To: K-list 
Recieved: 2001/01/10  13:57  
Subject: [K-list] Fw: Life and illusion 
From: ashok sharma
  
On 2001/01/10  13:57, ashok sharma posted thus to the K-list:  
Subject: Life and illusion   Carol C: On life and illusion....
 
Not all the learned savants, now engaged 
On consciousness-research, to ascertain 
The plot and action of the drama staged 
And how, it is enacted by the brain, 
Can e'er contrive in e'en a hundred years 
To lift the veil this World-Enchanter wears, 
This great exploit, to match with nature's plan, 
Must be himself performed by every man. 
............., for this boundless Whole 
Is but a veiled reflection of his soul, 
Which Consciousness itself does build and plan 
To see, perplexed, the Play as mortal man.
 
Where is the cosmos, what source lies behind 
The hasty verdicts of the agonostic mind? 
Wherefrom arise ideas, conceptions, views 
And all the mass of learning,stories,news 
With which the world is flooded in our day? 
Whence comes what,we believe or what we say?
 
And where is birth,where death and all our fears 
That our temporal span is of some years? 
Where are the sun,the moon,the wind and tide, 
Those shining starry crowds which long abide? 
Where are the wits and thinkers new or old, 
Whence came the thought they did or now unfold? 
And where is sorrow,sickness,suffering,pain 
Or joy and cheer,love,beauty,loss or gain? 
This is a point one ne'er can too much stress: 
They all originate from consciousness! 
  
Our image of the world,our personal views 
And our experience come from that which lives, 
Which knows,imagines,calculates and thinks, 
And one observed fact with another links 
To build the extremely complex world of thought 
Which all exists, but where?We know it not.
 
Perhaps you hardly will believe me, when 
I say what might shock nine men out of ten, 
That this immense display, this Cosmic show 
We carry all with us where'er we go! 
The external world and our internal thought 
Depend for their appearance on our mind 
What of them would survive if mind were not, 
Can any one imagine,guess or find? 
We are mistaken too when we concede 
That subtler forms of matter form the base, 
They too are products of the mind, indeed, 
As,save it, who can their existence trace? 
..... 
The talk about brain cells and genetic code 
And all the carefully made-up bookish load 
Is again an endless round of forms and names 
Which suits the learned, who love wordy games, 
For all whatever we know for sure or guess 
Must e'er come from spring of Consciousness.
 
E'en after a thousand years whate'er we know, 
Whate'er we prove or still unproven show, 
Shall not out of a different seed-bed grow, 
But from the same mysterious spring-head flow. 
Whate'er the future holds,whate'er is past 
Nowhere save in the mould of mind is cast. 
.  .  .  .  .   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Whate'er exists or happens in the world, 
Whoe'er arrives out of it is hurled, 
Analyzed lastly will be traced to mind 
In league with something which we cannot find 
By which this vast creation comes into view, 
And hence all we experience, know and see 
Is but an image, not reality.
 
Our modern scholars try to find without 
What is within, beyond a shade of doubt. 
The ponderous cosmos which they see before 
Their eyes, when fast asleep is there no more, 
And reappears, with change, when one awakes, 
Which Cosmic-mind in this duration makes.
 
When one is dead it is not sould has died 
And left the physical world which he espied 
Before, but that his image in our mind 
Has ceased and save in thought we no more find, 
Because the world-creative Pranic link 
That made his shadow-body act and think, 
In his and our identical mental world, 
Is broken, and off the image has been hurled.
 
We strut and dance upon the imaginary stage 
Of mind where lust, desire and passion rage, 
Clothed in the fancied dress of flesh and bone, 
Of phantom earth of water, air and stone, 
All but creations of a magic base 
Which, as the mind and matter it can trace, 
Is all: the actor,action and the stage, 
The rogue, the hero,the knight and his page, 
The rabble and the elite, the saint and fraud, 
This infinite creation and its Lord!
 
(Riddle of Consciousness)
  
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