Filed in:Herman Hesse
The many-voiced song of the river echoed softly. [...]
Siddhartha listened. He was now listening intently, completely absorbed, quite empty, taking in everything. He felt that he had now completely learned the art of listening. He'd often heard all this before, all these numerous voices in the river, but today they sounded different. He could no longer distinguish the different voices--the merry voice from the weeping voice, the childish voice from the manly voice. The all belonged to each other: the lament of those who yearn, the laughter of the wise, the cry of indignation and the groan of the dying. They're all interwoven and interlocked, entwined in a thousand ways. And all the voices, all the goals, all the yearnings, all the sorrows, all the pleasures, all the good and evil, all of them together was the world. All of them together was the stream of events, the music of life. When Siddhartha listened attentively to this river, to this song of a thousand voices; when he did not listen to the sorrow or laughter, when he did not bind his soul to any one particular voice and absorb it in his Self, but heard them all, the whole, the unity; then the great song of a thousand voices consisted of one word: Om -- perfection. […]
From that hour Siddhartha ceased to fight against his destiny. There shone in his face the serenity of knowledge, of one who is no longer confronted with conflict of desires, who has found salvation, who is in harmony with the string of events, with the stream of life, full of sympathy and compassion, surrendering himself to the stream, belonging to the unity of all things.
-- by Herman Hesse
Filed in:Anthony de Mello
The mystic was back from the desert.
"Tell us," they said, "what God is like?”
But how could he ever tell them
what he had experienced in his heart?
Can God be put into words?
He finally gave them a formula—
so inaccurate, so inadequate—
in the hope that some of them might be tempted
to experience it for themselves.
They seized upon the formula.
They made it a sacred text.
They imposed it on others as a holy belief.
They went to great pains to spread it in foreign lands.
Some even gave their lives for it.
The mystic was sad.
It might have been better if he had said nothing.
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Filed in:James Baquet
It seems the happiest people I know can whoop it up with friends on Saturday night and attend church with great conviction on Sunday.
They can chat with equal amiability with college professors and construction workers, with police officers and prostitutes, with ministers and mine workers.
They can have fun in a disco or on a mountain trail, can be at peace in traffic or in tranquility.
They are all things to all people.
They are, as the Tao recommends, as soft and yielding as water, yet, as it also says, their strength has no equal.
Anyone who sounds one note might not fit the bill.
And yet, in all these situations, happy people are always themselves, never sacrificing who they are for the sake of others.
They contain multitudes.
So that is the final Secret. Look back over the other 364, and find out what sides of yourself might need development. If you only have one tune, master some more. If you only have one way to deal with adversity, learn some others. If you only have one friend, make more!
And, for the last time: You'll be happier.