The Penetrating Eye

Rabindranath Tagore is perhaps one of the most beautiful and lucid poets that has ever graced a blank page with words and visions that soar and intoxicate with a style that seems effortless in its’ simplicity and charm. He makes the language vibrate at another level that stretches back and forth in Time. I was introduced to his work many years ago and every year, I re-read his numerous poems and short stories which seem more interesting at each reading. With such genius, he himself remained humble and untainted my fame and fortune. In fact, he renounced his knighthood after British troops brutally slaughtered scores of demonstrators in India in 1919. Any form of “ism’ was anathema as he sought a deeper purpose based on spiritual/ethical principles and a hope that a better world was possible rooted in diversity and tolerance of all people.

His vision needs to be resurrected.

Partake in these morsels from various works:

This is the ultimate end of man, to find the One which is in him; which is his truth, which is his soul; the key with which he opens the gate of the spiritual life, the heavenly kingdom.

Whatever we treasure for ourselves separates us from others; our possessions are our limitations.

There are men whose idea of life is tactic, who long for its continuation after death only because of their wish for permanence and not perfection; they love to imagine that the things to which they are accustomed will persist for ever. They completely identify themselves in their minds with their fixed surroundings and with whatever they have gathered, and to have to leave these is death for them. They forget that the true meaning of living is outliving, it is ever growing out of itself.

Truth cannot afford to be tolerant where it faces positive evil.

Want of love is a degree of callousness; for love is the perfection of consciousness. We do not love because we do not comprehend, or rather we do not comprehend because we do not love. For love is the ultimate meaning of everything around us. It is not a mere sentiment; it is truth; it is the joy that is at the root of all creation.

We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility.

We can make truth ours by actively modulating its inter-relations. This is the work of art; for reality is not based in the substance of things but in the principle of relationship. Truth is the infinite pursued by metaphysics; fact is the infinite pursued by science, while reality is the definition of the infinite which relates truth to the person. Reality is human; it is what we are conscious of, by which we are affected, that which we express.

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