Guest guest Posted November 20, 2004 Report Share Posted November 20, 2004 I cannot tell exactly what you mean In the poem you wrote, it¹s hard to glean Of whom you wrote, or is it ³what² You tried to box, with lid slammed shut An axe to grind it seems you bear Against the west and the poets there Or is it about, the I called Œme¹ By what you said, it just might be I¹m overstressed, and in the West And I have been, some of what you say And it seems you speak without respect For the western way of tackling quest The ³real quest² is a phrase you spoke But I have to say, that¹s a Celtic joke For there is no real, no goal, no aim Only monotheists play that game And in that Œultimate¹ quest or aim Unattainers are always put to shame For I know it well from my wee age The shame was placed, from by gone age For when you think that there is one Only one, ultimate quest Then little care have you at all For everyone else, and their personal call There¹s another way, and it¹s personal It¹s as ancient as Veda, and just as tall It has no scripture, no land, no creed No cult to follow, no temple deed It¹s your personal path, with which you were born Its always inside you, but not a painful thorn Its living and dealing, with what you were given It¹s the personal path, your own personal heaven It¹s based in acceptance, and love for what is It says there¹s no heaven, except here to live It¹s feeling what is, and calling it good And not doing things, just because you Œshould¹ By using names like Mick and Pat You can lay low a culture with words like that But I say to you, and hear me well Even Irish don¹t know their culture swell For one who has need, and searches wide Bears the wet feet and thorns in his side To find the true meaning in the ancient¹s way Beyond the books and what oppressors say I can finally say, and know it full well I am not a Christian, a Hindu or Jew I come from white, which I now tell Has it¹s own ways, just as valid too Just because it¹s buried in Roman wars And covered over by the preaching of Paul And now covered again by Hindu trends Doesn¹t mean its gone, never to mend In Veda it¹s said, Sani rules the West Well why not listen, put it to the test It can¹t be ruled, by the central sun It is independent, will always run The whites you see, especially me Of irish born by far western sea Are Saturn¹s babes, to stand in the dark For in rain and mist, we¹re as happy as lark Our hair is wet, our feet are cold Our land is wet, in homes grow mold The sunny Roman, came to kill The structured Brit faultfinds us still But at least you can see, for in Veda believe Which says the West is Saturns reprieve So see us that way, the babes of Shani Born of dark waters, brooders and brauny I don¹t regret, who I am I love myself, I love my land I am outcaste, a throw away lad A has been, a torment, and always sad But that¹s our way, as one man said The irish are nice, but their musics so sad But I love us, the Irish, I love us I do As do other Irish too, love us the through Nowadays I live here in Eugene It¹s always raining and always green In that way its like my emerald isle That lockaway heaven for the Irish smile I¹m blessed by Vedic teachings in me My gurus gave me that knowledge heavy And in it we speak, for here in this list We¹re blessed because we¹re ³Vedicists² But never did I, completely fit Into arotiks, japa, meditation and sit Yogic postures, Krishna, Ganesh That whole thing, the Hindu Mahesh Something was missing, and I now see The thing that was missing, was simply ³me² I was born from another, a race of it¹s own A race with a place, a place I feel home A place that had culture, and ways of it¹s own That came through my mother, into our home And into me, in my formative years A blanket without which I will come to feel fears So let me have my comforting thought A cultural relic, which cannot be bought Its earned by being born of the celt Its inbred, dna, it is simply felt And shake hands with others >From far away places Love them all too, with smiling faces You stay you, I stay me We share bread together And roam on our highlands, all covered in heather Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted November 20, 2004 Report Share Posted November 20, 2004 There was really no 'whom' or axe to grind or other criticisms of which you whine Much was said with humor and jest But might be missed by a narcissist Mercury alone, the literalist has not an ounce of heart Can but string together the feelings of Luna, Aphrodite and Astarte. Your personal quest into the darkness of night Is true to Veda and your guru's sight Our personal path of light and love May lead to the battlefield instead of the dove Arjuna the warrior was not temple fit, better at archery than meditation sit We must follow our nature, whatever that be To choiceless awareness, bliss and eternity. Best, Steve Das Goravani wrote: >I cannot tell exactly what you mean >In the poem you wrote, it¹s hard to glean >Of whom you wrote, or is it ³what² >You tried to box, with lid slammed shut > >An axe to grind it seems you bear >Against the west and the poets there >Or is it about, the I called OEme¹ >By what you said, it just might be > >I¹m overstressed, and in the West >And I have been, some of what you say >And it seems you speak without respect >For the western way of tackling quest > >The ³real quest² is a phrase you spoke >But I have to say, that¹s a Celtic joke >For there is no real, no goal, no aim >Only monotheists play that game > >And in that OEultimate¹ quest or aim >Unattainers are always put to shame >For I know it well from my wee age >The shame was placed, from by gone age > >For when you think that there is one >Only one, ultimate quest >Then little care have you at all >For everyone else, and their personal call > >There¹s another way, and it¹s personal >It¹s as ancient as Veda, and just as tall >It has no scripture, no land, no creed >No cult to follow, no temple deed > >It¹s your personal path, with which you were born >Its always inside you, but not a painful thorn >Its living and dealing, with what you were given >It¹s the personal path, your own personal heaven > >It¹s based in acceptance, and love for what is >It says there¹s no heaven, except here to live >It¹s feeling what is, and calling it good >And not doing things, just because you OEshould¹ > >By using names like Mick and Pat >You can lay low a culture with words like that >But I say to you, and hear me well >Even Irish don¹t know their culture swell > >For one who has need, and searches wide >Bears the wet feet and thorns in his side >To find the true meaning in the ancient¹s way >Beyond the books and what oppressors say > >I can finally say, and know it full well >I am not a Christian, a Hindu or Jew >I come from white, which I now tell >Has it¹s own ways, just as valid too > >Just because it¹s buried in Roman wars >And covered over by the preaching of Paul >And now covered again by Hindu trends >Doesn¹t mean its gone, never to mend > >In Veda it¹s said, Sani rules the West >Well why not listen, put it to the test >It can¹t be ruled, by the central sun >It is independent, will always run > >The whites you see, especially me >Of irish born by far western sea >Are Saturn¹s babes, to stand in the dark >For in rain and mist, we¹re as happy as lark > >Our hair is wet, our feet are cold >Our land is wet, in homes grow mold >The sunny Roman, came to kill >The structured Brit faultfinds us still > >But at least you can see, for in Veda believe >Which says the West is Saturns reprieve >So see us that way, the babes of Shani >Born of dark waters, brooders and brauny > >I don¹t regret, who I am >I love myself, I love my land >I am outcaste, a throw away lad >A has been, a torment, and always sad > >But that¹s our way, as one man said >The irish are nice, but their musics so sad >But I love us, the Irish, I love us I do >As do other Irish too, love us the through > >Nowadays I live here in Eugene >It¹s always raining and always green >In that way its like my emerald isle >That lockaway heaven for the Irish smile > >I¹m blessed by Vedic teachings in me >My gurus gave me that knowledge heavy >And in it we speak, for here in this list >We¹re blessed because we¹re ³Vedicists² > >But never did I, completely fit >Into arotiks, japa, meditation and sit >Yogic postures, Krishna, Ganesh >That whole thing, the Hindu Mahesh > >Something was missing, and I now see >The thing that was missing, was simply ³me² >I was born from another, a race of it¹s own >A race with a place, a place I feel home > >A place that had culture, and ways of it¹s own >That came through my mother, into our home >And into me, in my formative years >A blanket without which I will come to feel fears > >So let me have my comforting thought >A cultural relic, which cannot be bought >Its earned by being born of the celt >Its inbred, dna, it is simply felt > >And shake hands with others >>From far away places >Love them all too, >with smiling faces > >You stay you, I stay me >We share bread together >And roam on our highlands, >all covered in heather > > > > > > > Links > > > > > > > > > > > > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted November 20, 2004 Report Share Posted November 20, 2004 Wonderful. So well written Dasji. You wield a mighty pen. Vaidun Vidyadhar 1 / 94 Marius Street Tamworth, NSW 2340 Australia Tel: 61-2-67 668428 (home) Mobile: 0414 870 083 Email: vvidya Das Goravani [] Sunday, 21 November 2004 3:25 AM valist Paddy's Waggin His Tale A Gain I cannot tell exactly what you mean In the poem you wrote, it¹s hard to glean Of whom you wrote, or is it ³what² You tried to box, with lid slammed shut An axe to grind it seems you bear Against the west and the poets there Or is it about, the I called Œme¹ By what you said, it just might be I¹m overstressed, and in the West And I have been, some of what you say And it seems you speak without respect For the western way of tackling quest The ³real quest² is a phrase you spoke But I have to say, that¹s a Celtic joke For there is no real, no goal, no aim Only monotheists play that game And in that Œultimate¹ quest or aim Unattainers are always put to shame For I know it well from my wee age The shame was placed, from by gone age For when you think that there is one Only one, ultimate quest Then little care have you at all For everyone else, and their personal call There¹s another way, and it¹s personal It¹s as ancient as Veda, and just as tall It has no scripture, no land, no creed No cult to follow, no temple deed It¹s your personal path, with which you were born Its always inside you, but not a painful thorn Its living and dealing, with what you were given It¹s the personal path, your own personal heaven It¹s based in acceptance, and love for what is It says there¹s no heaven, except here to live It¹s feeling what is, and calling it good And not doing things, just because you Œshould¹ By using names like Mick and Pat You can lay low a culture with words like that But I say to you, and hear me well Even Irish don¹t know their culture swell For one who has need, and searches wide Bears the wet feet and thorns in his side To find the true meaning in the ancient¹s way Beyond the books and what oppressors say I can finally say, and know it full well I am not a Christian, a Hindu or Jew I come from white, which I now tell Has it¹s own ways, just as valid too Just because it¹s buried in Roman wars And covered over by the preaching of Paul And now covered again by Hindu trends Doesn¹t mean its gone, never to mend In Veda it¹s said, Sani rules the West Well why not listen, put it to the test It can¹t be ruled, by the central sun It is independent, will always run The whites you see, especially me Of irish born by far western sea Are Saturn¹s babes, to stand in the dark For in rain and mist, we¹re as happy as lark Our hair is wet, our feet are cold Our land is wet, in homes grow mold The sunny Roman, came to kill The structured Brit faultfinds us still But at least you can see, for in Veda believe Which says the West is Saturns reprieve So see us that way, the babes of Shani Born of dark waters, brooders and brauny I don¹t regret, who I am I love myself, I love my land I am outcaste, a throw away lad A has been, a torment, and always sad But that¹s our way, as one man said The irish are nice, but their musics so sad But I love us, the Irish, I love us I do As do other Irish too, love us the through Nowadays I live here in Eugene It¹s always raining and always green In that way its like my emerald isle That lockaway heaven for the Irish smile I¹m blessed by Vedic teachings in me My gurus gave me that knowledge heavy And in it we speak, for here in this list We¹re blessed because we¹re ³Vedicists² But never did I, completely fit Into arotiks, japa, meditation and sit Yogic postures, Krishna, Ganesh That whole thing, the Hindu Mahesh Something was missing, and I now see The thing that was missing, was simply ³me² I was born from another, a race of it¹s own A race with a place, a place I feel home A place that had culture, and ways of it¹s own That came through my mother, into our home And into me, in my formative years A blanket without which I will come to feel fears So let me have my comforting thought A cultural relic, which cannot be bought Its earned by being born of the celt Its inbred, dna, it is simply felt And shake hands with others >From far away places Love them all too, with smiling faces You stay you, I stay me We share bread together And roam on our highlands, all covered in heather Links Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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