Remebering Our Finest Impulses

"Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the ORIGIN of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, to discover what is already there."

~Henry Miller

I don't know how many times I have seen parents hushing their kids, who, out of spontaneity and devine inspiration, sings out a self-created melody loud, or dance around randomly, or approach and speak to a stranger with great curiosity. From a very early age, our creativity is constantly being stifled by adults for the sake of not disturbing "the society."

When we are adults, we do the same thing to others and to ourselves. We have lost faith in the power that emanate from deep inside us. Instead, we give power to those who claim to be professionals in their very niche areas. We don't dare to call ourselves artist because there are those who have a long list of credentials that put us to shame. Nor do we dare to allow our bodies to heal themselves because there are doctors of every known specialization (but not all) that claim to be able to cure diseases.

Most of us have forgotten, that a soul resides inside us, and that contains all knowledge that is already there from the beginning of creation.

Poem: Vanishing Beauty

The irony of beauty
in this world
is in its fleeting nature
Only through temporary beauty
do we realize there is Truth
and Eternity
in the Core
Unseen.

Poem: Golden Delight

The cosmic light fills
your petals with golden rays
Your radiance
like an eternal smile
warms my heart of hearts
I embrace your little bossom
in my palm
until your fragile physical body
fades away
quietly.

Poem: Braving the Wind

I dream
of your sweet floating scent
for a second
I almost fainted of
the glimpse of heavenly beauty
Why must the wind
tear your tiny bossoms to pieces
Why must beautiful things
always come to an end?