Eman was by now used to being addressed as the irrational man by his enemy. He heard his friends mutter to themselves : Why should my fate be so? He knows the answer lies beyond his words, his description and has to keep the secret in his heart as the only thing of real value. He comes across descriptions more and more unsatisfactory and incomplete. He finds his brothers keeping the same secret in moments of grief and despair, on lonely lanes in the tranquility of dawn and twilight of dusk. He had spoken to the countless ones who reached the very end!... who found life was not worth living, simply found it not meaningful, not necessary - the martyrs among his tribe. He had spoken to the countess ones who were locked up in asylums for they were too friendly with him. How does he repay his feeling of gratitude for their friendship? When will he speak out to the enemy on their behalf?
Eman grew up babysitting and overheard the mother's prayer : "My lord,let the right thoughts come to my child on all occasions!". Since then, he struggled to know if he had the right thoughts when he woke up and saw the sun pouring though the tall trees, through the trembling leaves in the morning breeze, through the tiny spider web. He often wondered if he had the right thoughts when he first touched water in the morning, when he met the first bird, the first dog , the very first man, the first woman. And later in the day when he saw the leaf falling, the bird flying, the flower blooming, when he looked up and saw the saw the clouds moving against the motionless blue! Later on the same day, the clouds had gathered in bright dresses to send off the sun and Eman watched, without batting an eyelid, the colorful departure. Did he have the right thoughts?, he wondered. He was in a trance when darkness descended, owls screeched and he heard the drumbeats of the approaching ghosts riding the roar of the seashore. He was still wondering if he had the right thoughts about all of them, now that they are all asleep; if he had the right thoughts when they were awake. Or, if he had the right thoughts about their waking up, about the rising of the sun and moon, about the movement of the leaves and branches, about the falling of the leaves and the meteors,..., the doings, the actions Oh! the endless doings of the beings, gods and ghosts?
The trance lasted a considerable long period at the end of which,'as it was to a person, who is energetic,strenuous and resolute,' discovered the meaning of the mother's prayer! Alas, not from endless arguments with himself or with his friends, but when at the end of it all asked himself thus : "What if I use the principle that made my mother pray for something she did not know what it is, which she did not want for herself, which she did not receive by hours of wandering, austerities and renunciations?"
At once, Eman was sure he felt the agony of the mother and the agony of the creator in himself. He shivered from the intense jolts as if he was the sea shore and the waves charging him up and down. Eman heard a bird singing within him:
Acindyam_avyaktam_anantaroopam sivam
prasantam_amrutam brahma_yonim
Tath_adi_madhy_anta_viheenam_ekam vibhum
cidanandam_aroopam_adbhutam!!!
Eman felt energised. He jumped out. He found himself by the side of a beautifull lake. The moon was up and suddenly ... He saw the determination to be immortal and a readiness for rebirth in the body of that huge tree standing tall with a few yellow leaves. Eman sat down and waited. He wanted to see the tree taking a rebirth. It seemed a very long wait indeed. The tree was deliberately shedding the very last leaf and seemed to take a bath in the moonlight all night long. Eman was patient and did not fall asleep. But he was not looking at the tree in focus. He was not seeing anything. Beyond he saw countless beings being born again and again. And, when he woke up at last free from the currents flowing up and down within him, he saw the tree spontaneously dressing in tender green.
He prayed that his friend was there to witness a rebirth.
My dear friend,
You knew all the sages by instinct,
Knew all the symbolism by heart,
Verified the art of discrimination till the source,
And the synthesis of all the known till we met.
Eman thought:"I should write to my friend, now. Right now. He is locked up in the dungeon. He will read this and will get out of the asylum in a moment of great glory."
Eman was sure he had the right thoughts now, for he was seeing the rebirths of countless friends, he was seeing the rebirth of his country. He began to write:
My friend,...
You thought wisdom natural,
lurking behind the ideas and opinions,
striving for achieving goals no one has set!
You often said : Things are not so difficult!
It's not difficult to see, to feel to accompany;
but few woke up early enough in the morning.
When we have been together,
with the endless dialog outside.
Feeling the noise inside growing rich and greedy,
eating up every lucid line,
every handsome stroke of your brush.
Now, you do not venture to sing;
my friend, when you had the richest voice!
You were not wrong to say:
What evolution, my foot!
None of you feel the Dinosaur's bulk
standing on this mountain of sand.
Knowledge, like the castles,
are built for the kings to rule.
See, how words have rendered meaningless
more things than they described.
You saw the power of twilight spreading from the west,
saw the despair descending on the east,
knew how natural to feel scared of the night!
You often told me:
We are truely the most blessed,
if only the press was not invented!
Colors are made from leaves and seeds,
Sounds and pictures drawn by hand.
You thought it cruel
the bomb was being described
more affectionately than the seed;
the rocket described as more fantastic than the bird.
You often sang the song:
The seed was sown as the season came,
the bird flies the way it saw,
quiet bundles of awareness,
Suchness indeed!
You told me countless times
Stories could be short and sweet,
if only drawn countless times
in the mind's eye.
characters grow fewer in number,
relations grow to be perfect.
the world is small indeed
when things are being conveyed.
In the mustard seed garden manual of painting,
Bamboo singing in the wind is drawn
with a few essential strokes;
You knew what it is to see the essential,
what it is to make the diamond cut.
It is pure soot hardened
into stones of charm and desire.
the essential of the knife meeting,
the essential of the stone.
What a beautiful way to discover!
Now I know why you often told me
I would rather be my own ancestor
singing one lucid note in the monsoon wind,
before the pond is full.
And now the frogs have taken over!
We were fond of telling each other
this discussion is endless
'It is plain simple, if only...
Categories from within
are not mixed up with those from without!
These thinkers are honorable men,
only, ...mindless to the essentials.
You were apt to say
too much needs to be said to be heard
But surely, surely,...
Beyond the clamor outside
there is the still wait for the essential voice
that comes not too often.
I know now, my friend,
why you could not contain it,
and was forced into the dark dungeons.
You were truly riding free in the open
strong winds blowing day and night.
You were seeing more clearly
when things were not clear themselves
Life, like the immediate past
was pressing to be hasty
On...Now... Say it!
I am still aware of the winds of change,
I am listening to your cry:
"Soon a civilization will grow;
Aware, aware like a crystal ball!"
Eman grew up babysitting and overheard the mother's prayer : "My lord,let the right thoughts come to my child on all occasions!". Since then, he struggled to know if he had the right thoughts when he woke up and saw the sun pouring though the tall trees, through the trembling leaves in the morning breeze, through the tiny spider web. He often wondered if he had the right thoughts when he first touched water in the morning, when he met the first bird, the first dog , the very first man, the first woman. And later in the day when he saw the leaf falling, the bird flying, the flower blooming, when he looked up and saw the saw the clouds moving against the motionless blue! Later on the same day, the clouds had gathered in bright dresses to send off the sun and Eman watched, without batting an eyelid, the colorful departure. Did he have the right thoughts?, he wondered. He was in a trance when darkness descended, owls screeched and he heard the drumbeats of the approaching ghosts riding the roar of the seashore. He was still wondering if he had the right thoughts about all of them, now that they are all asleep; if he had the right thoughts when they were awake. Or, if he had the right thoughts about their waking up, about the rising of the sun and moon, about the movement of the leaves and branches, about the falling of the leaves and the meteors,..., the doings, the actions Oh! the endless doings of the beings, gods and ghosts?
The trance lasted a considerable long period at the end of which,'as it was to a person, who is energetic,strenuous and resolute,' discovered the meaning of the mother's prayer! Alas, not from endless arguments with himself or with his friends, but when at the end of it all asked himself thus : "What if I use the principle that made my mother pray for something she did not know what it is, which she did not want for herself, which she did not receive by hours of wandering, austerities and renunciations?"
At once, Eman was sure he felt the agony of the mother and the agony of the creator in himself. He shivered from the intense jolts as if he was the sea shore and the waves charging him up and down. Eman heard a bird singing within him:
Acindyam_avyaktam_anantaroopam sivam
prasantam_amrutam brahma_yonim
Tath_adi_madhy_anta_viheenam_ekam vibhum
cidanandam_aroopam_adbhutam!!!
Eman felt energised. He jumped out. He found himself by the side of a beautifull lake. The moon was up and suddenly ... He saw the determination to be immortal and a readiness for rebirth in the body of that huge tree standing tall with a few yellow leaves. Eman sat down and waited. He wanted to see the tree taking a rebirth. It seemed a very long wait indeed. The tree was deliberately shedding the very last leaf and seemed to take a bath in the moonlight all night long. Eman was patient and did not fall asleep. But he was not looking at the tree in focus. He was not seeing anything. Beyond he saw countless beings being born again and again. And, when he woke up at last free from the currents flowing up and down within him, he saw the tree spontaneously dressing in tender green.
He prayed that his friend was there to witness a rebirth.
My dear friend,
You knew all the sages by instinct,
Knew all the symbolism by heart,
Verified the art of discrimination till the source,
And the synthesis of all the known till we met.
Eman thought:"I should write to my friend, now. Right now. He is locked up in the dungeon. He will read this and will get out of the asylum in a moment of great glory."
Eman was sure he had the right thoughts now, for he was seeing the rebirths of countless friends, he was seeing the rebirth of his country. He began to write:
My friend,...
You thought wisdom natural,
lurking behind the ideas and opinions,
striving for achieving goals no one has set!
You often said : Things are not so difficult!
It's not difficult to see, to feel to accompany;
but few woke up early enough in the morning.
When we have been together,
with the endless dialog outside.
Feeling the noise inside growing rich and greedy,
eating up every lucid line,
every handsome stroke of your brush.
Now, you do not venture to sing;
my friend, when you had the richest voice!
You were not wrong to say:
What evolution, my foot!
None of you feel the Dinosaur's bulk
standing on this mountain of sand.
Knowledge, like the castles,
are built for the kings to rule.
See, how words have rendered meaningless
more things than they described.
You saw the power of twilight spreading from the west,
saw the despair descending on the east,
knew how natural to feel scared of the night!
You often told me:
We are truely the most blessed,
if only the press was not invented!
Colors are made from leaves and seeds,
Sounds and pictures drawn by hand.
You thought it cruel
the bomb was being described
more affectionately than the seed;
the rocket described as more fantastic than the bird.
You often sang the song:
The seed was sown as the season came,
the bird flies the way it saw,
quiet bundles of awareness,
Suchness indeed!
You told me countless times
Stories could be short and sweet,
if only drawn countless times
in the mind's eye.
characters grow fewer in number,
relations grow to be perfect.
the world is small indeed
when things are being conveyed.
In the mustard seed garden manual of painting,
Bamboo singing in the wind is drawn
with a few essential strokes;
You knew what it is to see the essential,
what it is to make the diamond cut.
It is pure soot hardened
into stones of charm and desire.
the essential of the knife meeting,
the essential of the stone.
What a beautiful way to discover!
Now I know why you often told me
I would rather be my own ancestor
singing one lucid note in the monsoon wind,
before the pond is full.
And now the frogs have taken over!
We were fond of telling each other
this discussion is endless
'It is plain simple, if only...
Categories from within
are not mixed up with those from without!
These thinkers are honorable men,
only, ...mindless to the essentials.
You were apt to say
too much needs to be said to be heard
But surely, surely,...
Beyond the clamor outside
there is the still wait for the essential voice
that comes not too often.
I know now, my friend,
why you could not contain it,
and was forced into the dark dungeons.
You were truly riding free in the open
strong winds blowing day and night.
You were seeing more clearly
when things were not clear themselves
Life, like the immediate past
was pressing to be hasty
On...Now... Say it!
I am still aware of the winds of change,
I am listening to your cry:
"Soon a civilization will grow;
Aware, aware like a crystal ball!"
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