Great grief does not of itself put an end itself.
[Lat., Magnus sibi ipse non facit finem dolor.]

Great grief does not of itself put an end itself.
[Lat., Magnus sibi ipse non facit finem dolor.]

Go not for every grief to the physician, nor for every quarrel to the lawyer, nor for every thirst to read more

Go not for every grief to the physician, nor for every quarrel to the lawyer, nor for every thirst to the pot.

My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells read more

My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul

To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes read more

To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness

In all the silent manliness of grief.

In all the silent manliness of grief.

FIRE HAS LEFT THE HEARTH
Fire has left the hearth
Nautilus climbed from shell
Perfume flowed from read more

FIRE HAS LEFT THE HEARTH
Fire has left the hearth
Nautilus climbed from shell
Perfume flowed from bottle
Prisoner gone from cell
Butterfly flutterbied cocoon
nor hand restrained by glove
Jesus away from manger
Cage left by Spirit Dove.
Sparklings soared away from wand.
Chick's egg become the bird.
Omkar sung from out the throat
Violin's notes now heard.
Buddhist temple pine cone
tabernacle'd godlet seed
Shattered that it might manifest
thousand forests of fir tree
Eternal snow of mountain top
now nurses meadow flowers.
Shining never held by sun
relentless melts ice towers.
Love has left its
spring the heart
Is now a liquid pond
Host stolen from the chalice
consumed in mouth of God
Starlight abandoned star
a billion years ago
Left that tonight you
might
have its sight
and know
Know Love is forever
no drop of God ever dies
Lover not bound by form of love
God's bodies are not God's souls
(to his wife and children
on the death of Robert S)
(Baba Hari Das: is the author
of love is more powerful than
lover for love is not bound by
form).

There is a solemn luxury in grief.

There is a solemn luxury in grief.

Excess of grief for the dead is madness; for it is an injury to the living, and the dead know read more

Excess of grief for the dead is madness; for it is an injury to the living, and the dead know it not.

Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep read more

Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep the world in such a strain
As it should deluge once again;
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies
More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes,
I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds
And write thy epitaph in blood and wounds.