Yeh Kaun Chitrakaar Hai

Movie: Boond Jo Ban Gayi Moti
Singer(s): Mukesh
Lyricist: Bharat Vyas

हरी हरी वसुंधरा पे नीला नीला ये गगन
कि जिसपे बादलो की पालकी उड़ा रहा पवन
दिशाएं देखो रंग भरी चमक रहीं उमंग भरी
ये किसने फूल फूल पे किया श्रृंगार है
ये कौन चित्रकार है ये कौन चित्रकार

तपस्वियों सी हैं अटल ये पर्वतों की चोटियां
ये सर्प सी घुमेरदार घेरदार घाटियां
ध्वजा से ये खड़े हुए हैं वृक्ष देवदार के
गलीचे ये गुलाब के बगीचे ये बहार के
ये किस कवि की कल्पना का चमत्कार है
ये कौन चित्रकार है ये कौन चित्रकार

कुदरत की इस पवित्रता को तुम निहार लो
इसके गुणों को अपने मन में तुम उतार लो
चमका लो आज लालिमा अपने ललाट की
कण कण से झांकती तुम्हें छवि विराट की
अपनी तो आँख एक है उसकी हजार है
ये कौन चित्रकार है ये कौन चित्रकार

A student once asked master Bassui ‘Are you…

A student once asked master Bassui, ‘Are you saying that someone who sees his own nature and is free from delusion is innocent of error, even if he does something which breaks the Buddhist precepts?’ He replied, ‘If someone’s actions come from their essential nature, how could they be breaking the precepts?’

The Tables Turned – William Wordsworth

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

Where is the unity, the meaning, of nature’s highest creation?

“Because children grow up, we think a child’s purpose is to grow up. But a child’s purpose is to be a child. Nature doesn’t disdain what lives only for a day. It pours the whole of itself into the each moment. We don’t value the lily less for not being made of flint and built to last. Life’s bounty is in its flow, later is too late. Where is the song when it’s been sung? The dance when it’s been danced? It’s only we humans who want to own the future, too. We persuade ourselves that the universe is modestly employed in unfolding our destination. We note the haphazard chaos of history by the day, by the hour, but there is something wrong with the picture. Where is the unity, the meaning, of nature’s highest creation? Surely those millions of little streams of accident and wilfulness have their correction in the vast underground river which, without a doubt, is carrying us to the place where we’re expected! But there is no such place, that’s why it’s called utopia. The death of a child has no more meaning than the death of armies, of nations. Was the child happy while he lived? That is a proper question, the only question. If we can’t arrange our own happiness, it’s a conceit beyond vulgarity to arrange the happiness of those who come after us.”

Tom Stoppard, The Coast of Utopia