Here are a few links on Jagannatha Pandita Raya, a world renown poet who was perhaps a contemporary of Akbar as well as of Appayya Dikshita.
by Prasad B.S.V (The same appears at the following link).
by santhemant
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Sunday, April 19, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The cry of the jiva: a poem
A young black man walked into the train,
was dressed as young people do,
the train was not that full,
as it was a holiday.
He walked in,
the doors closed,
said the automatic announcer:
"les portes se ferment" (or doors are closing),
or something like that.
The train started moving.
He did not sit down.
Then it happened.
He started crying.
This was not a usual sobbing
by hiding the tears behind the eyes
and turning away from onlookers.
This was crying,
loud crying,
pure and simple.
Just as kids do,
when they want something,
and not too unlike lovers kissing each other passionately,
as they usually do in this part of this world,
without care and abandon.
He did not stop crying,
the crying just got louder.
People, did not care,
even if they did, they turned their
eyes away.
French callousness, as opponents as
people on the other side of the channel,
(or the ocean) may say.
I do not simply know if they were gifted
to turn their ears off too!
The crying continued,
then it sparked in me.
It was no usual crying.
It was the Jiva crying.
The reason being separation from its source!
The Jiva was crying due to fear
because it had forgotten its source.
Not due to the source's fault that it had happened.
Not due to the Jiva's fault that it had happened.
It had happened to to a false-superimposition.
What caused the it?
A wise man said: beginning-less ignorance.
How to end it?
Just watch it.
It will go away,
simply because it never was.
The jiva will merge in the source,
if it wants to,
the moment it wants to.
The Jiva was always the source,
the source was never the Jiva.
the source always was the source.
Before source,
after source
in between the source.
What a maya!
Om Shanthi!
Read the rest of this entry >>
was dressed as young people do,
the train was not that full,
as it was a holiday.
He walked in,
the doors closed,
said the automatic announcer:
"les portes se ferment" (or doors are closing),
or something like that.
The train started moving.
He did not sit down.
Then it happened.
He started crying.
This was not a usual sobbing
by hiding the tears behind the eyes
and turning away from onlookers.
This was crying,
loud crying,
pure and simple.
Just as kids do,
when they want something,
and not too unlike lovers kissing each other passionately,
as they usually do in this part of this world,
without care and abandon.
He did not stop crying,
the crying just got louder.
People, did not care,
even if they did, they turned their
eyes away.
French callousness, as opponents as
people on the other side of the channel,
(or the ocean) may say.
I do not simply know if they were gifted
to turn their ears off too!
The crying continued,
then it sparked in me.
It was no usual crying.
It was the Jiva crying.
The reason being separation from its source!
The Jiva was crying due to fear
because it had forgotten its source.
Not due to the source's fault that it had happened.
Not due to the Jiva's fault that it had happened.
It had happened to to a false-superimposition.
What caused the it?
A wise man said: beginning-less ignorance.
How to end it?
Just watch it.
It will go away,
simply because it never was.
The jiva will merge in the source,
if it wants to,
the moment it wants to.
The Jiva was always the source,
the source was never the Jiva.
the source always was the source.
Before source,
after source
in between the source.
What a maya!
Om Shanthi!
Read the rest of this entry >>
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