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I doubt anyone in single-minded pursuit of enlightenment ever finds it. A good monk would be a mild sort of fellow, a bit of a sensualist, capable of compassion for the world, but also for himself. He would know that it is all right not to climb every mountain. A good monk would know that contentment is easier to attain than happiness, and that it is enough.
It’s the simple things in life that keep us from going crazy. They contribute more to our general happiness and health than acts of passion and high excitement.
When all the wars are done, a butterfly will still be beautiful.
We hear of heroic stands and superhuman perseverance, but fortitude and resilience are usually found in mundane things and are easily missed.
A bird singing in a bush or tree has my immediate attention; so does any unfamiliar flower or plant, particularly if it grows in any unusual place such as a crack in a wall or a chimney, or in a yard full of junk, where I once found a rose-bush blooming on the roof of an old Ford car.
To be unconcerned about a desired good is probably the only way to possess it. To paraphrase Lao Tzu—one sure way to lose the world and everything in it, is to try grasping it.
take Annie Powell, at one time my neighbour in Mussoorie, who at the age of ninety was up early every morning to water her little garden. Watering can in hand, she would move methodically from one flower bed to the next, devotedly giving each plant a sprinkling. She said she loved to see leaves and flowers sparkling with fresh water, it gave her a new lease of life every day.
most of living has to happen in the mind. To quote one anonymous sage from my trivet: ‘The world is only the size of each man’s head.’
as I sat there, pondering on my future, a line from Thoreau kept running through my head. ‘Why should I feel lonely? Is not our planet in the Milky Way?’
Do what you know best, and do it well. Act impeccably. Everything will then fall into place.
I have yet to meet a neurotic carpenter or stonemason or clay-worker or bangle-maker or master craftsman of any kind. Those who work with wood or stone or glass—those who fashion beautiful things with their hands—are usually well-balanced people. Working with the hands is in itself a therapy. Those of us who work with our minds—composers or artists or writers—must try to emulate these craftsmen’s methods, paying attention to every detail and working with loving care.
Because I have loved my art, I think I have been able to pass through life without being any man’s slave or tyrant. I doubt I have ever written a story or essay or workaday article unless I have really wanted to write it. And in this way I have probably suffered materially, because I have never attempted a blockbuster of a novel, or a biography of a celebrity, or a soap opera. But in the end things have worked out well. I am a writer without regrets, and that is no small achievement!
Beena, Rakesh’s wife, asked me one day, ‘Did it really bring you good luck?’
‘We make our own luck,’ I said. ‘But the horseshoe has been with us all these years, and it always reminds me of its former owner, a little old lady who didn’t have much luck, but who enjoyed living, and stood alone, without complaining. It’s courage, not luck, that takes us through to the end of the road.’
Miss Bean had the courage to stand alone. And she lives on through that ol...
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you do not have to turn your back on the world at large in order to find true solitude. A solitary spirit can move around with the crowd while still holding on to his innate reserve of solitude. Some people choose to sail around the world in small boats. Others remain in their own small patch, yet see the world in a grain of sand.
Each one of us is a mass of imperfections, and to be able to recognize and live with our imperfections—our basic natures, defects of genes and birth—makes, I think, for an easier transit on life’s journey.
I like to take in other people’s sick or discarded plants and nurse or cajole them back to health. This has given me a bit of a reputation as a plant doctor. Actually, all I do is give an ailing plant a quiet corner where it can rest and recuperate from whatever ails it—they have usually been ill-treated in some way. And it’s wonderful how quickly a small tree or plant will recover if given a little encouragement. In return, there is gentle, generous friendship.
