Someone sent me a poem. The title was “The Calf Path,” and one of the lines in it was “the calf-paths of the mind.” It tells an interesting story.
Three hundred years ago there was a little calf on its way home. It meandered as it made its way along a path that led through the forest, and as the calf wandered and made its trail, it disappeared into history. The next day, along came a dog. He was just out for a walk when he smelled these tracks, and he decided to follow the path of the calf. A few days later there came a bellwether, the sheep that leads the flock, and by some coincidence this sheep followed the trail made by the calf and the dog. Read More
This clip—and the transcript below—is from Harold Klemp’s 2009 talk “The Secret Path to Heaven.”
I’d like to start with some questions from the youth, because they’re always challenging.
The first question is: When everything is going right, I begin to take my spiritual life and connection with the Mahanta, the Inner Master, for granted. How can I keep my inner fire alive?
Well, life has a wonderful way of nudging us back on track. The mind has a very natural tendency to want to go back to the track it came from. That’s the mind. So the experiences in life will see us having a good time—easy going, easy rolling. Then suddenly things will turn around and go wrong. Read More
Have you ever felt a hunger for something you can’t even put words to?
What if you are actually on a journey—a quest—that has spanned the ages, continents, lifetimes? It has survived victories, tragedies, wealth and poverty, unimaginable gains and losses. Death and rebirth time and again.
The journey is worth everything. Because you are the hero, and your saga continues until the quest is fulfilled.
When I was a child, my father worked with Her Majesty’s Naval Service. We lived near the Lagos lagoon, where I liked to play and swim with my friends.
One fateful day at the lagoon, I came across a timber raft. Large wood logs were tied lengthwise to form a raft. That was how timber was transported around the shores of Nigeria in those days. Someone had berthed the raft on the sandy shore. Part of it still floated on the water.
I climbed onto the first log, walked to its end, and jumped into the water. I went to the second log and did the same. Each jump landed my feet on watery but firm ground. It was not the first time I had played this game. Other children and I often played this game whenever there was a raft on the beach. That day I was alone. Read More