Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Thinking Creatically:Be careful in your choice of hypnotists by Sidney Jourard

We begin life with the world presenting itself to us as it is.
Someone — our parents, teachers, analysts — hypnotizes us to "see"
the world and construe it in the "right" way.

These others label the world, attach names and give voices to the beings
and events in it, so that thereafter, we cannot read the world in any
other language or hear it saying other things to us.

The task is to break the hypnotic spell, so that we become undeaf,
unblind and multilingual,thereby letting the world speak to us in
new voices and write all its possible meanings in the new book of our existence.
Be careful in your choice of hypnotists.
Sidney Jourard

The facts test all our theories by Louis Agassiz

The facts will eventually test all our theories, and they form,
after all, the only impartial jury to which we can appeal.
Louis Agassiz

Saturday, May 28, 2016

Magic exists

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting
for our senses to grow sharper.
W.B. Yeats

Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers,
the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved
has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and such an extraordinary
part of the lives we live.

I would not want to live in a world without dragons,
as I would not want to live in a world without magic,
for that is a world without mystery,
and that is a world without faith.
R.A.SALVATORE, Streams of Silver

Magic is the greatest of all natural sciences, because it includes
a knowledge of visible and invisible nature. It is not only a science
but an art, because it cannot be learned out of books
and must be acquired by practical experience.
L.W.DE LAURENCE,Great Book of Magical Art

Friday, May 27, 2016


True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In lowliness of heart.

My life closed twice before its close by EMILY DICKINSON

My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Love In thoughts & feelings:romantic Poetry of George William Russel:THE WEAVER OF SOULS**WHOM WE WORSHIP**ORDEAL**A FAREWELL

Chris Spheeris - The Arrow

George William russel

Who is this unseen messenger
For ever between me and her,
Who brings love's precious merchandise,
The golden breath, the dew of sighs,
And the wild, gentle thoughts that dwell
Too fragile for the lips to tell,
Each at their birth, to us before
A heaving of the heart is o'er.
Who art thou, unseen messenger?

I think, O Angel of the Lord,
You make our hearts to so accord
That those who hear in after hours
May sigh for love as deep as ours;
And seek the magic that can give
An Eden where the soul may live,
Nor need to walk a road of clay
With stumbling feet, nor fall away
From thee, O Angel of the Lord.

George William russel

I would not have the love of lips and eyes,
The ancient ways of love:
But in my heart I built a Paradise,
A nest there for the dove.

I felt the wings of light that fluttered through
The gate I held apart:
And all without was shadow, but I knew
The bird within my heart.

Then, while the innermost with music beat,
The voice I loved so long
Seemed only the dream echo faint and sweet
Of a far sweeter song.

I could not even bear the thought I felt
Of Thee and Me therein;
And with white heat I strove the veil to melt
That love to love might win.

But ah, my dreams within their fountain fell;
Not to be lost in thee,
But with the high ancestral love to dwell
In its lone ecstasy.

George William Russel

Love and pity are pleading with me this hour.
What is this voice that stays me forbidding to yield,
Offering beauty, love, and immortal power,
Æons away in some far-off heavenly field?

Though I obey thee, Immortal, my heart is sore.
Though love be withdrawn for love it bitterly grieves:
Pity withheld in the breast makes sorrow more.
Oh that the heart could feel what the mind believes!

Cease, O love, thy fiery and gentle pleading.
Soft is thy grief, but in tempest through me it rolls.
Dreamst thou not whither the path is leading
Where the Dark Immortal would shepherd our weeping souls?


Only in my deep heart I love you, sweetest heart.
Many another vesture hath the soul, I pray
Call me not forth from this. If from the light I part
Only with clay I cling unto the clay.

And ah! my bright companion, you and I must go
Our ways, unfolding lonely glories, not our own,
Nor from each other gathered, but an inward glow
Breathed by the Lone One on the seeker lone.

If for the heart's own sake we break the heart, we may
When the last ruby drop dissolves in diamond light
Meet in a deeper vesture in another day.
Until that dawn, dear heart, good-night, good-night.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Le Géant de Papier Lyrics /Jean Jacques Lafon

Le Geant de Papier Lyrics
Jean Jacques Lafon

Demandez-moi de combattre le diable
D´aller défier les dragons du néant
De vous construire des tours, des cathédrales
Sur des sables mouvants
Demandez-moi de briser les montagnes
D´aller plonger dans la gueule des volcans
Tout me paraît réalisable, et pourtant...

Quand je la regarde, moi l´homme loup au cœur d´acier
Devant son corps de femme, je suis un géant de papier
Quand je la caresse et que j´ai peur de l´éveiller
De toute ma tendresse, je suis un géant de papier

Demandez-moi de réduire en poussière
Cette planète où un dieu se perdrait
Elle est pour moi comme une fourmilière
Qu´on écrase du pied
Demandez-moi de tuer la lumière
Et d´arrêter ce soir le cours du temps
Tout me paraît réalisable, et pourtant...

Quand je la regarde, moi l´homme loup au cœur d´acier
Devant son corps de femme, je suis un géant de papier
Quand je la caresse et que j´ai peur de l´éveiller
De toute ma tendresse, je suis un géant de papier

Quand je la regarde, moi l´homme loup au cœur d´acier
Devant son corps de femme, je suis un géant de papier

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

The lover inside us by Marianne Williamson

I fell in love with the thought that a human life could
be a priestly conduit, a connecting link between earth and sky.
As I grew and stumbled and, most important, as I began to love and
be loved, I realized that the ultimate priest is the lover inside us.
Marianne Williamson

True Nobility by Ernest Hemingway

There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man;
true nobility is being superior to your former self.
Ernest Hemingway

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

The Human Seasons by John Keats

The Human Seasons
John Keats

There are four seasons in the mind of man:—
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:

He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

Monday, May 16, 2016

What will you do As you are seeking truth by Joseph Joubert

To seek the truth. But, as you are seeking and as you are waiting,
what will you do, what will you think, what will you practice,
what rules will you follow?
Joseph Joubert

A Splendid Torch- George Bernard Shaw

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can.

I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no “brief candle” for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.
George Bernard Shaw

Saturday, May 14, 2016

Love is the river of life in this world by Henry Ward Beecher

Love is the river of life in this world. Think not that ye know it who
stand at the little tinkling rill, the first small fountain.

Not until you have gone through the rocky gorges, and not lost the stream;
not until you have gone through the meadow, and the stream has widened
and deepened until fleets could ride on its bosom;

not until beyond the meadow you have come to the unfathomable ocean, and poured your treasures into its depths—not until then can you know what love is.
Henry Ward Beecher

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Rumi & Hafiz :In The garden Of love,Poetry & spirituality :Selected Quotes & poetry

Hüzün-Özcan Deniz

One regret, dear world, that I am determined not
to have when I am lying on my deathbed is that
I did not kiss you enough!

Come on sweetheart let’s adore one another
before there is no more of you and me.

I once had a thousand desires,
but in my one desire to know You
all else melted away.

Bring your cup near me.
For all I care about
Is quenching your thirst for freedom!

All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!

Ignore those that make you fearful and sad,
that degrade you back towards disease and death.

Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen
your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear,
from anyone likely to put a sharp knife into the sacred,
tender vision of your beautiful heart.

I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.

Why not become the one
who lives with a full moon in each eye
that is always saying,

with that sweet moon language,
What every other eye in this world
is dying
to hear?

How should Spring bring forth a garden on hard stone?
Become earth,that you may grow flowers of many colors.
For you have been heart-breaking rock.
Once, for the sake of experiment, be earth!

I have come into this world to see this: the sword drop from
men's hands even at the height of their arc of rage because
we have finally realized there is just one flesh we can wound.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

Did the rose
Ever open its heart

And give to this world
All its

It felt the encouragement of light
Against its

We all remain

Raise your words, not your voice.
It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.

Let not your thoughts constantly be fought,
Let thoughts in patience and joy be caught.
What patience? Cause what they call the heart
Is a drop of blood, and a thousand thought.

This is how I would die into the love I have for you:
as pieces of cloud dissolve in sunlight.

Even after all this time,
the sun never says to the earth,"You owe me."
Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights the whole sky.

How will you know the difficulties of being human,
if you're always flying off to blue perfection?
Where will you plant your grief seeds?
Workers need ground to scrape and hoe,
not the sky of unspecified desire.

Let us be like
Two falling stars in the day sky.
Let no one know of our sublime beauty
As we hold hands with God
And burn
Into a sacred existence that defies -
That surpasses
Every description of ecstasy
And love.

Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair.
come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times.
Come, yet again , come , come.

Here love, O here love,
With your mouth tender and open upon your lover,

And with your heart on duty
To the souls of rivers, children, forest animals,
All the shy feathered ones and laughing, jumping,
Shining fish.

O here, pilgrim,
On this holy battleground of life

Where there are bleeding men
Who are calling for a sacred drink,
A gentle word or touch from man
Or God.

So I will always lean my heart as close to your soul as I can.

May your soul be happy; journey joyfully.

Monday, May 9, 2016

Thursday, May 5, 2016

Leo Rojas performing Chariots Of Fire

What is it that strikes a spark of humor from a man? by Mark Twain

What is it that strikes a spark of humor from a man?
It is the effort to throw off, to fight back the burden of grief that
is laid on each one of us. In youth we don't feel it, but as we grow
to manhood we find the burden on our shoulders. Humor?
It is nature's effort to harmonize conditions. The further the pendulum
swings out over woe the further it is bound to swing back over mirth.
Mark Twain

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Cultivate your own particular spot by FULKE GREVILLE

If the human mind naturally produces noisome weeds, it also produces flowers and fruit; and ... the best method to mend the soil in general, is for each of us to cultivate his own particular spot.
FULKE GREVILLE, Maxims, Characters, and Reflections

The spiritual journey by Aldous Huxley

The spiritual journey does not consist of arriving at a new destination
where a person gains what he did not have, or becomes what he is not.
It consists in the dissipation of one's own ignorance concerning oneself
and life, and the gradual growth of that understanding which begins
the spiritual awakening. The finding of God is a coming to one's self.
Aldous Huxley

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

A journey is a person in itself by John Steinbeck

A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike.
And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless.
We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.
John Steinbeck

On Judgement of ourselves and others by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing,
while others judge us by what we have already done.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Monday, May 2, 2016

A rational creature or capable of being rational by FULKE GREVILLE

Man is said to be a rational creature; but should it not rather be said,
that man is a creature capable of being rational, as we say a parrot
is a creature capable of speech?
FULKE GREVILLE, Maxims, Characters and Reflections

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