Perpetually Perplexed

Thoughts From A Secular Humanist April 20, 2012 by Anita Jose  I have no invisible authority I am not mentally enslaved, I am not an unworthy sinner Who is waiting to be saved. My actions are my own Responsibility for which I will take, Credit for the good and penalty for the bad The payment for my deeds only I can make. I’m not the innocent, confused child; ‘Humble’ messengers try to find, I’m a skeptic with adult reasoning Who has left Faith behind. The answers gifted by logic and reason Are far more appealing to me, I keep searching for the still unknown Not fitting baseless assumptions dishonestly. Morality for me is not derived from an ancient book With tiring tales of brutality and occasional verses of love, To be good and to care for my fellow beings I don’t need promises of gifts from above. The knowledge and wisdom accumulated by science Sincere and provable, without disguise, Is what I find more comforting and reality revealing Tha...

I found some beautiful poems and poetic images in pinterest. Let us start with smallest one.   Next one is by none other than the wonderful poet Maya Angelou

He was lying there Next to foot path In front of a bus-stop But was invisible Was he drunk Or doped Simply asleep Feeling safer Among people We don't know He was invisible No one tried to wake him No one tried to chase him No one even looked at him He was invisible Mother might be praying Child might be dreaming Of dolls he may bring Unaware, he was In a bliss Invisible to all No sympathy from anyone No empathy Not even disgust He did not get a glance In a corner Of a busy road He was lying down Invisible to all

Care Craig Santos Perez My 16-month old daughter wakes from her nap and cries. I pick her up, press her against my chest and rub her back until my palm warms like an old family quilt. “Daddy’s here, daddy’s here,” I whisper. Here is the island of Oʻahu, 8,500 miles from Syria. But what if Pacific trade winds suddenly became helicopters? Flames, nails, and shrapnel indiscriminately barreling towards us? What if shadows cast against our windows aren’t plumeria tree branches, but soldiers and terrorists marching in heat? Would we reach the desperate boats of the Mediterranean in time? If we did, could I straighten my legs into a mast, balanced against the pull and drift of the current? “Daddy’s here, daddy’s here,” I whisper. But am I strong enough to carry her across the razor wires of sovereign borders and ethnic hatred? Am I strong enough to plead: “please, help us, please, just let us pass, please, we aren’t suicide bombs.” Am I strong enough to keep w...

I tried searching for inspiration using stumbleupon , but not closing blogger window. That is real optimism. But inspiration does not work that way. OK. Let me post some thing from my old note book. ನವಜಾತ ಶಿಶುವ ಹೊಳೆಗೆಸೆದ  ಅಮ್ಮ ನೂ ಅಪ್ಪನೂ ಆಗಿ ಸಾಕಿದ ತಂದೆಯೂ ತನ್ನಷ್ಟೇ ಎತ್ತರದ ಮಗನೆದುರು ಪ್ರೇಮ ರೋಗವೆಂದು ಅಳಲಿದಾಗ ಏನು ಮಾಡಬೇಕಿತ್ತು ಈ ದೇವವ್ರತ ಭೀಷ್ಮನಾಗದೇ ? ತೊಟ್ಟ  ಭೀಷ್ಮ  ಶಪಥವ  ಹೊಗಳಿದಾಗ ಎದೆಯುಬ್ಬಿತ್ತು  ಇಂತಹ   ತ್ಯಾಗಿ  ಮನೋ ನಿಗ್ರಹಿ  ಇರಬಲ್ಲರೆ ?  ಅರಿಯದ   ಮುಗುದ  ಮಕ್ಕಳ  - ಅಪ್ಪನ  ಮಕ್ಕಳ ಸಾಕಿ  ಸಲಹಿದೆ  ರಾಜ ಕುವರಿಯರ ಗೆದ್ದು  ತಂದು  ಅವರ  ಮದುವೆಯ  ಮಾಡಿದೇ   ಫಲ ಅಂಬೆಯ ಶಾಪ    ಇಂದು  ಅವರ  ಮೊಮ್ಮಕ್ಕಳು ಒಬ್ಬರನ್ನೊಬ್ಬರು  ಕೊಲ್ಲಲು  ಹೊರಟಾಗ ಕಣ್ಣೀರು  ಹೊರಬಾರದು  ಬಾರದಿರದು  ಇವರ ಪ್ರಶ್ನಿಸಲು ನಾನಿವರ ಅಜ್ಜನೆ? ಅಲ್ಲ, ಇವರು ನನ್ನ   ಸಂತಾನವಲ್ಲ. ಅಖಿಲ ಜೀವ  ಜನ್ತುಗಳೆಲ್ಲ  ಸಂತಾನಕ್ಕಾಗಿಯೇ  ಬದುಕಿ    ಸಾಯುವಾಗ ಯಾವ ಸಾರ್ಥಕತೆಗೆ ಈ ಪ್ರತಿಜ್ಞೆ...

Man sitting under fly over, surrounded by filth Unmindful he eats Mango Heat, stink, screeching vehicles Nothing bothers him Blessed are these people  Children, Mad people and saints Who live life by their own rules