Saturday, August 13, 2011

KNOWING HINDUISM - The Great Master

The Great Master 


Books have been written aplenty in any school of thought in Hinduism. 

Abstract treatises abound on any strand of thinking. 

Even on Sri Vaishnava Sampradaya, the books I have may fill up a library. 

But all the books, all the treatises, on all the schools have their bearing, have their anchor in Vedantha. 

Even the Agamas which centre their ideology on temple worship and theology have their locus in Vedantha. 

Knowing Vedantha is knowing its methodology. Knowing Vedantha is explicating the world of Upanishads into consistent study of the Ultimate Truth.  

The commentaries of the old, tutor this methodology and  inculcate the Vedanthic thinking. 

But we have a blessing in Swami Vivekananda. He is the great Master of Modern Hinduism. 

His complete works provide a cogent text book of Hinduism and lends an efficient work table to improve oneself upon. 

For the young generations and coming ages there is no other workable hypothesis better than reading the Great Sage. 

Fortunately his works are online here 


***

Srirangam V Mohanarangan 

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Tuesday, August 09, 2011

Some of my poems (contd..)

Again these are some more melodies from the eternal harp. The fingers are fragile. The fervor is a bit too assuming. But does a child know that its prattles lack a grammar? So be these to those timeless years.


11) Month of Margazhi 


It was a premature morn; 
A simple thought was stirring in my mind. 
The slow eyes beating the slipping wake; 
The cow is calling in the courtyard; 
The cow-herd cajoling the animal tethered; 
The streets have become midwives 
of the new-born morn; 
The twenty ninth song of Tiruppavai 
cradling the craving sky air-borne. 
'in the little small early dawn 
having come to thee and worshiped' 
Slowly I opened a corner of the blanket, 
the childish morn caught my neck 
and kissed my cheek to daily chores. 
Morn-caught murmuring I came out to the doors. 
The cow was all Lakshmi bathed in fresh rays. 
The twenty ninth day was born. 


*** 

12) Dream 


The loud-cry lone-crowd of myself, 
Transporting structures in shambles 
from the out world in. 
Dreaming, suddenly in action 
in strange and similar plots, 
some thickness of impasse; 
Dropping horizons in the back, 
darkly visible stretches ahead, 
I expand the space around; 
Is it mental? who said? 
Duplicating myself? 
Me from one medium to another; 
The web in-weaved in memory; 
A return aggression of the world onto the self; 
Is it a wake of the sleep, 
in the sleeping waking world? 
Dream -- 
Is it reality-not-happened ? 
Or happened-reality not in space-time? 
Or unreal happening in space and time? 
Yea it is easier to dream 
than to theorize it. 

*** 


13) Poetry 


Don't tell me children are god; 
They are too childish to be one. 
May be you mean to say 
Gods are like children. 
Quite likely, they never grow in time. 

Don't tell me you write the poems; 
Poems are not written that way. 
Perhaps you mean to say, 
Poems are written through you. 
May be you have a point there; 
Poems do but reflect You, 
That is inscribed in those through you. 

***


14) Elusive Pursuit 


The telephone was ringing; 
I wanted to answer hello, 
Reached out to the receiver, 
when the ringing stopped. 
I'm sure it was you. 

I saw you across a street, 
I wanted to talk to you, 
Rushed only to go past you, 
turning to find that you were not there, 
but somebody like you. 

I heard your voice in a mob; 
I came and searched every moving face; 
The crowd dispersed; 
The voice was heard no more; 
But the doubt lingered behind the crowd. 

How to meet you? 
Where to see you? 
Whom to ask? 
Which door to knock? 
Knowing nothing 
I am not equal to the task. 

Suddenly I heard you somewhere 
Felt your presence neighboring mine; 
Yet I saw you not, 
knew not where to find you, 
The same, the same, the self-same you. 
Me, the one following you; 
You, the self-same elusive you. 

***


15) The Wakeful Night 


It is night; 
The society has slept; 
perhaps the people are dreaming 
in the multi universe of their minds. 
The crows are steeped in leafy silence; 
The dogs have left an interval in their barking. 
Vehicles have become sparse; 
There is traffic of smells in the air; 
I am awake 
and the sky is all eyes. 
The thoughts have become audible 
and the wind has overheard 
and afoot to spread the secrets wide. 
Space is warming its wings of expansiveness. 
It is leisure time, 
the night, 
but business time 
for elemental things of the world. 

***


16) Flower and mind 


A flower in the green; 
Yea, a flower in the green; 
Like a mind in the flesh. 

Beautiful to see 
Sublime to understand 
Profound in implications 

A flower in the green 
Not for the sake of me 
has it blossomed forth 
But out of its inherent laws. 

A flower in the green. 
Yea a flower in the green 
Like a mind blossoming in the body. 

***



17) A New Grammar 


Pedagogic grammar is easy to know; 
But what is this? pediatric grammar! 
It is so hard; 
One way it makes sense; 
In another way strange. 
My father and mother 
gave birth to a child; 
The child was me. 
Me, who am now a man. 
OK got it. 
My father and mother gave birth to me 
And I was born to my parents; 
Strange. 
Does it make sense? 
Yea this pediatric grammar, 
Again listen,...My father and mother... 

***



18)  The Immortal's sarcasm

Eastern morn, 
The early Sun, 
The sulking rays 
surfacing the horizon. 

Festive air 
Was full of joy 
Spreading wide 
The flowers' puberty 

The spanning sky 
Was full of song 
Birds in flight 
Were full of dance. 

Am I the Poet full
of the Poetry of the Heaven? 
Can you the reader fulfill then? 

Poetry Poet Reader 
Triangular meaning in orgasm 
Living life embodied 
Is but the Immortal in sarcasm. 

*** 

Srirangam V Mohanarangan 

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