Another day now draws to a close, There’ll be a tomorrow, I suppose, Perhaps another will then arrive, And maybe I’ll still be on Earth alive To see another day’s dimming light And the onset of a soft, quiet night, But who knows how long this will repeat? It must end one day, when death I’ll meet.

You handle all of our cares, You take care of our affairs, What, at all, do we have to do? Nothing, for all is done by You. At best, our part is just this one: Witnessing You getting things done.

Ah, sweet friend Death I see, Rushing in a hurry towards me, Ever since I came to Earth here He’s been racing increasingly near, Outstretched hands held up high, A smile on his lips from afar I spy, How eagerly, like a long-lost friend, I see him speeding round the bend, Delighted, it seems, at the thought Of soon gaining what he’s long sought: To hold me, at last, in a tight embrace, And telling me what I must now face.

Joyfully I can greet each new day If I know You’re with me all the way, If this fact You make me understand: All through You’re holding my hand.

To life they don’t cling, for death they don’t pine, For them, either state of being is just equally fine.

Often, we respond to others’ behaviour towards us (whether ‘good’ and ‘bad’, as we might perceive it) by behaving in just the same way (with them and even with others). In doing so, we become like them. Because of this, we can become like the person whose behaviour we appreciate. But it can also happen that because of this, we become like the person whose behaviour we don’t appreciate, and so, our behaviour may begin to mirror theirs. From this we can learn to be mindful of t

There’s a Master Plan in place For each being on Earth’s face, So that what here they go through, And all the deeds they seem to do By God’s Will these all get done, And in this, choice they have none, For God the Sole Willer and Doer is, So that all happenings here are His.

The freewill we think we possess: What if it’s sheer delusion, no less, And we aren’t free to act at all (Though deeds’ doers ourselves we call), And that all deeds that here occur Are done by Him to whom as ‘God’ we refer, Sole Doer, acting through our body-mind To perform all deeds, of every kind, As He wills, just as He pleases, And from this He never ceases, So that in His Universe that’s so vast, Now, today, just as in the past, It’s His Will alone that does prevail, And

One day, please wipe our tears, And put to rest all our fears, Born from being here on Earth, Where You made us take birth, For Your purpose to pursue, You’ll do all that, won’t You? Then, hide us deep in Your heart, From where we must never depart.

The sole purpose we are here On Earth, for a short time mere Is to serve as an instrument Of the Divine to implement Its Will through the body-mind Which to be ‘us’ we’ve opined (Although no such ‘us’ exists, Being a myth that still persists), For the purpose of God’s game, With all beings here it’s the same.

Are all deeds we seem to do Actually done by none but You Through what we’ve defined As our very own body-mind, These being forms that You take For Your strange game’s sake, In which all deeds You enact, You being the Sole Doer in fact, Other than you there being none In the world who gets deeds done?

We can craft for us our own personal ‘Scripture’ With our every thought, word, deed and gesture.

Come, see how finely he regales His flock with those foolish tales That hail from times so very old, Which for aeons have been retold, What as ‘God’s Own Word’ they call (Mere lies for which vast millions fall), These myths absurd, all most bizarre, From both logic and ethics very far. In silence I watch while he continues Loudly haranguing the packed pews. From him I turn, then to myself I ask, “How can this man take on the task Of reciting those tales, day in and out, Dem

Suppose you were placed in a kitchen and given a box containing assorted vegetables, fruits, spices and condiments, to do with them just as you pleased. There might be several things you could then set about doing. For instance, you could rustle up a fine meal, using the contents of the box to cook one or more healthy and delicious dishes. On the other hand, if you were in a lazy mood, you might mix all the contents of the box together to produce a foul-tasting hash or a blan

This tome’s from God, so you say, But I must insist, ‘Oh no! No way! For, this I’ve now come to realise: It abounds in absurdities and lies. Use reason’s gift God gave to you, Then you might see as I now do. O come out of the dread and fear That make you this tome revere, Because you think you’ll go to Hell If you doubt what the tome does tell. As ‘God’s Own Word’ to it you cling, But, in actual fact, it’s no such thing. If this one simple fact is understood, You’ll rejec

When we reach here our stay’s end, To this question maybe we’ll attend: "What good value did I add Through this life here that I had To the stock of goodness on Earth, Where I was made to take birth, And was made so long to stay, From where I’ll soon go away?"

May this truth we understand: The vast cosmos is ‘Holy Land’, Yes, in fact, the whole of it, And not just one tiny bit!

Among the greatest blessings a person can enjoy is an intimate, loving relationship with their parents. This was one great blessing that eluded me, particularly after I reached adolescence, especially with regard to my late father. Our relations, for the most part, were strained, and remained so right until he passed on. The fact is that my father and I hardly knew each other. We were to each other almost like strangers. In any relationship between two or more people, each of

There is a phrase in a certain language that roughly translates as ‘A human being is a bundle of mistakes’. This phrase indicates that making mistakes (understood here as an action that one later comes to regard as wrong) is something intrinsic to human beings and can be regarded as one of their distinguishing features. Of none of the millions of other species or life-forms that exist in the universe, including animals, fish, birds and plants, do we say that they err or make

By Flippy Binkles Dolcy and Chinny lived in a big apartment complex named ‘Peep Ho Woods’, in a crowded city called Bingle Bo. The little kids were brother and sister and dearly loved their pretty cat, Cherry, who lived with them. Ginger, a cuddly and friendly outdoor cat, was a frequent visitor to their home: he would drop in almost every day for lunch. The kids loved going to their school, which had a big playground. But the part of the city where they lived was very crow