Is all that comes our way Sent by You, do please say, Meant so that we can grow? Do tell us, I’d love to know.   In that way, we would be clear Why things occur on Earth here, Then alone our hearts can rest, Fully certain it’s all for our best, For, it must be so if all deeds You do, And what comes our way is sent by You.

Is Your world a comedy mere (Though it may not so appear), A strange joke of a giant sort, Your mere fun, just Your sport (Though to us who feel its pain, This may not be clear or plain)?   If this is so, could I ask You The reason why thus You do, For, many who its pain endure May pine for it to be no more? But is their pining Your joke, too? This none else knows, only You!

Do what you must, but not more, Else, your life may become a chore, A burden you feel too heavy to bear, A tiresome, onerous, tedious affair.   Why make your life heavy and tough? Your duty you do, and that is enough. Each their own assigned tasks must do, Doing others’ tasks is just not for you.   Focus on the work that’s in your share, To do any more why should you care? If that you do, life very painful may be, Then don’t complain about it to me!

How foolish we humans can be, Our folly we often refuse to see. In our blindness how we forget, That what we give, that we’ll get.   This Great Law we should know, That we must reap what we sow. If this one truth we’re made aware, Of our deeds we might take better care.

In what manner do we view Each day we get that's new: As a load that’s heavy to bear, Burdensome, with many a care, Or, another chance for us to grow And on a new adventure to go?   About the new day what we tell Makes it turn out poorly or well. How a new day we choose to see Is how it actually turns out to be!

Who reads these lines, are they in vain? What use are they, these words plain? What purpose, if any, do they serve? Do they anyone’s attention deserve? Or, are they just mad ramblings mere, To which no one truly cares to hear, And so, a sheer waste, of just no worth, These words that from the heart take birth. Is it that there’s really no point, nor gain, In this outpouring of the heart’s pain?

There must be a reason why You’ve given to me this ‘I’, This ‘I’ that ‘I’ now can see Is such a big burden for me.   And of ‘me’ itself ‘I’ want no more, Bearing its load is a heavy chore. This ‘I’ and ‘me’ now please take, These, they say, are only just fake.   Then, no more ‘I’ or ‘me’, only You, The truth of things being seen through, And in this way, coming to know That ‘we’ aren’t as ‘we’ think so, That ‘I’ and ‘me’ are fictions mere, And ‘mine’, that’s to ‘us’ so dear,

With acts of kindness, even just a nod, Please fill our each new day, dear God. Much more than this what can we do? For the plain fact is that we aren’t You.   This being so, we can do only so much (We being mere frail mortals as such). We can’t, like You, a vast world create, Nor overturn the whole cosmos’s fate.   Many more things are beyond our ken (After all, we’re just very weak men). But this we can do, with Your grace: Bring a generous smile to our face, Help a bird or

Does our life on Earth—our short stay here, between birth and death (a matter of a mere few decades at the most)—have an objective, pre-given ultimate purpose? Human beings have likely pondered on this question for as long as they have been on Earth, and yet, they have not been able to come even remotely close to a unanimous conclusion so far. Further, there is no sign at all that they ever will. While some people believe that our life here does have such an ultimate purpose,

If a person of somewhat sane mind Were in a madhouse themselves to find, Would they want therein to stay? No! They’d pine to be taken away!   This world as a madhouse I see, That is quite how it seems to me, This sometimes I like to believe, And so, from here I’d like to leave.   But on my own I can’t be so bold, I just can’t leave unless I’m told By the One who has sent me here, In this great madhouse to appear.   It’s He who this madhouse owns, This abode of shrieks and gro

I would be lying if I said I’d rather not be dead. Frankly, if I may say so, I’d be very happy to go. If I were to die right now, With no pain, just somehow, I’d embrace it with great glee, At last from here to be free! But, that said, I know full well, I must stay here until You tell That I must come back to You, When it’s just the right time to. On finishing what I’m here for, There remaining nothing more, You Yourself will take me away, Until then, it’s here I must stay.

This new day how will I spend? What would You recommend? You must tell, for wasn’t it You Who brought me to this day new? And You must grant me all I need To make this day well-spent indeed, Every moment used in manner such That together they'd count for much, So that, on the whole, this new day I will spend in the best possible way!

Is this Your drama, or is it not? Come on, tell me what is what, All these actions that get done: Is it just Your way of having fun, Some sport in which You engage On this enormous cosmic stage, With You doing all that may occur: Is this what we should infer?   Now hurry up and please tell me: All around all the deeds we see, And far beyond, elsewhere, too, Is all this being done just by You, For a reason that we don’t know, Tell me, Dear, is this really so? Is it truly, as s

If Earth were yours, I might say, “Yes, Sirs, here have your way. Do just as you wish, as its king, As sole owner of its everything. Its course now you alone dictate, Decreeing here each being’s fate”. But this truth you should know, That, in actual fact, this isn’t so, And you’re all, like us, the rest, On Earth as a mere short-term guest, Sent by the One who this world owns, Who hears the cries and pitiful groans Of all those many whom you oppress, While you yourself seek t

When my stay here comes to an end, And no tasks remain for me to attend,  Please make me sink into the Deep And enjoy the bliss of endless sleep, No more then may I again awake, Oh grant this, please, for my sake! Dreamless sleep, with no thought: Is this just too much to be sought? A harmless favour, so I might think, In such deep sleep to forever sink. Hear me, Dear, and heed my plea, Won’t You do this thing for me? Grant me please this one request: In deepest sleep such et

How you fight over a bit of land! Come, now let your minds expand. Think of how big this world is, This humungous universe of His. The whole of it, its every part, From endless end to its start, Belongs to Him, He owns it all. If this one fact you recall It might make you realise That you just aren’t being wise In warring over a mere dot In the vast cosmos, is it not? Friends dear, your folly cease, Come now to your senses please.

Men again march off to war, Now, just as since long before, Thinking others to be their foe. Lord, please make them know That every being is but Yours: Maybe this will stop all wars.   Make them also come to discern That all beings here are, in turn, Forms in which You alone parade, For, in every atom You pervade, And, if that is so, this point is true: That all beings here are only You.   On this firm basis we can proclaim That all beings are one, or the same, And, if this f

What more purpose could there be Of our life on Earth for you and me Than in kindness for us to grow, This is what I’ve come to know: Being kind to whoever we can, And not just to our fellow man, But all beings who come our way, Even to objects that people say Are inanimate and so are lifeless: Treating them, too, with kindness. And ourselves we mustn’t forget, Our own needs let’s not neglect, To ourselves also we must be kind, Caring for our soul, body and mind. Besides all

You men think that you possess This world, its Masters no less, That you are Earth's big boss, And can inflict on it any loss, And all of it is yours to rule, But oh how yourself you fool, For this fact you should know, That from Earth when you go, Your deeds will go along as well, And pave for you your own hell. Now you laugh, then you’ll weep, For your deeds’ fruits you’ll reap. In your pride you refuse to heed That there’s a Lord of all indeed, Who, not you, is the world’s

Do the work that you need, More than that don’t exceed. When you have no work to do Sit in silence a moment or two, Or more than that if you can, And your mind gently scan. Listen to the voice that’s inside (What is called the ‘Inner Guide’). Pay heed to what it might say, And in that state continue to stay, Till when again the time may come For work that you must get done, Then, when this work you complete, The same thing you can again repeat.