Being at the Long Beach

Just be

Feel the earth below

Sense the wind blow

See the water flow

Enjoy the fire glow

Be the ocean

Let the waves come and go

Let the thoughts rise and fall

Let the events unfold

Let the stories be told

Be the light

Let the roles play

Let the lives display

Let there be awards

Let there be festivities

Be the truth

Let the past be

Let the future be

Let the present be

Let the space be

Be the flow

Let the beach be long

Let there be no clogging

Let there be no longing

Let being be the belonging

Just be

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Just Be ( Summa Iru)

Just Be (Summa Iru) As I sat in the weekly satsangs on Ramana Maharshi, Bhagavan’s question echoed within me: “When are you coming to Tiruvannamalai?” That question did not remain a question for long. It ripened itself. The long vigil of Maha Shivaratri, chanting the Ramana Tamil parayanam and the 26th chapter of the Ribhu Gita, deepened the saṅkalpa into something steady and irreversible. After a week-long Vedanta camp in Rishikesh, the journey unfolded almost on its own. Flights were booked. A car was arranged from Chennai. For the first time, plans were made not for the world or family, but for the Self. And in that sincerity, something remarkable happened: the universe did not resist. No one in the family objected. It was as if life itself stepped aside. Despite war and unrest disrupting travel across the world, when asked, “Are you still going?” the response arose effortlessly: “If it has to happen, it will.” In the bustle of Rishikesh, the mind wandered through sense objects...

A Tale of Two birds

A Tale of two birds Old Īśvara had a farm, And on this farm He had a tree, And on this tree there sat a bird, With a coo coo here, and a coo coo there, Here a coo , there a coo , Everywhere coo coo ! This bird eats the berries, Some are bitter, some are sweet. Fluttering here, fluttering there, Restless in its endless search. Old Īśvara had a farm, And on this farm He had a tree, And on this tree there sat a jīva, With a glub glub here, and a glub glub there , Here a glub, there a glub , Everywhere glub glub ! The jīva whines in sorrow, The jīva whines in fear. Forgetting its true nature, It suffers birth after birth. Old Īśvara had a farm, And on this farm He had a tree, And on this tree the jīva met the Guru, And the jīva turned into a bhakta. She asks, “Give me this, give me that,” She prays in sorrow and distress. She makes her bargains and deals Slowly c...

Exit from Abhimanyu Syndrome

Exit from Abhimanyu Syndrome Should I sleep away from the drama of the world, Or awaken to the stillness in which it appears? Should I wake up from the dream of the waking state, where name and form parade as truth? Or accept them as they are? Should I stop attempting to rewrite the script of life? Or engage in the scenes of the play with a playful attitude? Should I stop projecting a personal movie, Or recognize that I am the light that makes all images possible? Should I reject the world as a mere phenomenon? Or release identification with body and mind? Should I rest in the wisdom of internal calmness ? Should I be that mystical Swan meandering gracefully in the water abiding in self right now? If not I, Who will see this? If not now, When will this seeing occur? Who am I is the question of Viveka What am I up to is the question of Vairagya When there is nowhere to go, and nothing to attain, I dwell in these questions, not seeking answers, for the questions themselves are...

Atmānanda- Laharī

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