If you know the answers lie within, To seek them without is surely a sin. It’s like travelling North when, instead, South is just where you want to head.   This is a folly that vast millions commit: To someone else they themselves submit, And so, they turn into a groveling slave, Of a fraud, a trickster, of a vile knave.     Forbid yourself from being so led astray, Blindly following what other folks say. To none else ever hand over your mind, Within yourself the answers you’

Neither curse nor bless, It’s His drama, no less, This you must know, Observe and let go.

Words galore, they now make no sense, A burden insufferable, and thus, hence, I can’t get myself to read, or even to look, At more than a mere few lines in a book Of the sort in which I once took delight, Ah! May they vanish far from my sight! Take them away, this books’ giant heap, No longer all these do I desire to keep!

I have a religion of my own, That’s exclusive to me alone: With the Inner Voice to connect, And to do just as it may expect, To listen to what It might say, And to this to carefully obey.   This, then, in a form that’s small, Is what ‘my own religion’ I call.

We, like David, our own psalms can write, Know this to be pleasing in the Lord’s sight. A psalm is a song that to God is addressed, To make your own is a work that’s blessed. Words of praise that in our hearts arise, Be they long or short, whatever the size, Through which our hearts we can express, Yes, these can be sacred psalms, no less!

In Your lap my head I keep, Put me now to deep sleep. My request please satisfy: To this world make me die, In You to live forever more. This is all that I ask You for. Grant me please this request If You know it's for my best.

Is this all the reason why We are here until we die: To sleep, work, eat and play, Doing the same day after day?   A purpose grander there’s for sure, That's meaningful so much more, For which we were sent down here, Being made on Earth to appear.   To know this, to You we must turn, For only You can make us discern, You alone can to us make clear Why it is You've placed us here. And if for us this thing You’ll do, We might live more as we ought to.

Each one’s life is itself a book, If at it we care to closely look. Our life’s book we ought to read, Let's cognize this one vital need. Enough in it there is to entertain, Of good and bad, of joy and pain, And lessons that all of us can learn, Wisdom, too, which we can discern From mistakes and fine deeds done: Precious learning that’s for everyone. A book in itself, of our life it can be said, That’s truly most worthy of being read!

Give all your worries to the Lord, Such a burden we just can’t afford, And why this load should we bear, When to carry it our Lord is there? Ever-willing is He our load to take, So, let’s give it to Him, for our sake. Yes, let’s hand it all over to the Lord, And then we can rest, fully assured. Not for a moment need we take it on, Giving it to Him, from us it’ll be gone!

With petty concerns see how they obsess, For purposes higher they couldn’t care less. In hate and strife how much they delight, And in proudly declaring wrong to be right. This being their life’s one purpose overall, What else but madness can one this call?   For these folks who have gone so far astray, To the Lord, come, let’s in some words pray, That He with His wisdom them will now bless, So that they’ll come out of this terrible mess, And that then of their life what may

Some years ago, at the peak of summer, I took my then 86 year-old father to hospital as his health had been deteriorating. I was hopeful that his condition would improve and that he would get better and stronger, but God had other plans. He did not come out of the hospital alive.   My father had two close friends—let me call them Uncle La and Uncle Ja—who were more or less his age. The trio had been through their college days in the same city, having stayed in the same hostel

Your foolish tales all I’ve now spurned, Believing them, oh what pain I'd earned! Them all I refuse and most firmly reject, They're just baseless myths, so I suspect.   What horrors these tales have produced! To an abject state many they’ve reduced, Millions fooled into believing a mere lie, And in ‘faith’’s name being made to die.   Ah to what madness these tales have led, And fear, hate, war, and such awful dread,   Be off, and speak no more of them to me, I know them now t

Oh how we trembled, oh how we feared! Oh how real to us all your talk appeared, From books you cited from the distant past That drowned us in terror, leaving us aghast. ‘The Word of the Lord’ this was, so you said (We knew not it was your handiwork instead).   The god of whom you with fervent faith spoke, And whose name you’d so passionately invoke, Was swift to anger, and so he we did dread. In his name, oh my, such misery you spread!   You spoke of the Devil, oh this scared

In this world where You’ve put me, For sixty years now or so maybe, If here for me You’ve not much use, Please heed my prayer and not refuse: Take me now from here somewhere, A place where I’ll much better fare In being of some good use to You. This I request, the same please do.

If time lies heavy on my hands, You ensure my vision expands, My life with true purpose infuse, Make me put it to the best use, So that when You I’ll get to face, You’ll assure me that my case, While on Your Earth I was kept, Was not one of being inept In the use of the time I had, But that, in fact, You are glad That, on the whole, it went well, On this Your Earth my short spell.

From boredom’s tedium please us relieve, Forever from it please grant us reprieve. Not even a moment please allow to pass For which we might be led to cry “Alas!”. May every moment that to us You’ll give From now on, on this Your Earth to live Be employed by us in such a good way That in great gladness to us You may say: “Ah! To Me it gives the greatest delight That you spent this time in a manner right!”

It’s You who us for nine months kept Safe in a dark womb, where we slept, Then, when You took us from there, In this world also of us You took care. All that we needed You did arrange, This seems to be oh so very strange! Each need that we had You fully met, Nothing did You leave out or forget, Needs we had of every size and kind, Of soul and body and heart and mind, And so, I think maybe henceforth, too, The very same thing for us You'll do, In which case, we have no need to

Since this disease it’s You who gave, From it me it’s You who must save. No longer am I willing to endure, Come, rush in, and be the cure. Make me whole, with perfect health bless, I now refuse to settle for anything less.

‘The Holy Land’: this is what they tell, As if only there You happen to dwell. With brutal wars even in our own day That show no sign of ever going away, Over this land their fierce rival claims May even set Your Earth up in flames. Things there are turning much worse, So one wonders if it’s all just a curse, And not some great blessing, after all, This as ‘The Holy Land’ what they call.

From me those tomes all please take, Do me this favour, please, for my sake. Those books once gave me great delight, But now I can’t stand even their sight!   Ah! How much on them I did spend, Of time and of money I did expend! “Knowing is good, knowing much is best”, So, I once thought, like many of the rest.   But then I came this fact to know, The truth that this is not always so. Mere knowing can be of just no use, The ego how it can cleverly seduce!   Volumes one may be