The Southern fringes of your temple wall

Diese Angst treibt sich um
Greift um
Kaum noch mich atmen lassen

Take care of thyself. Though art a poet!

From flurry to field – home to a group of sheep unsuspected of any crimes as yet not committed
at a time when stem cells could mend broken hearts.

Much has been talked about what motivates human behaviour, what drives the likes of them and us to follow instincts, for that’s what we must define as instincts: the inter-relation between desires and natural force – and follow them to the edge of death.
There is this un-affectionate term – Micro-Maslow – which seems apt and rather unappreciative of our apparent higher status in nature.
Consistently driven to move up and down the hierarchy, mostly moving around the physiological and safety. Only when these matters are satisfied, the striving for higher becomes an option.
What determines the importance of their needs, priorities and practicalities. Some of which can be explained, others that defy all known, primordial logic.

What happens when we abandon all basic necessity, our purpose moves up the hierarchy of needs?

Now does a Buddhist monk not have to follow the call of nature? Of course, being part of nature means following its basic needs – just as all animals are required to do – ,perhaps we can count the physiological, safety and concerns for love to the natural needs, and slowly transition to self-esteem, confidence in one’s soul and abilities while showing the utmost respect towards others (including non-humans), and finally the consistent striving for self-realisation with its creativity, acceptance and moral understanding.

Yes, it is lonely at the top

With self-realisation, we can learn from a principle in yoga: the body is the physical manifestation of our being; it is the shell that expresses and represents one’s self and only when we regularly tend to it kindly, we build a comforting home for the soul that lives within.
Hold a pose, focus on the movement of your breath, and spend time in the temple of your body.

I had warned her: but she was a poet!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.