The spiritual optimist
Optimists are forward-looking people, they live in tomorrow in a better world. To be an optimist is a sign of wisdom. The spiritual optimism comes from a true and deep perception of our deliverance in the Divine, in His beauty, joy and harmony. So, all we have to watch is that we do not harbor any unhelpful, sad, gloomy, tragic, dangerous and destructive imaginations. Instead, we should always imagine happy, beautiful, harmonious, helpful thoughts and feelings. They have a tremendous power of creation. The dreamers create the new world.
Sri Aurobindo says something like this: “God dreams and Time realizes His dreams.”
Let us find our soul, which is always one with the Divine, then dream. Then we will not be able to do anything else, for we shall constantly be dreaming God’s own dream. God is never unhappy. Tragedy is the lot of the broken pot, but not of the Potter.
White Dreams, Blue Dream
White dreams, blue dreams, my golden dreams…
I see a magic city rise amidst barren cliffs,
Cathedrals replace the hills, children blossom in fields,
Perennial rivers flow through the hungry desert lips,
Little springs push aside giant boulders of granite.
I see priceless diamonds mingled with broken glass and odd bits,
In possession of amateur thieves and treasure hunters.
As in a pantomime I see a pauper walk by in tatters
And a heavenly escort carrying the royal robe and his scepter.
Behind your agonised face tortured with fury
I see the joy and thrill of an accidental encounter.
The swift point of your bayonet going deep into my heart
Is but love’s tremendous search for a kindred sentiment.
Faded buds discarded on muddy roadsides
Gather on Beauty’s brow as a laurel of evergreen life.
Funny masks, those faces which barely hide the actors,
Still funnier the roles played by those comedians.
To go ahead, they march backwards,
To acquire love, they turn away from the Beloved,
To see and feel the joy of Oneness,
They walk blindfold and cut up their souls
Into unrecognisable twisted segments.
Adieu, black dreams, adieu sad and somber dreams,
Come blue dreams, white dreams, come happy golden dreams.
Inheritors of Bliss, we can toy with pain and death,
Born out of Love, we must savor its poignant shades
Assured of our single Origin, we sever the roots from the Tree.
The real becomes an illusion with each new awakening.
Each grain of sand in a galaxy contains another star city.
The night conceals in her robes in ever-new unborn sun.
Each waking is a deeper dream,
A blue dream, a white dream and a golden dream.