Skip to main content

In Praise of Compassion

Ladies and gentlemen,


Greetings! I am writing a few words about much celebrated concept often used by so called progressives in defence of "pluralism". Another popular term from a culture which claims to be a defender of European rationalistic culture and its liberal values. The celebrated word is "tolerance". In popular parlance, literally, it signifies an attitude to accept the difference, "the act of allowing something", or "sympathy or indulgence for beliefs or practices differing from or conflicting with one's own" (Merriam Webster). Noble vision indeed! But the real question doesn't belong to here. What makes it so imminent to envision a culture of own and a culture of difference? Behind the imagination of difference there is an attitude to envision self and other. The attitude of "otherisation" itself is a subtle form of narcissism. The central point is ego facing the world at large, conquering nature, self, or others. Ego with its intellectual gaze conceives a world of its own and a world of others, whereas the world of self is appreciated as homogenous reality and anything alien to it is unwelcome. This attitude has resulted into multiple devastating wars and mass cruelties in the name of narrow identities and fickle differences.


Selfhood and enlightened self-interest have established its own castle of intolerance that from there moralising attitude asks and searches for its opposites. Tolerate others' cultures, opinions, or values is the moral sermon of those who value "possessive individualism" at the cost of promoting the value of strife between me/us versus others. On the contrary, the value of compassion is not caught in a dichotomy of me versus others. Compassionate attitude about treating each sentient element of Universe as the whole living-being, expressing lives in many forms, but substance is the same consciousness, which is flowing everywhere, inside and outside since eternity. This  vision is missing in the attitude of popular culture, which often passes the sermon in defence of toleration. Perhaps, this is the reason why I choose to be compassionate about each and everything about the Universe instead of being caught into a conflict of self as social identity versus others.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का

पढ़ता हूँ हर एक दिन एक ही पन्ना, हर दिन हज़ार ये मालूम पड़ते हैं। जबसे होश संभाला है एक ही पन्ना सवांरते आया हूँ, लोग इसे ज़िन्दगी कहते हैं। इसपे लिखे हर एक लब्ज़ जो मेरे मालूम पड़ते हैं, ना जाने कितने जुबां पे चढ़े होंगे। आज हम भी कुछ पल के लिए ही सही इसके सारथी हैं, जाने से पहले कुछ रंग मेरा भी इसपे चढ़ जाए, बस इसीलिए एक ही पन्ना बार बार पलटता रहता हूँ। हर कोई अनजाने किताब की तलाश में बाहर निकलता है, जिसका हर एक पन्ना वो ख़ुद है। जब ख़ुद के रंग को समझ ही ना पाया, तो भला इंद्रधनुषी किताब के क्या मायने हैं? अस्तित्व में ना जाने कितने पन्ने बिखरे पड़े हैं, बस एक से ही अवगत हो जाऊँ, उसके हर एक शब्द को चुनता जाऊँ, कुछ पल के लिये सही, पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का।
1 comment
Read more

Time and Love

Time passes by Like moving in a train of thoughts Its sequence is always forward Vibrating like a cosmic dance of Shiva Time is creating and engulfing The little waves of the ocean Going where? Nobody knows Like a dream does not have a destination It is as true as any absurd play With friends of pleasure It moves like speed of light With friends of need It is felt like a moving river Allowing a little moments of thoughts Before everything becomes a history With friends of virtue Time becomes a sublime touch Soothing and healing the pain Becoming a spectator To watch the cries and follies Beauty and ugliness The rainbow of joy And an album of suffering Time touches Yet it remains aloof Like Purush is witnessing The colours of prakriti Yet remains unblemished And untouched The union of two is always mystical Their touch is a source Of creation and transformation Time is witnessing everything In its sequential movements Who is witnessing time? What is independent of the originatio...
Post a Comment
Read more

Dreamer

Empty is mirror, Yet it reflects what is. Chit is absolute abyss, Yet it contains the existence, Like unending horizons of sky. Chit in bond with manas, Creates and witnesses, The playful dance of life. Shunyata is the absolute truth, Yet it is all of the possible worlds. Out of its voidness, World appears and disappears. Is it real or unreal? Or merely the Dream, Of all the possible dreams? If it is the case, Who is dreaming, the dreams of all? The One, the Cosmos. What if the One is also a figment of imagination? What if the world is a poetic creation? And the Poet has deployed itself, In every form of poetry? The poetry of life. What if only bhokta is bhojan? Only observer is observed? Only worshiper is worshipped? Only subject is object? All are the waves of same Ocean.
Post a Comment
Read more