ecstasy

Meditation is the art of living with yourself. It is nothing else than that, simply that: the art of being joyously alone. A meditator can sit joyously alone for months, for years. He does not hanker for the other, because his own inner ecstasy is so much, is so overpowering, that who bothers about the other? If the other comes into his life it is not a need, it is a luxury.

Joy has something within itself which is beyond joy and sorrow. This something is called blessedness... It preserves in itself its opposite, sorrow. It provides the foundation for happiness and pleasure. It is present in all levels of man’s striving for fulfillment. It consecrates and directs them. It does not diminish or weaken them. It does not take away the risks and dangers of the joy of life. It makes the joy of life possible in pleasure and pain, in happiness and unhappiness, in ecstasy and sorrow. Where there is joy, there is fulfillment. And where there is fulfillment, there is joy. In fulfillment and joy the inner aim of life, the meaning of creation, and the end of salvation are attained.

After all, what is happiness? Love, they tell me. But love doesn't bring and never has brought happiness. On the contrary, it's a constant state of anxiety, a battlefield; it's sleepless nights, asking ourselves all the time if we're doing the right thing. Real love is composed of ecstasy and agony… All life battles teach us something, even those we lose… All my life, I thought of love as some kind of voluntary enslavement. Well, that's a lie: freedom only exists when love is present. The person who gives him or herself wholly, the person who feels freest, is the person who loves most wholeheartedly… ‘Yes, you have been through all this before,’ replies his heart. ‘But you have never been beyond it… All people know exactly how we should live our lives and never have any idea how to live their own lives… Accept what life offers you and try to drink from every cup. All wines should be tasted; some should only be sipped, but with others, drink the whole bottle.

I freeze and burn, love is bitter and sweet, my sighs are tempests and my tears are floods, I am in ecstasy and agony, I am possessed by memories of her and I am in exile from myself.

Sexual ecstasy usually arises among dyads, or groups of two, but the ritual ecstasy of primitives emerged within groups generally composed of thirty or more participants. Thanks to psychology and the psychological concerns of Western culture generally, we have a rich language for describing the emotions drawing one person to another--from the most fleeting sexual attraction, to ego-dissolving love, all the way to the destructive force of obsession. What we lack is any way of describing and understanding the love that may exist among dozens of people at a time; and it is this kind of love that is expressed in ecstatic ritual.

Broad breezes, clouds of light,
Thither ye lead the soul,
To this most sacred height
Above the sacred whole:
The azure world is not so fair,
The azure world and all the circling air,
As that true spiritual kingdom known
Unto the spirit only and alone;
Thither the soul ye bear,
Oh winds and clouds of light.
Ye winds and clouds of light,
That bear the soul to God;
The new-born soul that height
By ecstasy hath trod.

In my soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church where I kneel. Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist. Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is illumined nothing, where ecstasy gets poured into itself and becomes lost, where the wing is fully alive but has no mind or body? In my soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church that dissolve, that dissolve in God.

With my Beloved I alone have been,
When secrets tenderer than evening airs
Passed, and the Vision blest
Was granted to my prayers,
That crowned me, else obscure, with endless fame;
The while amazed between
His Beauty and His Majesty
I stood in silent ecstasy
Revealing that which o'er my spirit went and came.
Lo, in His face commingled
Is every charm and grace;
The whole of Beauty singled
Into a perfect face
Beholding Him would cry,
'There is no God but He, and He is the most High.'

All my life up to that point was like, mind going blindly, thinking that worldly ecstasy was divine.

Faith and devotion. One realizes God easily through devotion. He is grasped through ecstasy of love.

One is able to realize God just through love. Ecstasy of feeling, devotion, love, and faith

Surrender yourself completely to God, and set aside all such things as fear and shame. Give up such feelings as, 'What will people think of me if I dance in the ecstasy of God's holy name?' The saying, 'One cannot have the vision of God as long as one has these three

The means of realizing God are ecstasy of love and devotion - that is, one must love God.

Let poets piece prismatic words,
Give me the jewelled joy of birds!

What ecstasy moves them to sing?
Is it the lyric glee of Spring,
The dewy rapture of the rose?
Is it the worship born in those
Who are of Nature's self a part,
The adoration of the heart?

Is it the mating mood in them
That makes each crystal note a gem?
Oh mocking bird and nightingale,
Oh mavis, lark and robin - hail!
Tell me what perfect passion glows
In your inspired arpeggios?

A thrush is thrilling as I write
Its obligato of delight;
And in its fervour, as in mine,
I fathom tenderness divine,
And pity those of earthy ear
Who cannot hear . . . who cannot hear.

Let poets pattern pretty words:
For lovely largesse - bless you, Birds!

I have sought Thee daily at dawn and twilight,
I have stretched my hands to Thee, turned my face,
Now the cry of a heart athirst I will utter,
Like the beggar who cries at my door for grace.
The infinite heights are too small to contain Thee,
Yet perchance Thou canst niche in the clefts of me.
Shall my heart not treasure the hope to gain Thee,
Or my yearning fail till my tongue’s last plea?
Nay, surely Thy name I will worship, while breath in my nostrils be.

My heart craves to praise Thee,
But I am unable.
Would my understanding
Were as spacious as Solomon’s.
Without it my wisdom
As yet ill suffices
For expounding Thy wonders
And Thy deeds of beneficence
Wrought for me and all mankind.
Without Thee all’s hopeless,
And where is the rock
Sustaining, suspending
The weight of the world?
I am as one orphaned;
Nay, on Thee I am cast.
What then can I do
But look to Thee, wait on Thee,
In whose hand is the spirit
Of all that is living,
In whose hand is the breath
Of all the creation?

I am not yours, nor lost in you,
not lost, although I long to be.
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
a spirit beautiful and bright,
yet I am I, who long to be
lost as a light is lost in light.

And even if this world burns up hidden harps will still play here.

Work. Keep digging your well. Don't think about getting off from work. Water is there somewhere. Submit to daily practice. Your loyalty to that is a ring at the door. Keep knocking, and the joy inside will eventually open a window and look out to see who's there.

The human soul has need of both personal property and collective property. Whenever a human being, through the commission of a crime, has become exiled from good, he needs to be reintegrated with it through suffering. The suffering should be inflicted with the aim of bringing the soul to recognize freely someday that its infliction was just. This reintegration with the good is what punishment is. Every man who is innocent, or who has finally expiated guilt, needs to be recognized as honourable to the same extent as anyone else.