted; modern men wait
in beautified homes and try to forget death and birth. We're waiting for the realization
that this is the golden eternity.


17
It came on time.


18
There is a blessedness surely to be believed, and that is that everything abides in
eternal ecstasy, now and forever.



19
Mother Kali eats herself back. All things but come to go. All these holy forms,
unmanifest, not even forms, truebodies of blank bright ecstasy, abiding in a trance, 'in
emptiness and silence' as it is pointed out in the Diamond-cutter, asked to be only
what they are: GLAD.


20
The secret God-grin in the trees and in the teapot, in ashes and fronds, fire and brick,
flesh and mental human hope. All things, far from yearning to be re-united with God,
had never left themselves and here they are, Dharmakaya, the body of the truth law,
the universal Thisness.


21
'Beyond the reach of change and fear, beyond all praise and blame,' the Lankavatara
Scripture knows to say, is he who is what he is in time and time-less-ness, in ego and
in ego-less-ness, in self and in self-less-ness.


22
Stare deep into the world before you as if it were the void: innumerable holy ghosts,
buddhies, and savior gods there hide, smiling. All the atoms emitting light inside
wavehood, there is no personal separation of any of it. A hummingbird can come into a
house and a hawk will not: so rest and be assured. While looking for the light, you may
suddenly be devoured by the darkness and find the true light.


23
Things dont tire of going and coming. The flies end up with the delicate viands.


24
The cause of the world's woe is birth, The cure of the world's woe is a bent stick.


25
Though it is everything, strictly speaking there is no golden eternity because
everything is nothing: there are no things and no goings and comings: for all is
emptiness, and emptiness is these forms, emptiness is this one formhood.


26
All these selfnesses have already vanished. Einstein measured that this present
universe is an expanding bubble, and you know what that means.


27
Discard such definite imaginations of phenomena as your own self, thou human being,
thou'rt a numberless mass of sun-motes: each mote a shrine. The same as to your
shyness of other selves, selfness as divided into infinite numbers of beings, or selfness
as identified as one self existing eternally. Be obliging and noble, be generous with
your time and help and possessions, and be kind, because the emptiness of this little
place of flesh you carry around and call your soul, your entity, is the same emptiness in
every direction of space unmeasurable emptiness, the same, one, and holy emptiness
everywhere: why be selfy and unfree, Man God, in your dream? Wake up, thou'rt
selfless and free. 'Even and upright your mind abides nowhere,' states Hui Neng of
China. We're all in heaven now.


28



Roaring dreams take place in a perfectly silent mind. Now that we know this, throw the
raft away.


29
Are you tightwad and are you mean, those are the true sins, and sin is only a
conception of ours, due to long habit. Are you generous and are you kind, those are
the true virtues, and they're only conceptions. The golden eternity rests beyond sin and
virtue, is attached to neither, is attached to nothing, is unattached, because the golden
eternity is Alone. The mold has rills but it is one mold. The field has curves but it is one
field. All things are different forms of the same thing. I call it the golden eternity-what
do you call it, brother? for the blessing and merit of virtue, and the punishment and
bad fate of sin, are alike just so many words.


30
Sociability is a big smile, and a big smile is nothing but teeth. Rest and be kind.


31
There's no need to deny that evil thing called GOOGOO, which doesnt exist, just as
there's no need to deny that evil thing called Sex and Rebirth, which also doesn't exist,
as it is only a form of emptiness. The bead of semen comes from a long line of
awakened natures that were your parent, a holy flow, a succession of saviors pouring
from the womb of the dark void and back into it, fantastic magic imagination of the
lightning, flash, plays, dreams, not even plays, dreams.


32
'The womb of exuberant fertility,' Ashvhaghosha called it, radiating forms out of its
womb of exuberant emptiness. In emptiness there is no Why, no knowledge of Why, no
ignorance of Why, no asking and no answering of Why, and no significance attached to
this.


33
A disturbed and frightened man is like the golden eternity experimentally pretending at
feeling the disturbed-and-frightened mood; a calm and joyous man, is like the golden
eternity pretending at experimenting with that experience; a man experiencing his
Sentient Being, is like the golden eternity pretending at trying that out too; a man who
has no thoughts, is like the golden eternity pretending at being itself; because the
emptiness of everything has no beginning and no end and at present is infinite.


34
'Love is all in all,' said Sainte Therese, choosing Love for her vocation and pouring out
her happiness, from her garden by the gate, with a gentle smile, pouring roses on the
earth, so that the beggar in the thunderbolt received of the endless offering of her dark
void. Man goes a-beggaring into nothingness. 'Ignorance is the father, Habit-Energy is
the Mother.' Opposites are not the same for the same reason they are the same.


35
The words 'atoms of dust' and 'the great universes' are only words. The idea that they
imply is only an idea. The belief that we live here in this existence, divided into various
beings, passing food in and out of ourselves, and casting off husks of bodies one after
another with no cessation and no definite or particular discrimination, is only an idea.
The seat of our Immortal Intelligence can be seen in that beating light between the
eyes the Wisdom Eye of the ancients: we know what we're doing: we're not disturbed:



because we're like the golden eternity pretending at playing the magic cardgame and
making believe it's real, it's a big dream, a joyous ecstasy of words and ideas and
flesh, an ethereal flower unfolding a folding back, a movie, an exuberant bunch of lines
bounding emptiness, the womb of Avalokitesvara, a vast secret silence, springtime in
the Void, happy young gods talking and drinking on a cloud. Our 32,000 chillicosms
bear all the marks of excellence. Blind milky light fills our night; and the morning is
crystal.

36
Give a gift to your brother, but there's no gift to compare with the giving of assurance
that he is the golden eternity. The true understanding of this would bring tears to your
eyes. The other shore is right here, forgive and forget, protect and reassure. Your
tormenters will be purified. Raise thy diamond hand. Have faith and wait. The course of
your days is a river rumbling over your rocky back. You're sitting at the bottom of the
world with a head of iron. Religion is thy sad heart. You're the golden eternity and it
must be done by you. And means one thing: Nothing-Ever-Happened. This is the
golden eternity.

37
When the Prince of the Kalinga severed the flesh from the limbs and body of Buddha,
even then the Buddha was free from any such ideas as his own self, other self, living
beings divided into many selves, or living beings united and identified into one eternal
self. The golden eternity isnt 'me.' Before you can know that you're dreaming you'll
wake up, Atman. Had the Buddha, the Awakened One, cherished any of these
imaginary judgments of and about things, he would have fallen into impatience and
hatred in his suffering. Instead, like Jesus on the Cross he saw the light and died kind,
loving all living things.

38
The world was spun out of a blade of grass: the world was spun out of a mind. Heaven
was spun out of a blade of grass: heaven was spun out of a mind. Neither will do you
much good, neither will do you much harm. The Oriental imperturbed, is the golden
eternity.

39
He is called a Yogi, his is called a Priest, a Minister, a Brahmin, a Parson, a Chaplain, a
Roshi, a Laoshih, a Master, a Patriarch, a Pope, a Spiritual Commissar, a Counselor,
and Adviser, a Bodhisattva-Mahasattva, an Old Man, a Saint, a Shaman, a Leader, who
thinks nothing of himself as separate from another self, not higher nor lower, no stages
and no definite attainments, no mysterious stigmata or secret holyhood, no wild dark
knowledge and no venerable authoritativeness, nay a giggling sage sweeping out of the
kitchen with a broom. After supper, a silent smoke. Because there is no definite
teaching: the world is undisciplined. Nature endlessly in every direction inward to your
body and outward into space.

40
Meditate outdoors. The dark trees at night are not really the dark trees at night, it's
only the golden eternity.

41
A mosquito as big as Mount Everest is much bigger than you think: a horse's hoof is
more delicate than it looks. An altar consecrated to the golden eternity, filled with


roses and lotuses and diamonds, is the cell of the humble prisoner, the cell so cold and
dreary. Boethius kissed the Robe of the Mother Truth in a Roman dungeon.

42
Do you think the emptiness of the sky will ever crumble away? Every little child knows
that everybody will go to heaven. Knowing that nothing ever happened is not really
knowing that nothing ever happened, it's the golden eternity. In other words, nothing
can compare with telling your brother and your sister that what happened, what is
happening, and what will happen, never really happened, is not really happening and
never will happen, it is only the golden eternity. Nothing was ever born, nothing will
ever die. Indeed, it didnt even happen that you heard about golden eternity through
the accidental reading of this scripture. The thing is easily false. There are no warnings
whatever issuing from the golden eternity: do what you want.

43
Even in dreams be kind, because anyway there is no time, no space, no mind. 'It's all
not-born,' said Bankei of Japan, whose mother heard this from her son did what we call
'died happy.' And even if she had died unhappy, dying unhappy is not really dying
unhappy, it's the golden eternity. It's impossible to exist, it's impossible to be
persecuted, it's impossible to miss your reward.

44
Eight hundred and four thousand myriads of Awakened Ones throughout numberless
swirls of epochs appeared to work hard to save a grain of sand, and it was only the
golden eternity. And their combined reward will be no greater and no lesser than what
will be won by a piece of dried turd. It's a reward beyond thought.

45
When you've understood this scripture, throw it away. If you cant understand this
scripture, throw it away. I insist on your freedom.

46
O everlasting Eternity, all things and all truth laws are no- things, in three ways, which
is the same way: AS THINGS OF TIME they dont exist because there is no furthest
atom than can be found or weighed or grasped, it is emptiness through and through,
matter and empty space too. AS THINGS OF MIND they dont exist, because the mind
that conceives and makes them out does so by seeing, hearing touching, smelling,
tasting, and mentally-noticing and without this mind they would not be seen or heard
or felt or smelled or tasted or mentally-noticed, they are discriminated that which
they're not necessarily by imaginary judgments of the mind, they are actually
dependent on the mind that makes them out, by themselves they are no-things, they
are really mental, seen only of the mind, they are really empty visions of the mind,
heaven is a vision, everything is a vision. What does it mean that I am in this endless
universe thinking I'm a man sitting under the stars on the terrace of earth, but actually
empty and awake throughout the emptiness and awakedness of everything? It means
that I am empty and awake, knowing that I am empty and awake, and that there's no
difference between me and anything else. It means that I have attained to that which
everything is.

47
The-Attainer-To-That-Which-Everything-Is, the Sanskrit Tathagata, has no ideas
whatever but abides in essence identically with the essence of all things, which is what


it is, in emptiness and silence. Imaginary meaning stretched to make mountains and as
far as the germ is concerned it stretched even further to make molehills. A million souls
dropped through hell but nobody saw them or counted them. A lot of large people isnt
really a lot of large people, it's only the golden eternity. When St. Francis went to
heaven he did not add to heaven nor detract from earth. Locate silence, possess space,
spot me the ego. 'From the beginning,' said the Sixth Patriarch of the China School,
'not a thing is.'

48
He who loves all life with his pity and intelligence isnt really he who loves all life with
his pity and intelligence, it's only natural. The universe is fully known because it is
ignored. Enlightenment comes when you dont care. This is a good tree stump I'm
sitting on. You cant even grasp your own pain let alone your eternal reward. I love you
because you're me. I love you because there's nothing else to do. It's just the natural
golden eternity.

49
What does it mean that those trees and mountains are magic and unreal?- It means
that those trees and mountains are magic and unreal. What does it mean that those
trees and mountains are not magic but real?- it means that those trees and mountains
are not magic but real. Men are just making imaginary judgments both ways, and all
the time it's just the same natural golden eternity.

50
If the golden eternity was anything other than mere words, you could not have said
'golden eternity.' This means that the words are used to point at the endless
nothingness of reality. If the endless nothingness of reality was anything other than
mere words, you could not have said 'endless nothingness of reality,' you could not
have said it. This means that the golden eternity is out of our word-reach, it refuses
steadfastly to be described, it runs away from us and leads us in. The name is not
really the name. The same way, you could not have said 'this world' if this world was
anything other than mere words. There's nothing there but just that. They've long
known that there's nothing to life but just the living of it. It Is What It Is and That's All
It Is.

51
There's no system of teaching and no reward for teaching the golden eternity, because
nothing has happened. In the golden eternity teaching and reward havent even
vanished let alone appeared. The golden eternity doesnt even have to be perfect. It is
very silly of me to talk about it. I talk about it simply because here I am dreaming that
I talk about it in a dream already ended, ages ago, from which I'm already awake, and
it was only an empty dreaming, in fact nothing whatever, in fact nothing ever
happened at all. The beauty of attaining the golden eternity is that nothing will be
acquired, at last.

52
Kindness and sympathy, understanding and encouragement, these give: they are
better than just presents and gifts: no reason in the world why not. Anyhow, be nice.
Remember the golden eternity is yourself. 'If someone will simply practice kindness,'
said Gotama to Subhuti, 'he will soon attain highest perfect wisdom.' Then he added:
'Kindness after all is only a word and it should be done on the spot without thought of
kindness.' By practicing kindness all over with everyone you will soon come into the


holy trance, infinite distinctions of personalities will become what they really
mysteriously are, our common and eternal blissstuff, the pureness of everything
forever, the great bright essence of mind, even and one thing everywhere the holy
eternal milky love, the white light everywhere everything, emptybliss, svaha, shining,
ready, and awake, the compassion in the sound of silence, the swarming myriad
trillionaire you are.


53
Everything's alright, form is emptiness and emptiness is form, and we're here forever,
in one form or another, which is empty. Everything's alright, we're not here, there, or
anywhere. Everything's alright, cats sleep.


54
The everlasting and tranquil essence, look around and see the smiling essence
everywhere. How wily was the world made, Maya, not-even-made.


55
There's the world in the daylight. If it was completely dark you wouldnt see it but it
would still be there. If you close your eyes you really see what it's like: mysterious
particle-swarming emptiness. On the moon big mosquitos of straw know this in the
kindness of their hearts. Truly speaking, unrecognizably sweet it all is. Don't worry
about nothing.


56
Imaginary judgments about things, in the Nothing-Ever-Happened wonderful void, you
dont even have to reject them, let alone accept them. 'That looks like a tree, let's call it
a tree,' said Coyote to Earthmaker at the beginning, and they walked around the
rootdrinker patting their bellies.


57
Perfectly selfless, the beauty of it, the butterfly doesnt take it as a personal
achievement, he just disappears through the trees. You too, kind and humble and
not-even-here, it wasnt in a greedy mood that you saw the light that belongs to
everybody.


58
Look at your little finger, the emptiness of it is no different than the emptiness of
infinity.


59
Cats yawn because they realize that there's nothing to do.


60
Up in heaven you wont remember all these tricks of yours. You wont even sigh 'Why?'
Whether as atomic dust or as great cities, what's the difference in all this stuff. A tree
is still only a rootdrinker. The puma's twisted face continues to look at the blue sky
with sightless eyes, Ah sweet divine and indescribable verdurous paradise planted in
mid-air! Caitanya, it's only consciousness. Not with thoughts of your mind, but in the
believing sweetness of your heart, you snap the link and open the golden door and
disappear into the bright room, the everlasting ecstasy, eternal Now. Soldier, follow
me! - there never was a war. Arjuna, dont fight! - why fight over nothing? Bless and sit
down.



61
I remember that I'm supposed to be a man and consciousness and I focus my eyes and
the print reappears and the words of the poor book are saying, 'The world, as God has
made it' and there are no words in my pitying heart to express the knowless loveliness
of the trance there was before I read those words, I had no such idea that there was a
world.

62
This world has no marks, signs, or evidence of existence, nor the noises in it, like
accident of wind or voices or heehawing animals, yet listen closely the eternal hush of
silence goes on and on throughout all this, and has been gong on, and will go on and
on. This is because the world is nothing but a dream and is just thought of and the
everlasting eternity pays no attention to it. At night under the moon, or in a quiet
room, hush now, the secret music of the Unborn goes on and on, beyond conception,
awake beyond existence. Properly speaking, awake is not really awake because the
golden eternity never went to sleep; you can tell by the constant sound of Silence
which cuts through this world like a magic diamond through the trick of your not
realizing that your mind caused the world.

63
The God of the American Plateau Indian was Coyote. He says: 'Earth! those beings
living on your surface, none of them disappearing, will all be transformed. When I have
spoken to them, when they have spoken to me, from that moment on, their words and
their bodies which they usually use to move about with, will all change. I will not have
heard them.'

64
I was smelling flowers in the yard, and when I stood up I took a deep breath and the
blood all rushed to my brain and I woke up dead on my back in the grass. I had
apparently fainted, or died, for about sixty seconds. My neighbor saw me but he
thought I had just suddenly thrown myself on the grass to enjoy the sun. During that
timeless moment of unconsciousness I saw the golden eternity. I saw heaven. In it
nothing had ever happened, the events of a million years ago were just as phantom
and ungraspable as the events of now, or the events of the next ten minutes. It was
perfect, the golden solitude, the golden emptiness, Something-Or- Other, something
surely humble. There was a rapturous ring of silence abiding perfectly. There was no
question of being alive or not being alive, of likes and dislikes, of near or far, no
question of giving or gratitude, no question of mercy or judgment, or of suffering or its
opposite or anything. It was the womb itself, aloneness, alaya vijnana the universal
store, the Great Free Treasure, the Great Victory, infinite completion, the joyful
mysterious essence of Arrangement. It seemed like one smiling smile, one adorable
adoration, one gracious and adorable charity, everlasting safety, refreshing afternoon,
roses, infinite brilliant immaterial gold ash, the Golden Age. The 'golden' came from the
sun in my eyelids, and the 'eternity' from my sudden instant realization as I woke up
that I had just been where it all came from and where it was all returning, the
everlasting So, and so never coming or going; therefore I call it the golden eternity but
you can call it anything you want. As I regained consciousness I felt so sorry I had a
body and a mind suddenly realizing I didn't even have a body and a mind and nothing
had ever happened and everything is alright forever and forever and forever, O thank
you thank you thank you.


65
This is the first teaching from the golden eternity.


66
The second teaching from the golden eternity is that there never was a first teaching
from the golden eternity. So be sure.

As soon as night descends, we meet.
Remorse my memories releases.
The demons of the past compete,
And draw and tear my heart to pieces,
Sin, vice and madness and deceit,
When I was slave of men's caprices
And when my dwelling was the street.


The deathly silence is not far;
A few more moments only matter,
Which the Inevitable bar.
But at the edge, before they scatter,
In front of Thee my life I shatter,
As though an alabaster jar.


O what might not have been my fate
By now, my Teacher and my Saviour,
Did not eternity await
Me at the table, as a late
New victim of my past behaviour!


But what can sin now mean to me,
And death, and hell, and sulphur burning,
When, like a graft onto a tree,
I have-for everyone to see-
Grown into being part of Thee
In my immeasurable yearning?


When pressed against my knees I place
Thy precious feet, and weep, despairing,
Perhaps I'm learning to embrace
The cross's rough four-sided face;
And, fainting, all my being sways
Towards Thee, Thy burial preparing.

Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.


I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.


Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.


When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.

I know your compassion Mother and hence await better days.
I may meanwhile be battered with losses, want and debt.
You cause me pain only to take me to your Bosom.
Can any mother remain indifferent after inflicting pain on her child.
I know that you are more kind than hard-hearted
So the more you frighten me the closer r get to your Bosom.
There might be good reason for your chiding me.
Just because you make me weep and wince


I cannot say I have no mother.

[Original: Koruna tor jani mago; Translation: Abu Rushd]