Sunday, 28 February 2010


'The ultimate Truth is that all is One',
So said Moses to his desert flock,
'There's nothing new under the Sun',
When all that can be said is said and done,
Wrote Sage Ecclesiastes, solid as a rock,
'All perishes in time subject to its clock,
Life's mainly suffering, but sometimes fun,
One God reigns supreme, second to none'!

A biblical scholar fond of analysis
Pouring through the scriptures day by day
Found too much, led to soul's paralysis;
In the end he threw the holy book away.
Turning mind within he found Self Knowledge
And then resigned from his Bible college

Friday, 26 February 2010


Aeshines - A Newly Discovered Socratic Dialogue
SOCRATES Hail to Thee, Aeschines! From where do you return to visit us now?

AESCHINES I have just returned from my father's kitchen where I was assisting him in making his famed spiced meat delicacies.

S. Yes! Charinus makes the finest sausages in all Athens, that is beyond dispute.

A. Thank you, Socrates. Next to my father, I love you dearly. I hope I shall never leave you. Strike me with your staff, for you will find no wood hard enough to keep me away from you, so long as I think you've something to say.

S. Only the sausage-maker's son knows how to honour me. 2 I wish all my friends were as loyal as you, Aeschines. In some ways, your respected profession has often appealed to me as most enviable. You assist your Father whom you love, earn an honest livelihood, exercise great care and attention keeping the restless mind in check, and what is more, create delicacies for the citizens of Athens to enjoy with wine and fill their bellies, which when digested, turns to thought and hopefully beneficial actions.

A. Thou speakest truth as always, Socrates. I have toiled to excel at this work, selecting the choicest herbs, learning to pound the cooked rare meats into a paste and blend them, pack them in an edible skin and make them look as appetising as possible.

S. I am persuaded of your eminent skill, Aeschincs. I trust you will not refuse me a sample of your labours.

A. Here is one of Father's latest concoctions, a mixture of lamb and rabbit flavoured with honey, thyme and black pepper.

S. Thank you. I shall relish it more after our conversation but now ask me whatever you will.

A. You said earlier that my food after being digested, stimulates thought which leads to action.

S. I recall having said that.

A. Does this mean I am indirectly responsible for my clients' thoughts and deeds?

S. After a fashion, partially, but not completely. Thoughts need food stuff to make them happen.

A. But surely Socrates, man is responsible for his own thoughts and actions, and has the freedom to decide his acts?

S. Dear boy, I hope you will not be shocked when I tell you that man has no freedom of will, and is not responsible for his actions.

A. But surely Socrates, this goes against the 'consensus gentium' of educated people and their commonsense. I feel and I know that I am responsible for my acts. When I think to do something, I carry it out.

S. Are you so sure, my dear fellow? Let us examine this matter more closely. Sit down a while. You say you think; where does the thought that you have, come from, in the first instance? Where does it arise?

A. From me, of course.

S. From Me. Tell me, who is this Me? Can you find him inside? Now watch closely. Where do thoughts actually come from? Be very honest.

A. Well, surprisingly they seem to arrive from nowhere, out of the blue. From the Gods, perhaps.

S. Now you see that you did not create the initial thought. It arrives from you know not where. Then what happens?

A. It commences the faculty of reasoning.

S. Yes. It touches your mind, and either the thought is rejected as unworthy or accepted as useful, according to needs, standards of upbringing and so forth; and it starts a process called thinking.

A. But surely I start the process of reasoning.

S. Are you sure? Look closely now. See what actually happens. A thought arrives from nowhere, touches the mind which reacts according to its patterns of education and what it believes to be the right response, and some more thought weighs the matter up.

A. But surely in the weighing I choose from the alternatives offered by commonsense and reason?

S. I mistrust your commonsense and conventional opinion, the so-called reason of the masses. Only the philosophers understand the nature of choice, and not too many of them, I suspect.

A. Do you mean I didn't choose?

S. What happens if you watch, dear sausage maker, is that the mind or thoughts present alternatives, and according to your disposition you choose what you consider to be the most practical, pleasurable and in the best interest for you. But there is no daemon inside to choose. The choice happens mechanically, like an abacus, and then the mind foolishly ascribes it to itself as "a free agent", boasting arrogantly "I CHOOSE."

A. Please continue, Socrates. This is most illuminating.

S. Truly the choice was inevitable. The so-called act of choosing was part of the structure of predetermination. The choice was inevitable, because it appealed to your hidden tendencies of pleasure, and what you believe to be appropriate. In fact there was never any freedom to choose anything other than that which was chosen.

A. But surely if a man does good deeds, they are his own, just as the man who does evil deeds?

S. Again, Aeschines, let us examine very closely. Watch how everything happens. A train of inevitable events leads one man to the good, another to the so-called evil.

A. How is that?

S. One man is born into a noble womb, with refined educated parents, another into an uncaring home of ignorance. Patterns of behaviour are laid down like a mosaic, by example and imitation. What you call good and bad habits are largely mimicry.

A. But surely, Socrates, there are innate tendencies of good and evil that men are born with?

S. Yes. Souls are transmigrated with these tendencies laid down.

A. So what determines this behaviour of these souls?

S. Examples from parents, family, teachers, people you meet, heroes, reading, and so forth. You are determined all the time, by each new event.

A. Is this the way the Gods control our destiny?

S. Broadly, yes.

A. I see. So when I choose, I imagine I'm choosing, but really it's all predetermined.

S. Exactly. You are beginning to see the point.

A. Then tell me, Socrates, the idea that I can do anything of my own free will, is that falsely imagined?

S. Yes.

A. Then how do I live?

S. Choose as if you have choice, knowing you really have none. This is a step towards freedom and the Good. It will remove guilt, and stop you from blaming others for their so called bad deeds, and stop you from flattering others for their so called good deeds, according to society's approval or disapproval.

A. If this was generally understood, what would our tragedians have to write about?

S. Very little. But about good and bad, the Nubian, Libyan and Egyptian have quite different standards to we Greeks, neither better nor worse except according to our opinion. Moreover, each tragedy illustrates a chief characteristic which prevents the hero from coming to Self knowledge. Such was the blindness of Oedipus.

A. But how will I live, knowing all this?

S. Enjoy yourself, my boy. Be happy. Love your work, and study philosophy, but don't attribute your actions to an imaginary ME who doesn't actually exist which is the real slavery.

A. Thank you Socrates. But…

S. There are always 'buts' - listen! This idea that men can act independently of the Gods is at the root of their bondage, and enslaves master and boy alike. To be free, a man must know this clearly. This is my point. I hammer it home continuously.

A. How do I see this clearly?

S. Some time, reflect on major events of your day and examine how much they really happened through your free will? This will undermine your vanity and your pride.

A. Thank you.

S. The tyrant is the imaginary ME who has usurped the Good which is our birthright of freedom. Sacrifice him to the Gods, and all will be well, I promise.

A. Thank you again, Socrates.

S. Come, my dear friend, let us enjoy your sausage with some Cypriot wine; Ah! I can see Alciabides approaching.


(1) A newly discovered Socratic Dialogue. Aeschines was a friend of Socrates who recorded many dialogues, but unlike Plato's his have largely been lost to posterity. The translation is by Alan Adams Jacobs.

(2) This remark is confirmed in Chapter 7 of LIVES OF EMMINENT PHILOSOPHERS by Diogenes Laertius, along with details of Aeschines' life.

Tuesday, 23 February 2010


Eve seductively tempted Adam, first man,
In the beautiful Garden of Eden so fair.
Lured on by a serpent he almost ran,
To eat a ripe red apple from the Tree,
Called CONCEPTUAL KNOWLEDGE growing there;
Outlawed from Eden, he is no longer free.

Monday, 22 February 2010

EUTOPIA 'the Gnostic World of Prester John'. by Alan Jacobs

My first venture into fiction- a Novella called 'Eutopia, the Gnostic World of Prester John' was published to-day.See Amazon. It portrays a beautiful, ideal society based on non dual lines.


Measly moth of my soul enter Love's flame,
Ever ready to devour you in its fire,
Flame's your burning in the holy Name,
To be consumed so, is highest desire.

Don't be afraid poor mouldy moth to die,
To be eaten by flame is sheerest bliss,
You'll enter a new life in which to fly,
Transformed by Love's fiery burning kiss..

After your death no questions will remain,
You've entered a murky moth's best place,
To be fried alive in the flame of the Name,
Is soul's transformation, the highest grace.

Sunday, 21 February 2010


LOVE sometimes whisks one into wild madness,
She whirls feelings around without the sadness,
Into a frenzy of frantic adoration,
For God, to whom we offer mind's oblation.

Love will dance in an abandonned trance,
An exhillarating adolescent prance,
She finds no bounds to the bliss of love,
Fired by devotion sent down from above.

Get drunk in the taste of ecstatic wine,
That pours from the lips of Mother Divine,
Abandon thought and making fine points,
Lord Shiva's dance should loosen one's joints.

Alive as Self, God dwells deeply at heart,
There He directs destiny, firm to impart
The auspicious birth of Self Realisation,
Final Freedom, Moksha, and Joyful Liberation!

Saturday, 20 February 2010


I watched our friendly Father Sun wake up this morn,
A blazing ball of fire, he made a radiant dawn,
Painted with brilliant crimson orange flame,
Great Sun glorified God's sacred awesome Name.
This colour clothes the robe sanyasins wear,
They worship God with loving souls so fair.

We can be inner sanyasins pursuing Truth,
And like the rising Sun of light forsooth,
Shine with blissful Love ever in our hearts,
Reminding us of Him, each new day we start.
We fall in love with Love afresh each morn,
Like that golden ball of flame, which makes our dawn.

Friday, 19 February 2010


Almighty God, the ardent artist supreme,
Formed a rainbow palette of perfected light,
Red, orange, blue, yellow, green, purple bright,
To paint the pictures in our strange life dream,
In which our fate's the overwhelming theme,
Preordained for spiritual growth. It's right,
That all that happens looks perfect in our sight,
From pure white light He shines His magic beam.

Noah saw the end of Earth's tempestuous plight,
A bright rainbow shone to glorify the scene;
God's promise to mankind was made in spite
Of all his sin, however gross and so obscene,
That there would never be a flood again.
Rainbow showed God's covenant clear and plain.

Thursday, 18 February 2010


THE SONNET'S a solemn meditation of poetic art,
Learned from Petrarch, Dante, Shakespeare and Rossetti,
For Soul's bridal marriage feast it's precious confetti,
To throw with rhyme some needed truth, fine fuel to impart,
Which will fire inner fibres and warm the weary heart.
It must be well rooted in nature, poeticly pretty,
Like the ruby red rose which inspires a lover's ditty.
The much needed truth is how should Self Enquiry start?

The way Bhagavan Ramana does suggest to you,,
Is as thoughts and emotional feelings arise,
Ask the vital question 'to whom do these thoughts come'?
Then the restless monkey mind will soon surmise,
'It comes to me', then thought returns to Heart, to succumb,
Precipitating egotisms much needed death, ever asking who?

Wednesday, 17 February 2010


Between the tick-tock of time's strict clock,
Dwells Silence, too quick for monkey-mind to catch,
And unlock soul's bolted door by heart's sealed latch.
By prayerful Self Enquiry one needs knock,
Or else the door stays solid like a rock.
Real Silence is too hard for mind to match,
As Quietness of the mind's a God-like patch,
Green pastures and still waters that mind can't catch.

Pilgrim wished to rest in Silence of the Heart,
His monkey-mind was too mischievous by far,
He fired an arrow of attention for a start,
It landed in Real Silence, no mind could mar.
To reach True Silence of the Heart dear friend,
Self Enquiry's the beginning and the end!

Tuesday, 16 February 2010


Lady Love passed by me bye and bye,
But 'twas in a dream when sound asleep,
I felt she hailed me from way down deep,
An angel standing brightly in the light,
So beautiful, against full moon at night.
Then in my dream-like sleep I began to weep
Tears of grace that I was keen to keep,
Trying to find the source of Who Am I?

Advice for all those who true freedom seek,
To remove chain-bound jail- prisoner's ache,
The prospect for Soul is somewhat bare and bleak.
For Liberation and Self Realisation's sake,
Unless one's own Real Self is truly known,
And monkey mind is completely overthrown.

Friday, 12 February 2010


God as the almighty creative source,
Wills with all his power and massive force,
Evolved actors, with differing parts to play,
In His ‘Globe Theatre Grand’ from day to day.

He writes a special script for them to act;
Predestined Thespians, God masked, in fact,
Yet each imagines that he’s in charge,
For such arrogance, they suffer, by and large.

When they awake and know that they are God,
Shadows playing an ordained role, however odd;
They soon become free from stress and strain
And find real freedom, without cause to complain

Wednesday, 10 February 2010


There’s a huge loom of Time, in duration;
Born of Infinity, from a consummation
With Life, which has never been void of time,
While Sun and Moon as shuttle upward climb.

By weaving to and fro as night and day,
A splendid pageant of coloured display,
Strung on the warp and weft of cosmic unity.
The back of this embroidered tapestry

Is monochrome, derived from that formless One.
It’s face is multihued, radiant as the Sun,
Its tones reflected from archetypal light,
All magically absorbed, an equalled sight.

Only what’s permitted by an unseen hand,
Appears as this moving panoramic band;
A rainbow painting of the whole wide world,
Brushed vertically: each single thread is whirled

Without the dimmest dint of dull duality;
Bright Light, unique to Self, sheer Reality!
Coated with golden fleece and angel wool,
Dyed in the deepest vat of Destiny’s pool.

So does this sacred cloth, woven in Love,
Quarrel with its weaver who reigns above?
Wrapped in his Joseph cloak at rainbows’s end,
Eternal pilgrim ever loves his Mighty Friend!

Monday, 8 February 2010


On my blank transparent screen, that is pristine
Primordial Consciousness, clear and clean,
Birthless and deathless, I survey the scene.
I sense it has the semblance of a dream.
Technicolour pictures come and go
Endlessly like in a movie show.

All are creations of this sleeper's mind,
But I am not that body's brain I find.
Instead I look behind his watchful eyes
And then discover to my vast surprise
That I am that same Consciousness sublime,
Which is One with Love, and is Divine.

Sunday, 7 February 2010


Whoever is awake to the material world
Is fast asleep to the spiritual world.
This wakefulness is far worse than sleep,
When our soul’s asleep to God, it’s a door
Closing, to prevent the entry of His grace.
All day we suffer from a host of fantasies,
Thoughts of loss, gain or degeneration.
For the Soul there is neither joy nor peace
Nor a way of progression heavenwards.
The sleeper has his hope in each vain fancy
And converses idly with these foolish voices.

The bird of the soul flies cheerily on high
While its shadow is speeding upon Earth,
Some fools hasten to chase their shadow
And rushing hurriedly become exhausted,
Not understanding that it’s a reflection,
Nor knowing from where it originates.

They vainly shoot arrows at this phantom,
His quiver soon empties from the long quest.
The contents of his worried life become a void,
Time passes in chasing after this grey shadow.
But when God’s shadow becomes a nurse maid.
It saves him from fantasies and illusion.
God’s shadow is the true servant of God.

Dead to this world yet living through Him.
Take hold of His hem quickly so your skirt
May also be saved at the end of your days.
Never enter this dark valley of the shadow
Without a guide who’s a true son of God.
Desert the grey shadow, gain the bright Sun
Hold the hem of the orb of Shams Tabriz.

If you don’t know the way to the bridal feast
Enquire into God’s radiance named l’Haqq.
If envy grabs you by the throat on the way
It is Satan who reaches beyond all bounds.
Because from green envy he hates Adam
And he’s at constant war with happiness.

On the way there’s no harder bridge to cross.
Happy is he who hasn’t made envy his friend.
The body is a mansion packed full of hate,
The family and servants are all tainted.
Yet Almighty God made the body to be pure
So sweep clean His house. The purified heart
Is a true treasure and Earth’s gold talisman.

If you indulge in guile, deceit and envy
Against one who’s without a hint of blame,
Then black stains swell up in your heart.
So rest as dust under the feet of a Sage
Amd scatter the dust on envy’s bald head.

Any fool who mtorments his body is unfit
For comprehending the spiritual life .
The nose catches fragrance leading to truth
That scent is the God revealed religion.
If he’s whiffed this perfume with ingratitude,
It comes and destroys his organ of perception.

Give thanks! be a slave to those who are grateful,
Be in their presence as one truly steadfast.


Saturday, 6 February 2010


Love’s way is humility and intoxication,
The torrent floods down. How can it run up?
You’ll be a cabuchon in the ring of lovers,
If you’re a red ruby’s slave, dear friend ;
Even as Earth is a serf of sapphire sky
And your monkey body’s a slave to your spirit.

What did Earth ever lose by this relationship ?
What mercy has the Self showed to weary limbs ?
One shouldn’t beat the snare drum of awakening
Beneath a cosy sofa’s, comfy counterpane.

Hoist, like a hero, your flag in the desert.
Listen with your soul’s ear to the song,
In that hollow of the vast turquoise dome,
Rising from the lover's passionate moan .

When your tight gown-strings are loosened
By the tipsy inebriation of perfect love,
The victorious heavens shout, triumphantly !
And the constellations gaze down ashamed.

This world is in deep trouble, from top to bottom,
But it can be swiftly healed by the balm of love.

A versification from Rumi's Divan based on the Nicholson Literal Translation

Friday, 5 February 2010


The Self of the Sage is like Salih, his body is his camel
His spirit is in union with God, the body is often in need.
His spirit is unaffected by affliction. Blows fall on the body,
Not on the unborn, deathless, all powerful, loving Self.
No one prevails or is victorious over the heart of a Sage,
Harm affects only the oyster, not its pearl beyond price.

The Self is impervious to being hurt, the light of the Lord
Is not subject to flood, fire, war, earth quake or famine.
God attached the Self to an earthly body so infidels
May hurt it, and suffer tribulation as a consequence,
Not knowing that to injure His body is to offend Him.
The water in the earthen jar is joined with the ocean,
God linked His Immortal Self with the body of a Sage
So he may become a safe refuge for all mankind.

From Rumi's Tale of Sahli and His Camel. A versification from the literal translation by R. Nicholson of the Mathnawi.


> Since the rose has withered and the garden lies forlorn
> From whom shall we breathe the fragrance of the rose?
> When God is out of sight, Prophets are his Vicars,
> Yet the Prophet and God are one without a second,
> They are two only if you worship the bodily form
> They're one for all who've passed beyond that perception.
> When you look at the form your eye has double vision
> Look at the eye’s light which grew single from the Self.
> If ten lamps are lit in one hall each differs in form,
> To see the light of each is well nigh impossible
> When you stare at the fully blazing candelabra.
> If you count a hundred freshly picked, ripe red apples,
> They become as one when crushed in the cider press.
> In spiritual matters there are no numbers or parts,
> There is no false division nor any individuals.
> Sweet is the oneness of the Friend with his friends ,
> Clutch and cling to the naked feet of this spirit,
> Forms are opposed to realisation of spiritual unity .
> Make headstrong form waste away with trial and tribulation,
> So beneath it you may discover unity like buried treasure,
> And if you fail His bountiful grace will surely conquer.
> My heart is His slave, He shows himself to our hearts,
> He mends the torn and tattered robe of the Dervish.
> We were single, and all from one substance without heads,
> We were one substance like the Sun, knotless like water.
> When that light took form it multiplied like shadows off a
> wall.
> Smash the wall with a catapault that the shadows will
> crash.
> I would have made these points with greater vigour
> But feared weaker minds may stumble from my rigour.
> The points are sharp as a razor’s edge,if you catch the
> sense,
> So turn within and flee from this dream of a world.
> Do not come without a strong shield against this keen
> blade,
> The warrior’s sword is never afraid of execution ,
> I place my scmitar in its sheath so none may mistake
> The true meaning of my munbling metaphors and discourse .
> Keep company with the followers of Reality to win
> That gift and be generous in surrendering your will to
> God,
> In this body, spirit exiled from the Self is a wooden
> sword,
> When sheathed it seems strong but when needed its use is
> firewood.,
> Don’t wield a wooden sword in battle, have one of real
> steel,
> The sword of Reality is the weapon of prophets and Saints,
> The wise Sage is divine compassion to lost human beings.
> If you would purchase a pomegranate make sure its ripe,
> Open and laughing so you can view its interior seeds,
> This happy fruit makes the garden joyous and blooming.
> Unblest is the openness of the red anemone, black at
> heart,
> ‘Though you be a rock, when you meet the Saint you’ll
> be a jewel.
> Plant the love of Holy Ones in your heart and avoid
> dispair,
> Don’t enter darkness,there are Suns blazing in the world
> of men.
> Follow the body and it will lead you into the prison house
> of clay and water,
> Give your heart to converse with an awakened Sage.

This is a versification from Rumi's Mathnawi from the prose-literal translation of R. Nicholson

Tuesday, 2 February 2010


We spend too much time in escapist reading,
It would be better to enjoy the bleeding
Pain, that wishes to enter the entrails,
Of the weeping heart's dry desert trails.
That's a path to true purification,
Leading to self's glorious abnegation.

She's like a tape worm that eats the poison
Of the mind, and opens a fresh horizon,
Cleans a soul sunk in its latent tendency,
Before its reborn in bliss, endlessly.
For when friendly pain's sucked one's venom dry,
It let's the unbound soul to freedom fly

Pain walks with us in the heart's rose garden
There to soften and open, not to harden.
She's a constant companion and dear friend,
She reminds us that we haven't reached the end
Of our sacred quest for Knowledge of the Self.
She's a most helpful persistent elf,

She gnaws at our vitals to eat the core,
Of those latent habits which lock the door,
To Self Realisation's glorious bliss,
Of our Divine Mother's most loving kiss,
The final touch of divine mercy and grace
Which leads us to know our original face

Monday, 1 February 2010


The poor lost sheep have wandered far from home
In dense bracken , dangerously they roam.
They approach a perilous deep abyss
Which is very far from fleeceful bliss .

They followed a false shepherd who was blind
Nowadays so easy for such sheep to find.
True shepherds seek to save them from their gloom
And deliver them from their threatening doom.

He gently leads them on to pastures green
And still blue waters soft, sweet and serene.
Then with balm he heals their impeded sight,
The happy lambs frisk and skip in sheer delight.

The moral of this tale will be very clear
For those with eyes to see and ears to hear,