n the Bhagavad-Gita it is stated: “in the age of Kali (modern times), noone can manufacture anything. Take for instance the eatables of human society: they are dependent on profuse sunlight and rainfall. Even when something is manufactured, raw materials such as metal and sulphur are required. These are all agents supplied by the Lord.” Even atheists must see this as logic, if the Lord is to be looked upon as nature. The Gita continues: “the aim of life is to liberate ourselves from material struggle. However, if we forget the purpose of life and take from its supplies, then we will be punished by material nature.” It seems a society of thieves can never be happy if they have no aim in life. The Bhagavad–Gita is recognized as one of the most profound spiritual teachings ever written. Its roots can be found in Sanskrit texts which were the first written words known to man. For the doubtful, modern science is now confirming that such texts were not only plausible but factual. The common message outlined here is that in order for humanity to be at peace, it must first see the relevance of a harmonious society. Could it be that our universe and its tiny atoms were discovered well before the age of science, perhaps by some kind of universal intelligence? Was the Gita trying to teach humanity an important lesson? Maybe we should stop and listen before its too late!
It is by making a conscious connection with mother nature, that the seeds of change are sown. This can be triggered by a beautiful sunset or perhaps the sight of another human being or an animal suffering. Here we begin to realise the fragility of life, and how destruction of the environment is man’s greatest downfall. The following steps may lead to the development of such a conscious change:
Reflecting on ignorance Becoming accountable Taking responsibility Understanding compassion Living the change Setting examples
It is with heartfelt thanks that credit is given to the following artists for contributing their amazing artwork: Avalong Wing , Dragon Winter and ‘john riley’.
All the artwork and text in this publication is copyright protected.
ith the financial wheels of the world dry of grease The land being raped, man rife with disease I sit here observing as mind follows breath A world full of panic, destruction and death As thoughts start to wander Encompassed by grief This world which I live Horror disbelief Shall I stay in my shell, protected alone Or step onto the earth Where nothing can grow? Answers to questions Where will I find In a world gone mad Getting worse with time? I think for the moment I’ll stay in this place Rather than join the stampede Of the Human Rat Race Anything else Seems absurd... For that which I am, can not be disturbed
nce the sun was yellow Once the sky was blue Once mankind had a common point of view Once the oceans were silver Once the desert was gold Once there was life, waiting to unfold Once trees were green Once the earth was red Once man had a conscience... Enough said !
Massia warrior, with bloodless spear, stands not so tall anymore. This once great huntsman scratches merely for water today, eyes filled with dust and tear ducts dry. For only turmoil and disease flow free on this parched and arid land. What a stench: the smell of human skin burning alive; his family reduced half to flesh and bone, half to the grave. Villages of lost hope sift the desert, caravans of red and gold, disguising a future not so bright. Leather-like feet, that once danced the dance of life, now tread sandpaper, seeking the luxury of mud between their toes. This journey some will make; most will not. A path paved with disembowelled animal carcasses, whilst hungry predators hover, death looms. Wildlife loses all signs of life. All around disease-ridden meal tickets tempt the starving. Inevitably this tips the scales of life and death in favour of the latter. Eventually the minority reach their destination: So deep is the 15ft well, dug by the bare hands of local goat herders. Alas, the liquid nectar is now guarded by boys yielding rifles. They must kill to see another day. As tempers and bullets begin to fly, human blood mixes with that of an animal sacrifice on the rocks. And so another victim of drought soaks into the land of despair, as statistics soar with the vultures above. These scenes carry with you, as you weep over recession, as you turn on the tap of indulgence today. Flick the switch of your conscience as you flick off the TV. Global warming won’t just go away!
Inspired by the work of the Red Cross in Africa
y teacher told me of the swan, of how this bird of freedom flies She spreads her wings with dignity, across hazy peach September skies To learn more of her qualities, by waters edge I spend my time In stillness with her company, the feeling quite sublime The other birds around her peck and hiss, then waddle side to side Yet undisturbed with gallant grace, the swan amongst with pride She’s travelled distant landscapes; she’s carried out her quest The lady of the lake is home and needs now here to rest Admiring her perfection, redeemed by elegance This epitome of beauty commands my reverence With subtle flap of feathers for flight prepares her wing On wind of breath her body lifts; my heart begins to sing This simple act of mindfulness, no matter how well travelled Each day reveals a thread of truth which seeks to be unravelled With wings of silver lining and light now pouring through The swan inside, gives birth to flight and feelings born are new “Ham so” my teacher told me is the sound swan feathers make An esoteric practice wrote in Sanskrit which translates: “Begin the breath by sounding So, with Ham you finally end Through regular earnest practice the swan inside transcends.”
lattice of chain and nylon scours the ocean floor Whilst UFO-like beams scan its choppy surface. The deep abyss, no sanctuary for the hunted. The iron curtain closes in as extinction draws near With hungry mouths and pockets to feed Greedy trawlers trawl back and forth Removing species, giving back nothing in return, Other than false promises of a sustainable future. And as a sustainable future becomes a thing of the past Atlantic battlefields are filled with ghosts of carnage, Whilst victorious captains sail on to new grounds The food chain remains less buoyant “Teach a man to fish”, were the words of our Lord “Then teach him to teach others the same” Not accounting for greed the advice was given Now the oceans hold nothing but his tears of remorse Think of this fable as you sit down to eat, my friend For the fruit of the ocean grows sparse and is close to an end To live with, is sometimes to live without Humankind take action: fishless oceans loom, without doubt.
Drowning in sorrow, shares of tomorrow, Dow Jones wait and see anic! quick! mop up the slick; the world awaits reply Scientists ponder to cover up the blunder; nature wonders why Point the finger whilst guilt lingers; governments toss the blame Wildlife crisis, that’s what this is. Our father looks down in shame Heads roll, whilst minds cajole. Will justice find a home? Dense ocean, fish commotion, waves slave to fold Beaches bare, does anyone care? I feel the urge to write Toxic fuels break all the rules for a future clean and bright
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t’s a damp and dreary Sunday morning. It is the type of day where kids stare out of their bedroom window, chin in hands, waiting for the never ending drizzle to cease. According to Ayurveda (the science of life) our inner world is said to be a reflection of our outer world. This explains why I feel miserable; I must be in harmony with the weather. It seems sad but, at the moment, I actually prefer dull weather. You see, when the sun provides no warmth and its rays are dispelled by cloud, I can justify my sadness. On sunny days I become envious of people celebrating life, with their family and friends. Most of all, I become envious of lovers who share a commodity I long for. I watch them from a distance; I want to breathe in their happiness. But alas, my lungs struggle to fulfil their basic function: I can hardly breath . Depression I am told is a clinical state, caused by a combination of frustration and anger. These two emotions feed upon one-another, like conjoined twins who should have been separated at birth. How I long to meet their elusive counter parts, love and patience. But until then I remain jaded. As I walk with Mother Nature, I notice a magnificent sculpture of branches, leaves, and acorns. Standing tall on a downcast canvas. Nothing could move this sturdy giant. Maybe the tree will share some of its life force with me? “Maybe to stand beside such colossal strength would lift my spirit”, I think to myself. So I stand beneath the tree’s sprouting branches and, taking one in my hand, I wish for oneness. Gazing at the trees, corrugated leaves reminds me of scrapbooks and Halloween. I begin to observe how each leaf carefully shelters the acorns beneath it.
pon closer examination, I notice one of the acorns has a dark brown cancerous looking object growing on its side - it seems to be choking! Vishnu, the preserver in me, begins to prize off the growth like a loyal friend. But then, I see another and another. I cannot hold back feelings of great sadness. How could nature be so cruel ? I fear that like me the tree is powerless to the outside forces that govern it. I know it is impractical for me to interfere with the destiny of something the Lord has created. I feel helpless; this is something the tree and I must endure alone. But wait, surely a tree of this magnitude is strong enough to withstand anything! With this realization, clarity peeks from the backdrop of clouds. I begin to accept, that I myself am like the Oak tree. I can free myself from a cancerous mind, by remaining steadfast and strong. In this enlightening moment nature opens up to me and whispers her universal secret . I am drawn towards a cluster of acorns and notice that each growth is in fact the beginning of a new acorn cup. The cancer that I thought was infecting the tree, is in fact a cocoon for new life. Here I begin to see, how over time, something quite grand can flourish from something quite ugly. With the love and patience of nature, this same metamorphosis occurs in every living thing. The density of my sadness begins to liquefy and the seed of my soul is quenched. Confusion is replaced by compassion and wisdom. I too have the potential to be that mighty Oak.
9/2008
eared revered and hunted With a grandeur swagger the likes of a king, The royal beast marks his diminishing territory. With a spray of scent, seeds of hope are planted Igniting nothing but fear the preyed upon preys Cornered, in a lost land of last hope, The majestic beast induces countless greed. The weight of Yuan (Chinese dollar) on his shoulders heavy Bones crushed to powder, promises of eternal youth Elusive whiskers twitch, muscles flex with stealth Ripping through forests, a ferocious flame Poachers entrenched, irresistibly on the front line No thrills on safari, Hollywood pets or fur in goldfish-bowl cages Sabre-toothed ghosts look down with anticipation The daily battle for conservation critical A far cry from the romantic roar of the circus As the human hall of shame, prepares new space The not so exclusive guest list continues to grow. Hunting trophy cabinets starved of stripes Gazelle and springbuck one less worry With nowhere to claw, desperate paws shift altitude, The soon to be extinct film clip, runs for shelter A Himalayan sanctuary, the highest place on earth Or will man insist on a higher a place of rest?
ecycle, revamp and renew, me - never! Take-away or microwave? No plates to wash, how clever Plastic, cardboard and cellophane, buy one get one free Convenience or indulgence? I wonder what’s on TV? This tin-can alley makes a good home for the rats With a putrid stench, but at least not on our door mats Council responsibility or social disgrace? Horrible and shameful, welcome to the ‘not so’ great human race
ith bated breath, I can hardly swallow my food, as the nine year old heroin addict takes another hit. The young amputee lays on one side, whilst his father injects him with another false promise. This will not make things better, but at least numb the boys pain. The family of onlookers, who share the same doped over gaze, know their brother is now free from suffering, at least for a short while. They also know that reality always catches up with a short while. Frail, undernourished and snotty, the boy sits back in his chair- that is what’s left of him. The poison kicks in and hunger becomes less of an issue, as does the sting from his bomb blast wounds. “Money well spent,” the mother closes her moth bitten purse, knowing that drugs are cheaper than food in this town. As I watch my stomach begins to crease. “The scraps of food I have left on my plate, would feed a family of five or more for a day,” I think to myself. The camera set switches, this time to a hospital waiting room. Now a youth club full of heroin addicts fills the screen. “Victims of a war against what,” is the vague look on their faces. Then, in an interview, one eleven year old boy tells of his addiction and how it is funded by selling his body. The words hit me hard. I sorrowfully turn my head in shame of being human. I don’t want to watch, which makes me want to watch more. “Is this really happening, in the same world that I live in,” I ask. The boys now sit, side by side one another, on a long thin bench waiting for their veins to detoxify. Their hands and faces shake, as they began to go cold turkey. Here the narrator reminds us, “these are the lucky few”. There village has been decimated; they have salvaged and buried body parts of their own families; they have no food and are now destitute drug addicts. And these are the lucky few ! I sit back and I realise, how easy my life has been.
here did all the money go and who these so called Bankers, That with our cash bought fancy trash and stole from us, the Wankers? It’s not enough to live a life in four star luxury They seek to hoard their millions whilst causing misery So as we hit financial meltdown; the latest news recession The Footsie Index on its arse, politicians keep us guessing And what about our Government? On them we lay all hopes Nothing more than pirates, yielding daggers and wearing cloaks We see them in the commons, throw abuse and calling names Then next week in the media, deceit and fraudulent claims And when I see the minister, a man with little prime This leader of our country looks stoned most of the time I cannot help but wonder why all leaders don’t unite And pull the world together, save us swimming in the shite And if we were all equal, this brother hood of men The homeless would have shelter and the starved would eat again I think I’ll write the President, to share in this ideal Surely America will listen, to humanities appeal “God bless America, we’ll fight them all the way” With ‘demon-cratic’ policies, “to let the public pay” But where did all that money go? Was it lost in cyber space? And now the banks have lost it, do we have to wipe their face? Will my views be trampled on or gently pushed a side? Does the credit crunch phenomenon, underlying secrets hide? Could this be the doing of just one single bloke? Perhaps the Bush administration have sent it up in smoke!
s you pass through this life on your way to the next , to these simple questions an answer you must find: When I’m gone, dead and buried, will it be I existed at all and if so, was my impact great or small ? Will I leave behind happiness, joy or a smile ? Will my short visit here have been worthwhile ? Did the loved ones or strangers I met on the way, shed a tear, give a damn or have something nice to say ? Did I leave a legacy, an heir to a throne, or will I simply disappear and become unknown ? Did I live for a reason and what was my purpose, for walking on earth’s bountiful surface ? Was I of service? Were my actions right, or did I take what I could like a thief in the night ? Were my words honest , helpful and caring or rude, malicious , thoughtless and daring ? Did love and compassion emanate from me? Did I give sound advice, show the right way to be ? Did I bring to the table an open heart, or did I keep myself from others apart ? Did I accumulate wealth and what's it now worth, and where will it go when I’m covered with earth? Did I salvage everything that I should? Did I reuse and recycle everything that I could? Will the environment recover from the mess left behind? Should I care when I’m gone? Would it bother my mind ? Was I weakened by life or steadfast and brave? Will there be shame or dignity on my trip to the grave ?
How can I find peace in this world or the next , unless I remain faithful unto this text ? How can I transcend to another dimension, until I step on the ladder of my own ascension ?
evastation, vegetation, trees to ashes, earth to dust Politicians, will you save us? We must have oxygen in our blood United Nations, realization; hungry mouths cry to be fed Greedy bankers, what’s the story, having stolen our daily bread? Human beings, become humane; stand together now and fight! Rid future generations of such frustration; plant new seeds for what is right Ask your conscience: come and join us in this man’s darkest hour Be the witness; make a difference, brother, sister we have the power
of life?
h Moon of light, pray when will you include me in the joyous dance
For it seems your gravitational pull has turned the tides against me. All I can do is lie here alone, like an empty vessel on a dark and distant sea, with emotions bobbing back and forth. How I long for the time when my circadian rhythms will flow in synergy with the great oceans you command. Like beams from an alien ship, your white rays scan the still of night. They creep into my world through the smallest of gaps, seeking only to disturb sleep. My subtle energy can do little else, other than bow down to your awesome power. I feel afraid and weak beside you. As I gaze into your face, yet another wave of anxiety washes over me. With this, I prostrate myself before you and accept my insignificance on the scheme of things. Maybe you have a message: surrender to the great heart of the universe, for it beats with or without you. With this my eyes become moist, as I fall further under your spell. They will see no sleep tonight. Only visions of a world filled with suffering will flash across the screen of my mind.
hen hope takes a stand and clarity washes over me. For a second I harmonise with you, which reminds me of my humanness. My senses begin to connect to mother earth; although I fear I could fall from her grasp at any moment. I notice my fingers and toes begin to tingle, as though I am stepping out from the edge of a cliff. I feel myself falling, falling, falling. I am now merely a rotating particle in a vast multi-dimensional void, where an individual mind plays no part. I begin to yawn repeatedly, as my body beckons for oxygen, in order to fuel this neurosis. The great oceans turn once more and another wave of emotion crashes against the rocks, causing my ribs to dissolve towards dream-state. The next morning: I peered from behind sleep and pulled back the curtains; it was daylight and you were gone. I felt empty. My organs were raw from the anticipation of seeing you again. I prayed to you: Pray moon of light: please beam rays of peace into the minds of men, so that they and I may dance the joyous dance of life again.
n a self conceited class of their own, The poised parliament hisses from its throne With new legislation ahead of their game, They jump up the ladder by passing the blame Rubbing shoulders with lawyers and bellies in mud They do what they like and not what they should Big wages and pages of expenses to claim, Not to mention a pension that puts the famous to shame With such perks and quirks, how could one go wrong Whilst working class families slave for a song? But criminals are bred from both need and greed Poverty stricken families have hungry mouths to feed Whilst greedy snakes, keen to slither away, Line their pockets with the tax that we pay Penthouses, whore houses, luxury cars and world travel This is what politicians’ bank statements unravel So ‘Houses of not so Common’ what’s the score? Isn’t this why Great Britain isn’t so great anymore? Get your fingers - and thumbs - out of the pie Try performing your duty without any lies The country's a shambles; you’re mostly to blame It’s time to derail the gravy train!
ents, tents everywhere: not a blade of grass to spare Men in dresses wearing rings, waving wands and angel wings Girls in mud, getting back to roots, plastic macs and Welly boots Food, food the choice amazing, all the flavours to make your heart sing Booze, drugs and legal highs, fairy cakes and cannabis pies Chai tea made with spice, splodge and crunch served with rice Music, music follow the beat, feel the rhythm, stomp your feet Own the space in which you dance to funky folk and tribal trance Show your colours; shake our tail; let truth, love and light prevail Toilets, toilets hard to find: bursting bladder on my mind Join the queue, now need is must; give way to pride before you bust Drop your draws; crouch for the queen in the filthiest place you’ve ever been Dark, dark! Leave the party, idle chatter, arty farty Find your tent; search for torch; leave your Wellies at the porch Put on your thermals; climb into bed with base-lines pumping in your head.
Leela, the Game of Life
hink of yourself as a reed, whose roots are planted down firmly into the riverbed. Become supple and fluid; notice your spine undulate through the current of life. Feel the weight of your body and your guilty conscience fall like an anchor. Sense yourself lift, like the feathers of a swan riding on the winds of time. Notice your thoughts, your beliefs and your emotions; realize that you are more than they. Let them wash over you like a waterfall; see they have neither substance nor standpoint. Sit patient and poised like a heron waiting to strike; move only from necessity, not lust or desire. Observe yourself from the clouds above; be like they, gentle, uncontrived and forgiving. Embrace this home in which you dwell, this ever changing world of beauty and peace. But understand you are only a caretaker and not the owner; for their is only one true landlord. Yet know that He functions through you, throughout your sleep and wakeful hours. Breathe into your awareness and welcome Him into your heart, for He is your world Now ask of yourself, how can I serve Him? What part can I play in this game of life?
Kuruva Island, South India during meditation
t is with the death of each breath that I embrace impermanence. For it is only a transient pocket of time where our footprints, small as they seem, make their mark. Releasing the past, I know its work is done, having sculpted the heart I wear today. With the same intention, I release today, knowing it was once the future and will inevitably become the past. With this letting go of time I embrace the passing of each moment without any form of clinging. It is here that love becomes the only thing from which I am inseparable; all else falls into a pit of insignificance. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, so too the never-ending cycle of life and death continues. For that which I let go of was never mine, yet will always remain a part of me.
Glen Monks is a certified yoga teacher and a spiritual practitioner. After a period of chronic illness ‘writing for therapy’ became an avenue of self-expression, leading towards his subsequent recovery. Info: www.YogaDoncaster.co.uk