On the Occasion of Divine Mother’s 137th Birth Anniversary-The Part She Plays in Orchestrating the Work: From the Streets of Paris to Feeding Pigeons to Stars and Galaxies/21st February 2015

Divine Mother on the streets of Paris

Divine Mother, Mirra Alfassa in front of St Mark’s Basilica, Venice, Italy

Feeding the pigeons

Chonemorpha fragrans, Frangipani vine

Chonemorpha fragrans, Frangipani vine

Feeding the world

Feed in your heart

With her love song

Its stronger than a kiss

Softer than the sun

In the playground of the sky

run run run

Time cannot juxtapose synergies of an ancient truth; they are prevalent in the musical travelogues of the troubadours. With each passing day, the tree has expressed its own offering to the creation in an almost silent way. The fruit has gathered the flower’s morphogenetic vibrations in a little note from a bird that will nest in the future. Rhythm of an arcane moment eternise the Rialto so it can taste the artistic freedom of a higher existence. You may honour the season’s paeans in the sweet gesture of a firefly that sees every end as a cyclical reverie of the moon- this is the root of remembering the being visited by a sudden light half sunk in the river of ecstasy.

“A Light there is that leads, a Power that aids;

Unmarked, unfelt it sees in him and acts:

Ignorant, he forms the All-Conscient in his depths,

Human, looks up to superhuman peaks:

A borrower of Supernature’s gold,

He paves his road to Immortality”.  (Savitri, Sri Aurobindo)

Silken center touched by the scream in meditative stillness will generate karma from the vacuum grid – feeding the heart with her songs …regain consciousness  in the bliss of business called divine life – from light you are earning the gift of vision to experience…from darkness you are learning the deep solitude of the epiphany of space-time causal-rhyme

Divine Mother in a Playful Mood with Puppies

Divine Mother in a Playful Mood with Puppies

Feed the pigeons

Feed the puppies

Feed the world

Like your lassie

each wounded bird tells its story to the dim forest branches; scattered by the winds the starlight pierces the soft warm skin beneath…its last song is the theatrical eternal fossil that plays out time to capture Bresson’s decisive moment…Are you awake to Andre Gide, Marcel Proust and the oracles of Rimbaud?

 

She feeds the stars from the pigeons; the pigeons from the stars…

Keep faith

As you wait…

Tomorrow the song will be sung

By all…

-J

Video Concept & Voice by Monalisa/Words by J

 

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THE DYING SWAN MOVEMENTS OF THE CLOCK AND THE CLASSICAL EPIPHANY OF ALBERT EINSTEIN’S TIME DILATION: THERE IS NO MORE FIRMAMENT

 

THE DYING SWAN MOVEMENTS OF THE CLOCK AND THE CLASSICAL EPIPHANY OF ALBERT EINSTEIN’S TIME DILATION: THERE IS NO MORE FIRMAMENT 

The Dying Swan, ballet performed by Anna Pavlova circa 1910

The Dying Swan, ballet performed by Anna Pavlova circa 1910

 

Consciousness-Analogue

Colours are splashed by the sun’s primal meridian

Evoking the silence of silvery nights

Dim light’s ambrosiac reminiscer of the seas

Over a book of Hamlet, recollecting

Ancient coins, stamps, murals and seals

Time’s prolific mistress Ophelia is drowning

Drowning in the indistinguishable ether of memory

At the bottom of the floor the mosaic patterns mirror oblivion

Unoccupied by the birth of a star or a stream that flows by in

Words are radioactive decay of atoms causing collapse

Silence is the superposition

Thinking allows us to master the universe

In the holy Ajna, the sacred fire is the peacock’s wish to dance like the rain

Darker the clouds lighter the burden of the sinuous hills

And as the peaks coiled like serpent’s tail He Fathered the deep symmetry of the race

 

 

Events that become the ground reality of things self-collapsed into one possible nothingness frame

Rest all are mathematical projections of the hyperspace functions

Divine Mother, Mirra Alfassa

Divine Mother, Mirra Alfassa

The candle doesn’t mark the end of time but eternity

As long as we live as ‘one in many’, in the many fields of the Symbolist Movement

Crossing the frontier with Mallarme and Laforgue

Into the dead analogous world of parallel uncertainties

Paris transfigures

As Rome as Venice

The flowers in the garden

Bringing Her glory of the spring

Nestled in the relative harmonics of simultaneity

Sharp like the knife’s edge in the chill delirium

Voices ringing in the far-off shores

Felt the constant stillness of the soul.

The actor suffers to deliverance

The mob cracks; the walls, the fire

‘THERE IS NO MORE FIRMAMENT’

Far and beyond as near to nearness compelling thy light

To manifest itself in the synecdoche of universal bliss.

 

-Joy Roy Choudhury

Ref: ‘There is no more firmament’, one-act surrealist play by French playright Antonin Artaud, 1920s

William Shakespeare’s the Forests of Arden: The Quantum Vauxhall and the Poetics of Shambhala

 

 

William Shakespeare, Monalisa, 2012

Shakespeare, Monalisa 12

William Shakespeare’s the Forests of Arden: The Quantum Vauxhall and the Poetics of Shambhala

Consciousness-Analogue

The mystical belongings of the ancient race can trace itself to the Forests of Arden

Time’s enormity is confined in the quadro-dynamics of the mind’s ear (the history of Sruti from Silence)

The cobble stones that make the road are the feet of your words in a trance like state

A quantum journey that man must partake to reach the prefix of his destiny

Dissolved in that forest of silence, the Brahman is the true Shakti of the magnetic force

The fermions exchange with bosons in the Last Supper of the creation’s rite

Parallel universes do exist in the nano-infinity of the tall tree (the ancient Vauxhall tribe of the Red Indians)

Within the realm of the magnificent architecture, Shambhala opening its gates of freedom

With the closed-aperture of the individual’s camera choice in the whole macrocosm

The bark is the feather of the winged-war horse

That dives into the ocean of everlasting love

Vauxhall Adam/source the Telegraph, UK

Vauxhall Adam/source the Telegraph, UK

To recreate the Dwarka or Alexandria or Rome or Athens

From the sea-voyage of the sun in the moon’s chalice of the midnight sonata

These are revelations of the ancient stone in the khwa-zim-uvra space

Broken harps of platinum may sing that song of the road for ages to come

Connect with that storage information system in the cells

You may receive an answer from the abode of lights.

– Joy Roy Choudhury