Fussilat (That Which Is Explained In Detail)

In the case of those who say, "Our Lord is Allah", and, further, stand straight and steadfast, the angels descend on them (from time to time): "Fear ye not!" (they suggest), "Nor grieve! but receive the Glad Tidings of the Garden (of Bliss), the which ye were promised!

"We are your protectors in this life and in the Hereafter: therein shall ye have all that your souls shall desire; therein shall ye have all that ye ask for!-

"A hospitable gift from one Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful!"

Who is better in speech than one who calls (men) to Allah, works righteousness, and says, "I am of those who bow in Islam"?

Nor can goodness and Evil be equal. Repel (Evil) with what is better: Then will he between whom and thee was hatred become as it were thy friend and intimate!

And no one will be granted such goodness except those who exercise patience and self-restraint,- none but persons of the greatest good fortune.

And if (at any time) an incitement to discord is made to thee by the Evil One, seek refuge in Allah. He is the One Who hears and knows all things.

... Surah Fussilat (That Which Is Explained In Detail) 41:30-36

Light Upon Light

"God is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The parable of His light is as if there were a niche and within it a lamp: The lamp enclosed in glass: The glass as it were a brilliant star: Lit from a blessed tree, an olive, neither of the east nor of the west, whose oil is well-nigh luminous, though fire scarce touched it: Light upon Light! God doth guide whom He will to His light: God doth set forth parables for men: and God doth know all things."

... Surah an-Nur (The Light Verse) 24:35

Every Enemy Of Yours Is A Remedy

The servant complains to God of pain:

in a hundred ways he moans.

God says, "But after all, grief and pain

have caused you to act rightly and humbly call on Me;

complain instead of the bounty that befalls you

and takes you far from My door."

In reality every enemy of yours is your remedy:

he is an elixir, a gift, and one that seeks to win your heart;

for you flee from him into solitude

imploring God's help.

...Mathnawi IV: 91-95, Mevlana Rumi

Brothers & Sisters

One of my favorite television shows around, "Brothers & Sisters"

Rumi's Seven Advices

In generosity and helping others, be like a river.

In compassion and grace, be like sun.

In concealing others' faults, be like night.

In anger and fury, be like dead.

In modesty and humility, be like earth.

In tolerance, be like a sea.

Either exist as you are or be as you look.

... Seven Advice, Mevlana Rumi

The Book Of Love

The book of love has music in it

In fact that's where music comes from

Some of it is just transcendental

Some of it is just really dumb

But I...

I love it when you sing to me

And you...

You can sing me anything

... The Book Of Love, Peter Gabriel

What Are You Doing Here?

I'll lose some sales and my boss won't be happy,

but I can't stop listening to the sound

of two soft voices

blended in perfection

from the reels of this record that I've found.

Every day there's a boy in the mirror asking me...

What are you doing here?

Finding all my previous motives

growing increasingly unclear.

I've traveled far and I've burned all the bridges

I believed as soon as I hit land

all the other options held before me,

would wither in the light of my plan.

So I'll lose some sales and my boss won't be happy,

but there's only one thing on my mind

searching boxes underneath the counter,

on a chance that on a tape I'd find...

a song for someone who needs somewhere to long for.

Homesick.

Because I no longer know where home is.

... Homesick, Kings Of Convenience

So I Be Written In The Book Of Love

... To all of us the thought of heaven is dear--

Why not be sure of it and make it here?

No doubt there is a heaven yonder too,

But 'tis so far away--and you are near.

Men talk of heaven,--there is no heaven but here;

Men talk of hell,--there is no hell but here;

Men of hereafters talk, and future lives,--

O love, there is no other life--but here...

... The Koran! well, come put me to the test--

Lovely old book in hideous error drest--

Believe me, I can quote the Koran too,

The unbeliever knows his Koran best.

And do you think that unto such as you,

A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew,

God gave the Secret, and denied it me?--

Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.

Old Khayyám, say you, is a debauchee;

If only you were half so good as he!

He sins no sins but gentle drunkenness,

Great-hearted mirth, and kind adultery.

But yours the cold heart, and the murderous tongue,

The wintry soul that hates to hear a song,

The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye,

And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.

So I be written in the Book of Love,

I have no care about that book above;

Erase my name, or write it, as you please--

So I be written in the Book of Love...

...To me there is much comfort in the thought

That all our agonies can alter nought,

Our lives are written to their latest word,

We but repeat a lesson He hath taught.

Our wildest wrong is part of His great Right,

Our weakness is the shadow of His might,

Our sins are His, forgiven long ago,

To make His mercy more exceeding bright...

... Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

Compassion

Compassion is not religious business, it is human business, 

it is not luxury, it is essential for our own peace and mental stability, 

it is essential for human survival.

... Dalai Lama

One Stands Alone

In one's greatest hour of need, one stands alone.

... Swami Vivekanand

100,000 and counting...

Today, this blog has recorded 100, 152 hits since its inception. 

Thank you, everyone :)

The Best Moments In Reading

The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.

... The History Boys, Alan Bennett

It Is Not The Critic Who Counts

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

... Theodore Roosevelt

It Was Never Between You And Them Anyway

People are often unreasonable and self-centered. 

Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. 

Be kind anyway.

If you are honest, people may cheat you. 

Be honest anyway.

If you find happiness, people may be jealous. 

Be happy anyway.

The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. 

Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. 

Give your best anyway.

For you see, in the end, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.

... Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

Why Does The Universe Exists?

Even if there is only one possible unified theory, it is just a set of rules and equations. What is it that breathes fire into the equations and makes a universe for them to describe? The usual approach of science of constructing a mathematical model cannot answer the questions of why there should be a universe for the model to describe. Why does the universe go to all the bother of existing?

... A Brief History Of Time, Stephen W. Hawking

To Free Ourselves

A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.

... Albert Einstein

Does Language Influence Culture?

Do the languages we speak shape the way we think? Do they merely express thoughts, or do the structures in languages (without our knowledge or consent) shape the very thoughts we wish to express? ...

Do English, Indonesian, Russian and Turkish speakers end up attending to, understanding, and remembering their experiences differently simply because they speak different languages?

These questions touch on all the major controversies in the study of mind, with important implications for politics, law and religion. Yet very little empirical work had been done on these questions until recently. The idea that language might shape thought was for a long time considered untestable at best and more often simply crazy and wrong. Now, a flurry of new cognitive science research is showing that in fact, language does profoundly influence how we see the world.

The question of whether languages shape the way we think goes back centuries; Charlemagne proclaimed that "to have a second language is to have a second soul." But the idea went out of favor with scientists when Noam Chomsky's theories of language gained popularity in the 1960s and '70s. Dr. Chomsky proposed that there is a universal grammar for all human languages—essentially, that languages don't really differ from one another in significant ways. And because languages didn't differ from one another, the theory went, it made no sense to ask whether linguistic differences led to differences in thinking...

Languages, of course, are human creations, tools we invent and hone to suit our needs. Simply showing that speakers of different languages think differently doesn't tell us whether it's language that shapes thought or the other way around. To demonstrate the causal role of language, what's needed are studies that directly manipulate language and look for effects in cognition.

One of the key advances in recent years has been the demonstration of precisely this causal link. It turns out that if you change how people talk, that changes how they think. If people learn another language, they inadvertently also learn a new way of looking at the world. When bilingual people switch from one language to another, they start thinking differently, too. And if you take away people's ability to use language in what should be a simple nonlinguistic task, their performance can change dramatically, sometimes making them look no smarter than rats or infants...

All this new research shows us that the languages we speak not only reflect or express our thoughts, but also shape the very thoughts we wish to express. The structures that exist in our languages profoundly shape how we construct reality, and help make us as smart and sophisticated as we are.

Language is a uniquely human gift. When we study language, we are uncovering in part what makes us human, getting a peek at the very nature of human nature. As we uncover how languages and their speakers differ from one another, we discover that human natures too can differ dramatically, depending on the languages we speak. The next steps are to understand the mechanisms through which languages help us construct the incredibly complex knowledge systems we have. Understanding how knowledge is built will allow us to create ideas that go beyond the currently thinkable. This research cuts right to the fundamental questions we all ask about ourselves. How do we come to be the way we are? Why do we think the way we do? An important part of the answer, it turns out, is in the languages we speak.

... Lost In Translation, Lera Boroditsky

Leave The World Just A Little Better Than I Found It

I have tried to be a man of letters in love with ideas in order to be a wiser and more loving person, 

hoping to leave the world just a little better than I found it.

... The Cornel West Reader, Cornel West

The Confession Of An Apricot

I love incorrectly.

There is a solemnity in hands,

the way a palm will curve

in accordance with a contour of skin,

the way it will release a story.

This should be a pilgrimage.

The touching of a source.

This is what sanctifies.

This pleading. This mercy.

I want to be a pilgrim to everyone,

close to the inaccuracies, the astringent

dislikes, the wayward peace, the private

words. I want to be close to the telling.

I want to feel everyone whisper.

After the blossoming I hang.

The encyclical that has come

through the branches

instructs us to root, to become

the design encapsulated within.

Flesh helping stone turn tree.

I do not want to hold life

at my extremities, see it prepare

itself for my own perpetuation.

I want to touch and be touched

by things similar in the world.

I want to know a few secular days

of perfection. Late in this one great season

the diffused morning light

hides the horizon of sea. Everything

the color of slate, a soft tablet

to press a philosophy to.

... The Confession Of An Apricot, Carl Adamshick

The Thing Is

The thing is...

to love life, to love it even

when you have no stomach for it

and everything you've held dear

crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,

your throat filled with the silt of it.

When grief sits with you, its tropical heat

thickening the air, heavy as water

more fit for gills than lungs;

when grief weights you like your own flesh

only more of it, an obesity of grief,

you think, How can a body withstand this?

Then you hold life like a face

between your palms, a plain face,

no charming smile, no violet eyes,

and you say, yes, I will take you

I will love you, again.

... The Thing Is, Ellen Bass

How Much Love Did You Put Into What You Did?

I am not sure exactly what heaven will be like, but I know that when we die and it comes time for God to judge us, he will not ask, 'How many good things have you done in your life?' rather he will ask, 'How much love did you put into what you did?

...  Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

On Prayer

You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance.

For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether?
And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart.
And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing.
When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet.
Therefore let your visit to that temple invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion.
For if you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking you shall not receive:
And if you should enter into it to humble yourself you shall not be lifted:
Or even if you should enter into it to beg for the good of others you shall not be heard.
It is enough that you enter the temple invisible.

I cannot teach you how to pray in words. God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips.
And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains.
But you who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas can find their prayer in your heart,
And if you but listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in silence,
"Our God, who art our winged self, it is thy will in us that willeth.

It is thy desire in us that desireth.
It is thy urge in us that would turn our nights, which are thine, into days which are thine also.
We cannot ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born in us:
Thou art our need; and in giving us more of thyself thou givest us all."

... The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

The Other Language

Three days after I was born, as I lay in my silken cradle, gazing with astonished dismay on the new world round about me, my mother spoke to the wet-nurse, saying, “How does my child?”

And the wet-nurse answered, “He does well, Madame, I have fed him three times; and never before have I seen a babe so young yet so gay.”

And I was indignant; and I cried, “It is not true, mother; for my bed is hard, and the milk I have sucked is bitter to my mouth, and the odour of the breast is foul in my nostrils, and I am most miserable.”

But my mother did not understand, nor did the nurse; for the language I spoke was that of the world from which I came.

And on the twenty-first day of my life, as I was being christened, the priest said to my mother, “You should indeed by happy, Madame, that your son was born a Christian.”

And I was surprised,-and I said to the priest, “Then your mother in Heaven should be unhappy, for you were not born a Christian.”

But the priest too did not understand my language.

And after seven moons, one day a soothsayer looked at me, and he said to my mother, “Your son will be a statesman and a great leader of men.”

But I cried out, "That is a false prophet; for I shall be a musician, and naught but a musician shall I be.”

But even at that age my language was not understood-and great was my astonishment.

And after three and thirty years, during which my mother, and the nurse, and the priest have all died, (the shadow of God be upon their spirits) the soothsayer still lives. And yesterday I met him near the gates of the temple; and while we were talking together he said, “I have always known you would become a great musician. Even in your infancy I prophesied and foretold your future.”

And I believed him-for now I too have forgotten the language of that other world.

... The Madman, Kahlil Gibran

Only Breath

Not Christian or Jew or Muslim,

not Hindu, Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not any religion or cultural system.

I am not from the East or the West,

not out of the ocean

or up from the ground,

not natural or etheral,

not composed of elements at all.

I do not exist,

am not an entity in this world

or the next,

did not decend from Adam or Eve

or any origin story.

My place is placeless,

a trace of the traceless.

Neither body or soul.

I belong to the beloved,

have seen the two worlds as one

and that one call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner,

only that breath breathing human being.

... Only Breath, Mawlana Rumi

Letters To A Young Poet

It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and therefore loving, for a long time ahead and far on into life, is: solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves ("to hearken and to hammer day and night"), may young people use the love that is given to them. Merging and surrendering and every kind of communion is not for them (who must still, for a long, long time, save and gather themselves); it is the ultimate, is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough.

But this is what young people are so often and so disastrously wrong in doing: they (who by their very nature are impatient) fling themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment. And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half-broken things that they call their communion and that they would like to call their happiness, if that were possible, and their future? And so each of them loses himself for the sake of the other person, and loses the other, and many others who still wanted to come. And loses the vast distances and possibilities, gives up the approaching and fleeing of gentle, prescient Things in exchange for an unfruitful confusion, out of which nothing more can come; nothing but a bit of disgust, disappointment, and poverty, and the escape into one of the many conventions that have been put up in great numbers like public shelters on this most dangerous road. No area of human experience is so extensively provided with conventions as this one is: there are life-preservers of the most varied invention, boats and water wings; society has been able to create refuges of every sort, for since it preferred to take love life as an amusement, it also had to give it an easy form, cheap, safe, and sure, as public amusements are.

... Letters To A Young Poet (Letter 7), Rainer Maria Rilke 

Jude The Obscure

I never was attached to that great sect,

Whose doctrine is, that each one should select

Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend,

And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend

To cold oblivion.

... Narrow

The heart that loves, the brain that contemplates,

The life that wears, the spirit that creates

One object, and one form, and builds thereby

A sepulchre for its eternity.

... Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy

I Try

Games, changes and fears

When will they go from here

When will they stop

I believe that fate has brought us here

And we should be together, babe

But we're not

I play it off, but I'm dreaming of you

I'll keep my cool, but I'm feigning

Here is my confession

May I be your possession

Boy, I need your touch

Your love kisses and such

With all my might I try

But this I can't deny

I try to say goodbye and I choke

Try to walk away and I stumble

Though I try to hide it, it's clear

My world crumbles when you are not near

Goodbye and I choke

I try to walk away and I stumble

Though I try to hide it, it's clear

My world crumbles when you are not near

... I Try, Macy Gray

Love Is So Short, Forgetting Is So Long...

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is shattered,

and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.

Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer,

and these the last verses that I write for her.

... Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines, Pablo Neruda

Recited by Andy Garcia in the film "Il Postino"

Great Expectations

You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since - on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to be displaced by your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But, in this separation I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp distress I may. O God bless you, God forgive you!

... Great Expectations, Charles Dickens

Many Rivers To Cross

Many rivers to cross

But I cant seem to find my way over

Wandering, I am lost

As I travel along the white cliffs of dover.

Many rivers to cross

And it's only my will that keeps me alive

I've been licked, washed up for years

And I merely survive because of my pride.

And this loneliness won't leave me alone

It's such a drag to be on your own

Love has left me and I don't know the reason why

Well I guess I'll have to cry.

Many rivers to cross

But just where to begin, I'm playing for time

There've been times where I find myself

Thinking of committing a dreadful crime.

Many rivers ... 

... Many Rivers To Cross, Annie Lennox