art Jane Adams
Thou art? — I am?
Why argue? — Being is.
Keep still and be.
Death will not still the mind.
Nor argument, nor hopes of after-death.
This world the battle-ground, yourself the foe
Yourself must master.
Eager the mind to seek.
Yet oft astray, causing its own distress
Then crying for relief, as though some God
Barred from it jealously the Bliss it sought
But would not face.
Till in the end,
All battles fought, all earthly loves abjured,
Dawn in the East, there is no other way
But to be still.
In stillness then to find
The giants all were windmills, all the strife
Self-made, unreal; even he that strove
A fancied being, as when that good knight
Woke from delirium and with a loud cry
Rendered his soul to God.
Mind, then, or soul?
Break free from subtle words.
Only be still,
Lay down the mind, submit, and Being then
Is Bliss, Bliss Consciousness: and That you are.
Why argue? — Being is.
Keep still and be.
Death will not still the mind.
Nor argument, nor hopes of after-death.
This world the battle-ground, yourself the foe
Yourself must master.
Eager the mind to seek.
Yet oft astray, causing its own distress
Then crying for relief, as though some God
Barred from it jealously the Bliss it sought
But would not face.
Till in the end,
All battles fought, all earthly loves abjured,
Dawn in the East, there is no other way
But to be still.
In stillness then to find
The giants all were windmills, all the strife
Self-made, unreal; even he that strove
A fancied being, as when that good knight
Woke from delirium and with a loud cry
Rendered his soul to God.
Mind, then, or soul?
Break free from subtle words.
Only be still,
Lay down the mind, submit, and Being then
Is Bliss, Bliss Consciousness: and That you are.
PDF - Be Still, It Is. The Wind. That Sings:
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