Vineyard in paradise

Vineyards in full bloom

And no sight of those steeped in gloom

Watered down troubles

No match for evanescent bubbles

Thronging those drinking halls

Thoughts seeking to break down walls

Longing for freedom to savor sensory delights

Fearing the end of the festival of lights

And treasures that are alien to the wise

Who are careful not to surmise

That tears of a grape

Provide an easy escape

What they drink is unknown

To those with hearts of stone

Unable to enter a wise one’s paradise

Even with a clever disguise

Training the mind - 13

Fearless of actionless prayer

And fearful of prayerful action

One neither scales the earthly summit

Or rises to the high heavens

Work is worship goes the saying. There are innumerable types of work that one may undertake. It does not answer the question, what is true work? Mark Twain said, “work and play are words used to describe the same thing under different conditions”. Even when we are sitting quietly with eyes closed and the mind not focused on anything in particular, there is a tremendous amount of work going on in the body. Cells are not static. They are in continual state of action that leads to either regeneration, maintenance or destruction. When our mind thinks it is escaping work and thinks it is resting and enjoying activities that it finds pleasurable, this internal work in the body goes on. Even in the mind, there is always activity going on. When we sleep, we close the door to the mind, but we can never turn it off. Each one may have a different definition of what work means. Generally speaking, when we try to define work, we are only able to to describe activities that we perform in different situations. All these activities are looked at from the perspective of the mind.

Magic carpet

Blind to life in space

May be the undoing of this race

The final step has been climbed

Now it’s time to wipe the grime

With so many riches and treasures

Humanity has claimed many feathers

The one that’s missing

Carries an important blessing

Lost in the midst of locust swarm

One can easily miss that form

Whether it is native or not

It is a great loss to leave that thought

Reflections throng a mental beehive

Where the queen thought must thrive

Spawning many generations

Camouflaged as life’s many stations

The race to divine

Wind-up dolls let loose to roam

The freedom quickly traded for a smaller home

As the drum beats finally wind down

Smiles turns into a sorrowful frown

Parts malfunction or fall off

Deep down it is met with scoff

The trail goes cold beyond that thought

And few venture beyond a vanishing beauty spot

There are many vistas yet to see

Enthralling the explorers out on the high sea

Civilizations leave like floating clouds

The earth has hidden many secrets behind shrouds

In places as deep as the mind

Making it an enlightened rock as it hosts our kind

It’s beauty may be glossed over

With the race to divine there isn’t much time left over

Watch that space

Living under a hood

With room to be misunderstood

Watched over by a benign blue

The sages of yore found so true

The modern eye rarely looks at that hue

When there are infinite other shades to pursue

Wealth of another kind that’s untrue

Poisoning the passions of a man of virtue

That space hidden behind a soft lid

Isn’t just a blank grid

The power to assume

Spells inner doom

Men of a different age

Now comfortably tucked backstage

When they held sway

Building brick and stone wonders was the way