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My Life's Soul-Journey: Daily Meditations for Ever-Increasing Spiritual Fulfillment

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Sri Chinmoy
Sri Chinmoy

Sri Chinmoy was an Indian-American author, poet, musician, and yoga instructor. Born on August 27, 1931, and passed away on October 11, 2007, he is renowned for his extensive literary works, musical compositions, and the promotion of yoga. more

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“সময়ের সঙ্গে সঙ্গে সুখ বদলে গিয়ে দুঃখ হয়ে যায়। দুঃখ হয় সুখ। জীবনের প্রবল দুঃখ ও বেদনার ঘটনাগুলি মনে পড়লে আজ আমার ভালো লাগে। প্রাচীন সুখের স্মৃতিতে বুক বেদনায় ভারাক্রান্ত হয়।”

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“Outside he hurried again, for he had several blocks to walk and the beer turned out to be no more than cool. He told himself he would remember next time to deal from the bottom - but the civil sirens sounded, surprising him with his silly private thought. That's what they blow them for. Thought is a national product, issued, like survival, on a day to day basis. There you go. Until tomorrow. When he understood this would be a long one today, he hurried on.”

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Book:Wall to Wall
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“Is it possible to become friends with a butterfly?" "It is if you first become a part of nature. You suppress your presence as a human being, stay very still, and convince yourself that you are a tree or grass or a flower. It takes time, but once the butterfly lets its guard down, you can become friends quite naturally." ... " ... I come here every day, say hello to the butterflies, and talk about things with them. When the time comes, though, they just quietly go off and disappear. I'm sure it means they've died, but I can never find their bodies. They don't leave any trace behind. It's like they've been absorbed by the air. They're dainty little creatures that hardly exist at all: they come out of nowhere, search quietly for a few, limited things, and disappear into nothingness again, perhaps to some other world.”

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“Minutes passed by. A little blue butterfly landed on my nose. I blinked at it and it fluttered to my ear. A big yellow butterfly gently floated over and landed on my paw. Soon a whole swarm of them floated up and down around me, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened in my backyard, too, if the magic was strong enough. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason I made them feel safe and they gravitated to me like iron shavings to a magnet. They ruined my ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies. If a baby deer frolicked out from between the buildings trying to cuddle up, I would roar. I wouldn’t bite it, but I would roar. I had my limits.”

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