Showing posts with label smaointe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label smaointe. Show all posts

2015-01-16

Deir Mooji:

Deir Mooji:

“Gach aon smaoineamh agus gach aon anáil, is anáil agus is smaoineamh é a tharlaíonn san airdeall; agus is sinne an t-airdeall sin, an t-airdeall sin gan smaoineamh gan anáil.”

 “Nuair a shocraíonn an aigne síos agus í díreach anseo anois, ní aigne a thugtar uirthi a thuilleadh. An Féin atá inti. An Féin a bhí inti riamh.”

“D’fhéadfadh smaoineamh a bheith agat: ‘Tá gach rud go breá anois, ach beidh sé difriúil nuair a théim an doras amach.’ Cheana féin tá tú ag smaoineamh ar do threascairt. Tuig nach bhfuil iontu ach smaointe. Féadann tú breathnú orthu, sin uile, a dtarraingt a mhothú ach fós féin iad a thabhairt faoi ndeara mar ghluaiseacht sa chomhfhios. Fan socair san airdeall éagruthach.”

“Níl aon chruth ag uisce, is dual dó rith. Cuir i vása é agus glacfaidh sé cruth an vása. Sa chupán seo, tá cruth an chupáin air. . .  Ach tá an t- uisce féin gan chruth. Is é an dála céanna ag an gcomhfhios é, atá níos fíneáilte ná uisce. Níl aon chruth aige ach glacann sé foirm an choincheapa a ndóirtear ann é nó an fhoirm a shamhlaíonn sé é féin léi, ach ní hí an fhoirm sin í. Is é a nádúr síoraí a bheith gan fhoirm.”

 “Téigh lastall de gach ní. Ná bailigh aon ní. Ní gá don rí dul ag siopadóireacht ina ríocht féin. Ná ní lorgaíonn sé déirc… Aon ní dá dtarlaíonn níl ann ach stuif a nochtann sa chomhfhios. Ná bac leis sin go léir. Glac do scíth san airdeall. Sin an méid.”

 “Gabh buíochas leis an Spiorad mór istigh as gach a bhfuil sa saol. Is tíolacadh é an uile ní, milis is searbh. Is ann dóibh ar mhaithe le fás is saoirse is ceiliúradh. Bí sona.”

“Ní gá duit riamh do luach féin a chruthú mar tá tú cheana féin iomlán istigh mar pháiste ionúin Dé. Bí sona.”

“Ní lasmuigh díot féin atá an t-áthas agus an tsíocháin. Aimsítear istigh ionat féin iad, mar is iad do nádúr féin iad.”

“Déan do mhachnamh ar an mbrí atá le bheith ‘Anseo’ go hiomlán agus ‘Anois’ go hiomlán. Chuige sin, caithfear gach ní eile a thréigean; bí anseo-anois, sin uile, sa láithreacht chomhfhiosach. Sin is Croí ann. Sin is Féin ann.”

“Níl ‘spéis’ ag an té atá stiúgtha i mbia agus níl ‘spéis’ ag an té atá á bhá san aer. An té a shantaíonn Saoirse, ní ‘spéis’ atá san Fhéin-eolas ach riachtanas.”

“Níl Ann ach Anois, agus is tusa é sin. Fan mar sin.”

“Más mian leat gáire a bhaint as Dia, inis do chuid pleananna Dó.”

“Níl ann ach an fhoirfeacht.

Tá an fhoirfeacht le feiceáil gach áit.

Ach caithfidh na súile a bheith agat i dtosach chun í a fheiceáil.”

“Ná dean tatúnna de na ráitis seo. Fan ar oscailt, ciúin agus gabhálach agus oibreoidh an grásta ort go nádúrtha.”

2015-01-15

Teagascóir Mór: Mooji

Deisceabal de chuid Papaji is ea Mooji.
 
Tá scata físeán anseo a thugann léargas ar Advaita nó neamhdhéachas (Non-Duality):


Conas smaointe a chur ar ceal? Sin í an cheist! Ní gá biúró inimirce a chur ar bun a deir Mooji, maidir le smaointe ag teacht is ag imeacht. Ní gá a rá leis an smaoineamh seo, 'Tá cead isteach agat' is leis an smaoineamh eile, 'Níl cead isteach agat'. Tagann is imíonn smaointe. Ná bac leo. 'Ní líontar riamh bolg na haigne!' a deir sé.

Ach cad a tharlóidh nuair a bheidh an aigne folamh? Faigh amach!

2013-06-13

The Responsibility of Poets

As comhrá reatha: 

It is good that we constantly return to the responsibility of poets in today's world.I believe that modern western civilisation has caused a spiritual and mental  paralysis among many poets and artists across all disciplines.Currently, myself and fellow-translator Hans-Christian Oeser, are working on our thirteenth trilingual volume together, German, English and Irish. This time it is the poems of Martin Walser (found in diaries and other writings). In my Afterword I intend to write something along these lines:
It is no wonder to me that Martin Walser wrote his Ph.D dissertation on Kafka. After all, there's something Kafkaesquely wrong with the world he lives in - that we all live in - some kind of psychosis. Is that not so? Who suffers from this psychosis? The community/ society, the writer, the reader? All of us, of course. In his prose and in his poetry, we feel that various characters seem to be suffering various crises, the writer included, and happiness seems very far off indeed.

Such themes in modern literature have made  addicts of the reading public - and of anyone who watches a play, a TV entertainment or a film; we need our dose of pessimism, of despair and of cynicism since anything pleasant or happy or humane, or innocent would strike us as lacking veracity. That's the way it is. We need this pain. The irony. The mockery. The violence.
And yet, Walser is called by some a Heimatdichter. He wants to go home. Wouldn't we all! He would like to escape from the Kafkaesque maze, escape from the German shame of two world wars and the concentration camps. Can we escape from history? Reading and translating his poems, I found myself trapped in a Kafkaesque world. This was not created by Kafka, or Walser. It is we who have created this world. What must we do? Break it, break this world?


ich muß es zerschlagen
bevor es Nacht wird

This world of consumerism, this world of depersonalisation. Can we open our mouths about it? No, the modern condition is paralysis. Walser says if he opened his mouth he might scream:
ich weiß, er will schreien

The sickness of western society is such that it needs a crisis to be whole again. Walser is typical of the ennui, cynicism and disenchantment that pervades an awful lot of modern writing in the West. I have always done my best to avoid being infected by this dis-ease, a word I deliberately hyphenate. An early interest in macrobiotics, Transcendental Meditation and haiku, for starters, as well as minority cultures, all combined to work as an antidote to the dis-ease of the West. And so we look at the diseased patient and ask, what now? A crisis?

This is what we are waiting for, what we expect to happen to the patient: a crisis. Is it happening already? Or do we see just a few twitches here and there?