Realm Of.life Quotes

There are powers far beyond us, plans far beyond what we could have ever thought of, visions far more vast than what we can ever see on our own with our own eyes, there are horizons long gone beyond our own horizons. This is courage- to throw away what is our own that is limited and to thrust ourselves into the hands of these higher powers- God and Destiny.To do this is to abide in the realm of the eternal, to walk in the path of the everlasting to follow in the footprints of God and demi-gods. The hardest part for man is the letting go. For some reason, he thinks himself big enough to know and to see what's good for him. But in the letting go........is found freedom. In the letting go........ is found the flight!

No matter how frequently you visit the realm of dreams, you will inevitably confront the unvarnished truth. However, our truth is so much bitter that not even the entirety of the world's sugar can sweeten it.

We're all stuck between the realm of our desires, their possibilities and the realities of life.

Sensuality opens you up to realms of ecstasy that your sexuality can’t even begin to comprehend.

That’s why I usually say, sex is what you think you want until you taste sensuality. Because sensuality opens you up to realms of ecstasy that your sexuality can’t even begin to comprehend.

Self is an illusory by-product of the brain's response to the environment, with the purpose of survival of life. However, within the subjective realm of the human mind, due to higher brain capacities, the self is capable of creating its own illusory purpose, in an attempt to provide meaning in life.

Cat knew she'd arrived in Gaia's realm once she saw the Tree of Life, the foundation for all that was above and below.... The Tree of Life, no matter what religion one embraced, was a symbol of consanguinity. It was the universal representation of all that exists. Its network of connections matched that of a forest of aspen trees. Everything was interconnected and all of the roots led back to one source - the creators of all life.

We are a team A beautiful dream Like stones in a stream A literary realm Inspiring everybody to dream!

It was a happy day when I discovered that in the English of Chaucer's day - which was also the time of the Black Death - the word "silly" meant "blessed." I am not sure when we strayed away from its original meaning, when blessedness took on a churchy aura and silliness became the realm of Monty Python and fourth-grade eschatological humor. As hard-working adults we too often lose the gift for letting go, for delight in simply being. We persuade ourselves that every moment must be lived productively; like the busy little bee, we feel a holy obligation to improve each shining hour. We would do well to take very small children or big silly dogs as our teachers. I have learned much about holy uselessness form Perry, the dog...

A striking pattern emerged on days with the most intense solar storms, grey whales were 4 times more likely to beach themselves. This correlation doesn't prove that whales have a compass but it strongly hints that they do. More than that, it speaks to the awesome nature of magnetoreception. Here is a sense in which the forces produced by a planetary layer of molten metal collide with those unleashed by a tempestuous star, together swaying the mind of a wandering animal and determining whether it finds its way successfully or loses it for good.

we live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. the martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. by its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. sensations, feelings, insights, fancies—all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. we can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. from family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes. most island universes are sufficiently like one another to permit of inferential understanding or even of mutual empathy or “feeling into”. thus, remembering our own bereavements and humiliations, we can condole with others in analogous circumstances, we can put ourselves (always, of course, in a slightly pickwickian sense) in their places. but in certain cases communication between universes is incomplete or even nonexistent. the mind is its own place, and the places inhabited by the insane and the exceptionally gifted are so different from the places where ordinary men and women live, that there is little or no common ground of memory to serve as a basis for understanding or fellow feeling. words to which the symbols refer belong to mutually exclusive realms of existence.

A person must escape living an external life devoted to sensation in order to discover the reality of their existence. Reading taught me the wisdom behind Socrates bold statement that an astute person acknowledges their personal ignorance and seeks to eliminate ignorance by acquiring knowledge through conscientious exploration of the realm of reality.

Life is so much more than our pity version of reality where we worry about financial wealth, social status, power, and interacting with machines that provide pleasures such as cars, boats, smart phones, and television. Life is limited and ultimate reality – the realm of potential knowledge – is unlimited.

The first step to finding internal peace is rejecting the world’s opinion. The second step is accepting without rancor social rejection, an inability to meld into groups. The third step is keeping a serene sense of being while living in solitude. The danger of solitude is giving up on life. A delicate balance exists between pursuing solitude and maintaining an active interest in the evocative activities of life including reading and thinking. A person living alone can find the poetry in their life or slip into the absurd realm.

People die. Times end. Suffering and war circle into being like the rains of autumn and the winds of spring. You know this. We did not, and do not, bring evil into these realms. It is already here. How many cities had you burned before you took this penitent path? How much blood have you seen our enemies spill? How much suffering fills life without the True Gods ever lifting a finger?

Work within the parameters you set, but always expand them to new realms.

Knowledge of the Self (Atman) takes you beyond the realm of illusion and liberates you from life and death.

Many things can be released into our lives in the spirit realm through a ministry

Death's Embrace - A Soliloquy by Stewart Stafford In sincere tongue, declare with heart: Art thou but a mimic, shadow of the art, Or standest thou bold, architect of the new, Crafting the morrow in thy vision true? Unburden me from this oppressive weight, I cannot bear this overwhelming force. Despair hath found its pinnacle in me, And I must peer into realms unknown, If cherished sight fails me at mine end, I shall renounce all chimeras of the light. But fall not tamely from Life’s precipice, Death presses hard on thy frail fingers, Hold on, cry, resist thy certain ruin! Trouble's court, may yet bestow thee favour. Dreams are but fancies giv’n swift wings, That soar beyond the bounds of reason; In minds that dare to fly unshackled, The dreamer becometh the vision. Love is both a journey and destination: Long and painful upon the path, Unsought, yet blissful when it is found. From dust conjur’d — to stars, we’re turned. Beware the self-righteous man, Whose pride does unseat the very world Before he sees his error. Piteous wounds of thine own hand, 'Tis easy to judge from afar Without walking with aching bones. If there be cause that yet remaineth here, It showeth their harshness and injustice To themselves and their loving others. Mourn their release with mercy and thanks Transient whispers guide along chance’s way. Weep not for those who have found Death’s embrace, They lament for us who tarry on old shores. Death but ushers a veiled dawn, not life's twilight, A metamorphosis of guise, not of the spirit's light. Though we must part for now, we shall be one again. For love’s wrought by flesh, yet holds not its chain. Time-worn age stoops; penitents depart. Pawned as one in vigilant trance But what a folly 'tis to mark the signs of our undoing; Memory's comet trails bequeathed to loved ones left, Contagion's rehearsal on the ephemeral stage. With luck, a stand-in may go on in thy stead. Ere thy final bow becomes unavoidable. With tyrant Death prowling public ways, I turn from mankind hence to seek delight. A chamber ceiling seen upon morn's wake, I say: “The sun does rise? Let's haste away!” Upon waking, a stone tomb's ashen lid, I would perchance say: “Alas!..mine eyes do grow heavy.” A life well-liv’d is not weigh’d by earthly goods Or the number of mourners at the grave. Numerous, deep laugh lines tell the tale, On the face of the person lying still in the crypt, Reveals threescore years and twelve’s true worth. Death is not the villain of the piece; It is the next phase of life, in strange attire. I accept my fate with grace and courage. For I have liv’d and lov’d and dream’d enough. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

But there can be no doubt that the worship of power is one of the worst kinds of human idolatries, a relic of the time of the cage, of human servitude. The worship of power is born of fear, an emotion which is rightly despised. A third reason why power politics has been made the core of history is that those in power wanted to be worshipped and could enforce their wishes. ...and our conscience can judge us and not our worldly success. The theory that god reveals himself and his judgement in history is indistinguishable from the theory that worldly success is the ultimate judge and justification of our actions; it comes to the same thing as the doctrine that history will judge , that is to say , that future might is right; it is the same as what I have called 'moral futurism' . To maintain that God reveals himself in what is usually called 'history' ,in the history of international crime and murder is indeed blasphemy; for what really happens within the realm of human lives is hardly ever touched upon by this cruel and at the same time childish affair

There was a rhythm between the silence and the song, like that of the breast and the baby, evading the realm of time.

a journey through familiar realms in the pursuit of truth and higher degrees of knowledge about knowledge - transformation via information and outformation

God encased the human soul succesively in three bodies - [1.] The idea, or causal body. A causal-bodied being remains in the blissful realm of ideas. [2.] The subtle astral body, seat of man's mental and emotional natures. An astral being works with his consciousness and feelings and a body made of lifetrons / prana. [3.] the gross physical body. [This utilises the] physical senses. [...] In wakeful state on earth a human being is conscious more or less of his three vehicles. When he is sensuously intent on tasting, smelling, touching, listening or seeing, he is working principally through his physical body. Visualizing or willing, he is working mainly through his astral body. His causal being finds expression when man is thinking or diving deep in introspection or meditation; the cosmical thoughts of genius come to the man who habitually contacts his causal body. [...] If he dreams, [man] remains in his astral body, effortlessly creating any object even as do the astral beings. [Such astral-level sleep is] not fully refreshing. If man's sleep be deep and dreamless, for several hours, he is able to transfer his consciousness to the causal body; such deep sleep is revivifying. pg416-431, Chapter 43, The resurrection of Sri Yukteswar

Whispers of the Sou In the quiet realm where shadows play, A restless mind lost in the endless fray. No respite was found in the arms of sleep, Just wandering thoughts, in silence, deep. No words exist to capture the ache, The soul's turmoil, a relentless quake. In this vast expanse of unspoken pain, A heart's echo, a lone refrain. I walk the corridors of my own mind, A ceaseless journey, no rest to find. Words falter to describe the unknown, A symphony of thoughts in a world of their own. If emotion had language, would it speak of woe? Of dreams deferred and seeds that never grow. A paradox unfolds, reality's bitter twist, In the paradox of existence, a mystery persist. I am, yet why not, a question unanswered, In the tapestry of life, a thread unmastered. The universe weaves its cosmic design, Yet, in waiting, I linger, in the labyrinth of time. Thoughts dance like shadows, elusive, untamed, Yet consciousness binds, a truth unclaimed. A grand plan unfolds in the cosmic scheme, Yet, in the unfolding, reality may seem. I ponder the grandeur of the universe's art, Yet reality echoes, tearing worlds apart. For in the waiting, a patience wears thin, A relentless yearning for a destiny to begin. In the symphony of silence, a poet's plea, To articulate the ineffable, set emotions free. No language coined, no verse complete, In the corridors of thought, where echoes repeat. And as the stars bow to the night's embrace, A revelation dawns, a celestial grace. For in the quiet realm where shadows play, A serenade of hope whispers, lighting the way. In the tapestry of silence, a new verse is spun, A symphony of resilience, a battle not yet won. As the echoes fade, a metamorphosis takes flight, In the dance of shadows, emerges the eternal light.

Beneath the archways, where shadows play, As the world gives way, begin the odyssey. Uncertainty weaves into the grand scheme of life, A mystical altar, where destinies are intertwined. I walk the path, seeking the balm of solace, Enduring burden, sweet hymn of love. With hopes gone, a peace is about to descend, Still the echoes remain, they dissolve in silence. The flawed script in the story I wrote, Whispers of well-being, truths worth absorbing. "I'm fine," I say, a deceptive glare, Exposing the lies, an invisible love. A waltz with shadows on your street, Cynic's steps, very judicious dance. Terrible notions, a conspiracy unfolds, Regret is echoing at the threshold of love. Rumors of happiness, far-fetched, As I stumble in the field of love. In excess, I stumble and strain, Hope of solace, of regaining love. Did I stumble in that fleeting call? Huge weakening of pride, slow decline of strength. A gift given, deemed inadequate, In closeness, bonds become inadequate. A crazy search for a cure for love, Wandering aimlessly, purpose uncertain. Your realm echoes with such blasphemous footsteps, In the despair of the night, capricious dreams. Happiness, heard a rumor softly, As I wrestle with love like a flightless bird. Juggling too much reduces the weight of love, In the noise of love, a desperate clown. The desire to turn back, the love to amend, Unraveling habits, unraveling at every turn. A desperate attempt, from the quagmire of love, Hope you find love worth savoring. Guide me, let salvation begin, A chance to improve, a revenge for love. To improve, habits have to be broken, A self-calculating, striving soul. Thoughts entangled in the hopeful vision of love, A chance to improve, a decision of love. Witness the transformation, let it happen, Inspire it, in the dance of love's liberation. Let me enter again, a door a little ajar, A love rebuilt, a healing star. Watch as love appears, watch, In the relaxation of love, a story retold. I keep dreaming, maybe, just maybe, Love's embrace, waving destiny. With every step forward, love is becoming free, Self-made agreement, the decree of love.

For every action, there’s an equal reaction, A law of nature, creating divine attraction. So, let’s accept the dualities of life And find serenity amid the opposing strife.

Even though Christianity and Science doesn't cancel each other, they both act on very different planes. Christianity deals with faith based on spiritual realm while science deals with facts based on natural realm