Wesak Offering

Discussion in 'Belief and Spirituality' started by taijasi, May 19, 2011.

  1. taijasi

    taijasi Gnōthi seauton

    Sep 27, 2004
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    Cruel master of fear, Evil father of hate,
    Demon of pain, Author of lies,
    Taunting us with God's Fate:
    Each of us knows that all suffer,
    Only the coward denies,
    Sooner or later all of us must
    Look into God's Loving Eyes.

    Trusting, we come to sow Hope
    Pardoning, we come to know Pardon
    While dying, yes dying, we Come into Life

    It's High time, Cymbaline
    Thus Buddha we pray that ye Wake us
    Namaskar Devatma
  2. Amergin

    Amergin New Member

    Mar 18, 2010
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    (for the discoverer of the Grotte de Lascaux: Marcel Ravidat)

    On all the living walls
    of this dim cave,
    soot and ochre, acts of will,
    come down to us to say:

    This is who we were.
    We foraged here in an age of ice,
    and, warmed by the fur of wolves,
    felt the pride of predators
    going for game.
    Here we painted the strength of bulls,
    the grace of deer, turned life into art,
    and left this testimony on our walls.
    Explorers of the future, see how,
    when our dreams reach forward,
    your wonder reaches back, and we embrace.
    When we are long since dust,
    and false prophets come,
    then don't forget that we were your creators.
    So build your days
    on what you know is real, and remember
    that nothing will keep your lives alive
    but art--the black and ochre visions
    you draw inside your cave
    will honor your lost tribe,
    when explorers in some far future
    marvel at the paintings on your walls.

    © Philip Appleman
    New and Selected Poems
  3. Amergin

    Amergin New Member

    Mar 18, 2010
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    The Joy of Freedom

    When I became convinced
    that the Universe is natural,
    that all the ghosts and gods are myths,
    there entered into my brain, into my soul,
    into every drop of my blood, the sense,
    the feeling, the joy of Freedom.

    The walls of my prison crumbled and fell.
    The dungeon was flooded with light
    and all the bolts, bars
    and manacles became dust.
    I was no longer a servant, a serf, or a slave.
    There was for me no master in all of the wide world,
    not even in the infinite space. I was free.

    Free to think, to express my thoughts,
    Free to live to my own ideal,
    Free to live for myself and those I loved,
    Free to use my faculties, all my senses,
    Free to spread imagination's wings,
    Free to investigate, to guess and dream, and hope;
    Free to judge and determine for myself,
    Free to reject all ignorant and cruel creeds,
    all the "inspired" books
    that savages have produced,
    and all the barbarous legends of the past.

    Free from popes and priests,
    Free from all the "called" and the "set apart,"
    Free from the sanctified mistakes and holy lies,
    Free from the fear of eternal pain,
    Free from the winged monsters of the night,
    Free from devils, ghosts and gods.

    For the first time I was free.
    There were no prohibited places
    in all the realms of my thought:
    no air, no space,
    where fancy could not spread her painted wings.
    No chains for my limbs,
    No lashes for my back,
    No fires for my flesh,
    No master's frown or threat,
    No following another's steps;
    No need to bow, or cringe, or crawl,
    or utter lying words.

    I was free.
    I stood erect and fearlessly, joyously,
    faced all worlds;
    And my heart was filled with gratitude,
    with thankfulness, and went out in love
    To all the heroes
    and the thinkers who gave their lives
    for the Liberty of hand and brain,
    for the freedom of labor and thought;
    To those who fell on the fierce fields of war,
    To those who died in the dungeons with chains,
    To those who proudly mounted scaffold's stairs,
    To those whose bones were crushed,
    whose flesh was scarred and torn,
    To those by fire consumed;
    To all the wise, the good, the brave of every land,
    whose thoughts and deeds have given freedom
    to the sons and daughters of men and women.

    And I vowed to grasp the torch that they held,
    and hold it high,
    that light might conquer darkness still.

    --Robert G. Ingersoll (1833-1899)
  4. Amergin

    Amergin New Member

    Mar 18, 2010
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    The Evil in the Stone Cross

    The Sun sinks lower in the western sky
    And shadows creep from where the dead now lie.
    Dread and darkness drape the damp hanging moss
    On stark trees of the path to the stone cross.

    The cross stands in a long neglected glade
    Grown wild in this old grave yard’s dismal shade.
    Patches of lichen and moss seem to trace
    On the front of the cross a demon face.

    Why I walk toward it I can’t explain.
    I can see the shadows writhing in pain
    In the darkness along the damp stone trail.
    My fear screams, “run back,” but to no avail.

    I am close enough to feel the cold air
    And see the face and its malignant glare
    In pent up evil millions of years old.
    Of this ancient place the stories were told.

    An ancient demon was fused into stone
    And in a deep pool the demon was thrown.
    After many eons of time Raven made
    The first people in the sacred green glade.
    The stone lay on the bottom of the lake
    Until the White eyes raised the stone to make
    A cross for the God-man Jesus of the East
    Not knowing they raised a dread evil beast.

    The White eyes went mad in a killing rage
    Slaying all in sight, no respect for age.
    Later all were buried by a Cree Band
    Who left the strange cross in that evil land.

    The Shaman told me of the evil cross
    In the dreaded dark grove of graves and moss.
    But I did not heed his warning appeal
    I entered the dark grove, a glimpse to steal.

    The stone face opened its evil red eyes
    With malignant hate so ancient yet wise.
    I felt cold stiffness and despairing doom.
    Locked in stone, I could see the demon loom.

    Centuries have passed since that terrible day
    That for seeking evil my life did pay.
    Terrible wars did follow the release
    Of ancient horror to the end of peace.

    The ancient demon now rules the land
    Heads of state obey his evil command.
    The Demon brings death and malignant hate.
    In the cold stone cross I bemoan my fate.

    Amergin (**** Mc*********)©
  5. Amergin

    Amergin New Member

    Mar 18, 2010
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    The Appeal of God

    He is a vast limitless being,
    without form or shape.
    He is not material.
    Damn, he's not even energy.
    He has neither brain
    nor a pair of eyes;
    No umbilicus, anus, or nipples?
    And there are no Jacobs
    under the missing todger.

    But He designed all matter,
    five ministrings and two quarks,
    protons, neutrons, and electrons.
    He made galaxies by the billions
    each with billions of stars
    to become trillions and trillions
    of possible worlds and beings.
    He made reproducing molecules.

    In a rush of divine genius,
    He hooked nucleotides together
    in a double helix spiral.
    His invention of mutation led to
    millions of different species
    on this planet alone and
    maybe a billion more on others.
    But he cares about my sex life.

    Amergin (**** Mc********)©
  6. murugan

    murugan New Member

    Feb 16, 2011
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  7. jamesd1

    jamesd1 Mystic

    Jun 9, 2011
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    The Long View of Life and Death

    The ground shakes and a thousand deaths mark the violence. It has been so since the beginning. Now, we take each tremor as the first, not marking the long history of Earth, or the longer history of exploding stars. Floods, bombs, plagues, wars, cycle in history. And finally the burning questions, and wonder at the vast solemn array of nature's austere visitations. I think in this the crucible of pain and time is laid mysterious compassionate lessons of life and death.
    We have always been free to die and free to live, and die we have down the ages by the thousands and millions--but not alone, rather in waves of life and death. We die at home and in far places, in good company and bad; we have died well and poorly. Our deaths and lives are personal and cosmic; it is our way.

    We live beneath a canopy of life and death. Our sky is adorned with ancient records; luminous ghosts that ceased shining long before humans peopled Earth. We may wonder what civilizations rose and fell around those lost points of light. Yet, life being one, it is our sky, our record, and our life. And I see that no point is lost, for every point of seeming loss is ours, is beginning also, and every bloom of new life is ours.

    Life, near and far touches us, rouses to action, and death rouses to action. The old dark holds of tears and death have been ours, and will be ours yet with more open eyes. Tomorrow's life and light are also ours, and close upon us today. Looking up, all the lost points are gathered in wondrous constellations; future patterns warm with promise, laid out beyond the beauty of today's best dreams.

    Are we then from the night only, from the dark womb of earth, of time, of tears and pain? I say we are as well from bright beginnings and unspeakable joy. History shows and will show dark, yet further back still, back through creation to the first bright blooms of universes, we were infinite then as now.


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