Edna St Vincent Millay - Love Is Not All

Love is not all: it is not meat and drink
Nor slumber, nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death,
Even as I speak, for want of love alone.

See also another of my favourite Millay poems as well as her famous 'Dirge Without Music'

Favourite Museums - Miho Museum, Japan

The Miho Museum houses Mihoko Koyama's private collection of Asian and Western antiques bought by the Shumei organisation. Mihoko Koyama (who died in 2003) was a follower of Mokichi Okada (1882 – 1955), a philosopher and spiritual leader who later became her life teacher. Okada held that the true nature of civilization lies in the realm of beauty—the realm of art. Under his tutelage, Koyama devoted herself to a life of faith, ultimately founding the spiritual organization, Shinji Shumeikai. Under the influence of Okada’s ideas, Koyama came to believe that finding and experiencing objects of beauty could exalt the spirit and bring beauty to the world at large. She met IM Pei in 1997 and had him design the Miho Museum on a mountainside in Shiga Prefecture, not far from Kyoto.

For more photos of the museum, click here 

Heine

A young man loved a maiden
Who turned from him aside
To one who loved another yet
And took her for his bride

The maid at sore resentment
At fortune so ill-starred
Married the first who came along;
The young man took it hard

It is an old, old story
But it is forever new
And whosoever suffers it
It breaks his heart in two

Heine

Song of Solomon

Cherry blossom in Battersea Park

The Song of Solomon

My beloved spake, and said unto me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle-dove is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise my love, my fair one and come away.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice and thy countenance is comely.
Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines; for our vines have tender grapes.
My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.

Song of Solomon 2:9


The other Song of Solomon

1. The song of songs which is Solomon's also.

2. And the King who was Solomon did raise himself in his bed on to one arm and
shake his head, for he was sore perplexed, and he did speak thus unto Sharon who was of the Park of Gidea and sayeth:

3. Er, um... this has never happened to me before.

4. And Sharon, whose hair was as a flock of goats from Gilead, for that day she had been to Jason 'n' Gary in the Street which is High for a platinum rinse, did reply unto him: Yea! And truly I am a natural blonde – pull the other one, for it ringeth like the bells of heaven.

5. And Solomon spake saying, No honestly, it must have been that last Malibu; for did I not say that mixing it with Bailey's Irish Cream as the ram is mixed with the ewe in the field, was a bad idea?

6. But Sharon, who was the daughter of Beverley of Hendon and Murray of
Southgate, did cloak herself in fine silk and damask and 50% poly-cotton mix and was out of the tent smartish saying, You know your trouble, old son - you're past it.

7. And Sharon was not seen again in that land nor in Tyre nor in Ashkelon nor in Sidon nor yet in Edom, although a wise Moabite did see her sister once buying a boiling fowl in Sainsbury's.

8. Or it might have been Waitrose.

9. At any rate, Solomon was much vexed and did call unto his tent all the wise men and the assistant wise men and the friends of the wise men and he did say to them, Actually, it's all a bit embarrassing, guys.

10. And the wise men spake to him with one voice and did say, You don't have to tell us, squire. And one man who was neither so old nor so wise as the rest and who was known as Shmuley, said, Have you tried thinking of someone else? Like Vanessa, or Gaby Roslin, or that woman who slices the salmon at Shwartzes?

11. And Solomon said, You mean the one with the tattoo on her tuchas? You think I want to go blind, or what?

12. And so the wise men did go into the land and they did speak with the
apothecaries and the priests and the healers and at the end of the second quarter of the moon they did return to Solomon.

13. From Ararat came word that would be the woman dress as a servant from the
gentile lands, or a houri in silk, or as a traffic warden, success would be guaranteed and Solomon's loins would be girt and his seed spread far.

14. But Solomon did shake his head, saying, Who wants to think of a traffic warden in bed? I mean, where's she going to stick the ticket?

15. And a messenger who had dwelt long in the land of Tesco did say that he had heard that half-a-dozen oysters did the trick and then he did make a raucous sound which was like unto a snort.

16. But Solomon did shake his head again saying, Oysters? Oysters? What do you think we are here? Reform or something?

17. And there was a silence about the tent like as to the silence of death, for the oysters and the traffic warden were the best they could come up with.

18. But then up speaketh a man of the distant land they call Shnorrer and he did say, I have a potion that is called Viagra.

19. And Solomon did frown, saying, What, you mean you rub it on? Won't that be a
bit embarrassing? You know; she's about to take off her fifth veil when you stop and say, Hold on, love: there's this potion.

20. The man who was of Shnorrer did clutch his sides and laugh saying, But it is a pill. A blue pill.

21. Solomon did frown and did say Blue? Blue? Whoever heard of blue pills?
Pills are white. Except for Night Nurse which is green and yellow.

22. But the man who was of Shnorrer speaketh thus, saying, Shah! For I guarantee
that with one of these little beauties thy loins will be as the Cedar of Lebanon which grows above all the trees in the forest, not only straight but also long.

23. And Solomon did say, Hmmmm.

24. And the man who was of Shnorrer said. Straight up, squire, One of these and
you won't be able to stand up straight for a week. You'll be walking at five and forty degrees like Max Wall on a good night. You won't be able to get out of the tent sideways....

25. And Solomon said, Enough already - we take the point.

26. And so Solomon did take the blue pill and he did call unto his tent Deborah who was called also Debbie.

27. And also Samantha who was Sam, and Sarah who was Sar, and Fatima who was
er, Fatima.

28. And there was a great rejoicing all through the land, and Solomon did emerge
from his tent grinning like the grinning things of the desert.

29. But a priest did say to Solomon, Beware! For does this pill not contain that which is forbidden us in Leviticus?

30. And Solomon thought long and he thought hard, for he was a wise king, and he
said, Send forth a messenger to Jedediah, the Scribe who is writing the word of
Leviticus on a scroll as we speak.

31. And say unto Jedediah he has a deal. Leave Viagra out and he can keep his
bacon sandwiches in.

32. And so it was.

The Dazzling Fluidity of Days

No medium has yet been devised for the translation of life into language, nor can any words recall the dazzling fluidity of days. Single yet fixed in sequence, they fall like the shaft of a cataract into time and through it.

Freya Stark - Beyond Euphrates

This is the strapmline of this Journal

Hampshire 45 Years Ago

Stocks and Harvestgate Farms below Old Winchester Hill

  

I grew up here. Nothing has changed in the more than forty years since this photo was taken in 1973

Ramesh Balsekar

Ramesh giving his daily talk in his house in Bombay, surrounded by pictures of his guru, Nisargadatta Maharaj

An inscription in one of Ramesh's books - a quotation from Chuang Zu that says all there is to say: "The wild geese do not intend to cast their reflection; the water has no mind to receive their image"

More Freya Stark

My grandmother as I knew her came into being-always a little of a problem, living with this relative or that, or in lodgings at the end of long tram or bus routes, in sitting-rooms of dark plush where all the pictures had heavy frames. Here, with small very wrinkled hands, and silk lace carefully and gently draped about her, she radiated her unchanging serenity and charm. She carried about her that best of atmospheres- a sense of amplitude of time. A whole series of episodes in my childhood show her peacefully reading, or dressing,or brushing the long dark hair that could reach her knees, while a babel of agitated voices urged departing carriages or trains. She always had a book in her hand and was never busy; she would put it down and her arms would open to enclose any human being, but particularly a child, who needed refuge there; for what she gave was affection pure and simple, deliberately free from wear and tear of understanding or advice. She did this because she believed in affection as the panacea for all the evils in the world, and the essence of this simple love has wound itself in my memory with her scent of eau-de -cologne, and her blonde lace, and the wide silk folds and bits of warm satin that made up the black friendly labyrinth of her gowns. There one nestled for hours while she told stories. The book of Genesis, myths of Greece, the Siegfried sagas, the Seven Kings of Rome, Tasso, Dante, Goethe, came to me in this good way, not arid noises from a mechanical cavern, or black and white deserts of print, but warm with the person of the teller, modulated with the inflections of a voice that meant safety and kindness, so that the childhood of the world merged with my own and lies there entranced in the same afternoon light that melted into twighlight and gradually dimmed the ivory face and left the voice almost alone to call up pageant after pageant, while one fondled the small hands, so soft and old, whose rings had taken the shape of the fingers and lost their lustre through more than half a century of wear.

Freya Stark

Wolfiewolf driving out of the City (of London) on 5th July 2006

Driving from The Minories though Trinity Square to Upper Thames St

Nisagadatta Maharaj - Excerpt from 'Pointers'

The mind creates the abyss; the heart crosses it

The highest truth can be found in the teachings of Nisagadatta Maharaj, a barely-educated tobacco-kiosk owner who died in Bombay in 1982. The classic book of his teachings is 'I Am That' transcribed and translated from his native Marathi by Maurice Frydman, as well as books about his teaching such as 'Pointers' by Ramesh Balsekar.

The dialogue, one evening, was started by a young Canadian, wearing a lunghi and a thin kurtha. He said that he was twenty-three, but looked barely out of his teens. He wore around his neck an elegant little silver cross on a dainty chain. He said that he had come across the book I Am That in a bookshop in Bombay a couple of days ago. A cursory glance at a few pages impelled in him a desire to meet Maharaj personally. He had already gone through the book reading almost continuously, through the afternoon, evening and night, and had finished both volumes only a few hours ago.

Maharaj: You are so young. I wonder since what age you have been interested in the spiritual quest?
Visitor: Sir, ever since I can remember I have been deeply interested in Love and God. And I strongly felt that they are not different. When I sit in meditation, I often.....
M: Wait a moment. What exactly do you mean by meditation?
V: I don't really know. All I do is sit cross-legged, close my eyes, and remain absolutely quiet. I find my body relaxing, almost melting away, and my mind or being or whatever, merging into space, and the thought process getting gradually suspended.
M: That's good. Please proceed.
V: Quite often, during meditation, an overwhelming feeling of ecstatic love arises in my heart together with an effusion of well-being. I do not know what it is. It was during one such spell that I felt inspired to visit India - and here I am.
M: How long will you be in Bombay?
V: I don't really know. I rarely make any plans. I have sufficient money to live frugally for about fifteen days, and I have my return ticket.
M: Now tell me, what is it exactly that you want to know? Do you have any specific questions?
V: I was a very confused man when I landed in Bombay. I felt i was almost going out of my mind. I really don't know what took me to the bookshop (Chetana in Rampart Row, where I Am That was for a long time uniquely available -HL) because I don't do much reading. The moment i
I picked up the first volume of I Am That, I experienced the same overpowering feeling that I get in meditation. As I went on reading the book a weight seemed to lift off within me, and, as I am sitting here before you, I feel as if I am talking to myself. And what I am saying to myself feels like blasphemy. I was convinced that love is God. But now I think that love is surely a concept and if love is a concept, God also must be a concept.
M: So what is wrong in it?
V: (Laughing) Now, if you put it like that, I have no feeling of guilt in transforming God into a concept.
M: Actually, you said that love is God. What do you mean by the word 'love'?. Do you mean love as the opposite of 'hate'? Or do you mean something else, although of course no word can be adequate to describe God?
V: No. No. By the word 'love' I certainly do not mean the opposite of 'hate'. What i mean is that love is abstaining from discrimination as 'me' and the 'other'.
M: In other words, unity of being?
V: Yes, indeed. What then is God to whom I am expected to pray?
M: Let us talk about prayer later. Now then, what exactly is this God you are talking about? Is he not the very consciousness - the sense of being that one has - because of which you are able to ask questions? I am itself is God. What is it that you love most? Is it not this 'I am', the conscious presence that you want to preserve at any cost? The seeking itself is God. In seeking you discover that 'you' are apart from this body-mind complex. If you were not conscious, would the world exist for you? Would there be any idea of God? And the consciousness in you and the consciousness in me - are they different? Are they not separate only as concepts, seeking unity unconceived, and is that not love?
V: Now I understand what is meant by 'God is nearer to me than I ma to myself'.
M: Also remember there can be no proof of Reality other then being it. Indeed, you are it, and have always been. Consciousness leaves with the end of the body (and is therefore time-bound) and with it leaves the duality which is the basis of consciousness and manifestation.
V: What then is prayer, and what is its purpose?
M: Prayer, as it is generally understood, is nothing but begging for something. Actually prayer means communion-uniting-Yoga.
V: Everything is so clear now, as if a great deal of rubbish has been suddenly thrown out of my system, blown out of existence.
M: Do you mean that you now seems to see everything clearly?
V: No. No! Not 'seem'. It is clear, so clear that I am amazed that it was not clear at any time. Various statements that i had read in the Bible, which seemed important but vague before, are now crystal clear - statements like: Before Abraham was, i am; I and my father are one; I am that I am.
M: Good. Now that you know what it is all about, what Sadhana will you do to to obtain liberation from your bondage?
V: Ah! Maharaj. Now you are surely making fun of me. Or are you testing me? Surely, now that I know and have realized that I am that - - I am, which I have always been ad which I shall always be. What is left to be done? Or, undone? And who is to do it? And for what purpose?
M: Excellent! Just be.
V: I shall, indeed.
Then, the young Canadian prostrated himself before Maharaj, his eyes brimming with tears of gratitude and joy. Maharaj asked him if he would be coming again, and the lad said: 'Honestly, I don't know'. When he had left, Maharaj sat for a ewhile with his eyes closed, the gentlest of smiles on his lips. The he said very softly: 'A rare one'; I could barely catch the words.
I never saw the young Canadian again, and have often wondered about him.

From 'Pointers From Nisagadatta Maharaj' by Ramesh Balsekar. Chetana Bombay 1982.