On the way from the Renaissance to our days we have enriched our experience, but we have lost the concept of a Supreme Complete Entity which used to restrain our passions and our irresponsibility. We have placed too much hope in political and social reforms, only to find out that we were being deprived of our most precious possession: our spiritual life. In the East, it is destroyed by the dealings and machinations of the ruling party. In the West, commercial interests tend to suffocate it. This is the real crisis.
life days consumerism real experience spiritual political lost possession passions find materialism party crisis precious communism renaissance social interests hope west atheism
Those in the West who have adopted Christ as their own should remember that he was an Oriental. Love and sympathy for Jesus should be expanded into love and sympathy for all Orientals, and for all the world.
christianity christ world jesus remember jesus-christ sympathy love west christian
The German experience brings us face to face with the major problem of the revolution in Western Europe. In these countries, the old bourgeois mode of production and the centuries-old civilisation which has developed with it have completely impressed themselves upon the thoughts and feelings of the popular masses. Hence, the mentality and inner character of the masses here is quite different from that in the countries of the East, who have not experienced the rule of bourgeois culture; and this is what distinguishes the different courses that the revolution has taken in the East and the West.
culture politics revolution character capitalism experience problem thoughts feelings german europe face mentality popular western masses rule civilisation west bourgeois
What can oppose the decline of the west is not a resurrected culture but the utopia that is silently contained in the image of its decline.
culture society image civilization critical utopia west
For better of for worse the church in the West bought modernity's claims. We were baptized in its story (even though it said it did not have one) and accepted its categories and definitions. But somewhere along the way we also began to believe that the ways in which we accessed knowledge about God or Jesus or the Spirit or Christianity were those things themselves.
culture christianity church spirit knowledge story definitions jesus modernity things god west worse
No culture on earth is as heavily narcotized as the industrial West in terms of being inured to the consequences of maladaptive behavior. We pursue a business-as-usual attitude in a surreal atmosphere of mounting crises and irreconcilable contradictions.
culture earth attitude crisis surreal contradictions consequences behavior west
Funeral BluesStop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeropanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message He is Dead. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good.
poetry silence death rest thought sky good wrong song stars moon sun black dog south public dead talk forever working ocean white message woods funeral clocks love west traffic
Undo it, take it back, make every day the previous one until I am returned to the day before the one that made you gone. Or set me on an airplane traveling west, crossing the date line again and again, losing this day, then that, until the day of loss still lies ahead, and you are here instead of sorrow.
death lies sorrow loss day date traveling losing made west
That time of year thou mayst in me beholdWhen yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hangUpon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such dayAs after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fireThat on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expireConsumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
death time youth rest sunset sweet strong fall night black birds lie winter leave twilight cold love west
We are stripped of all that gave value and substance to our existence: power and love; in this naked final state, our last lover, our mate, death, comes. Bereft, without cover, we face the elements that will undo us. The winter breakers crash over and through us, flaunting their vigor and our nullity, as if the entire cosmos were now taking its ultimate revenge on the human creature who has lived too long: the dying sun mocks us from the west, for it will return tomorrow to die again, but we go down only once; the rising sun mocks us from the east, for we will not share in the rebirth of light and life; the noonday taunts us with its heat and vitality, for we are detritus; the north finally cloaks us in our last vestments: eternal night. That is how it ends.
reading life imagination revenge power death light human rebirth naked existence cosmos night tomorrow sun share eternal winter face die lover rising state dying return vitality ultimate love west heat elements
To the dismay of those that stood by, about the body of Saruman a grey mist gathered, and rising very slowly to a great height like smoke from a fire, as a pale shrouded figure it loomed over the Hill. For a moment it wavered, looking to the West; but out of the West came a cold wind, and it bent away, and with a sigh dissolved into nothing.
death moment body wind fire height rising cold great mist west smoke
Men are free when they are obeying some deep, inward voice of religious belief. Obeying from within. Men are free when they belong to a living, organic, believing community, active in fulfilling some unfulfilled, perhaps unrealized purpose. Not when they are escaping to some wild west. The most unfree souls go west, and shout of freedom.
community purpose religion individual escape obedience freedom west
Yet only the atrocities of the conquered are referred to as criminal acts; those of the conqueror are justified as necessary, heroic, and even worse, as the fulfillment of God's will.
war west
In the West, they will either accept or reject. In the East, they will always accept also provide guidance and patience.
acceptance guidance patience rejection west
Man is an onion made up of a hundred integuments, a texture made up of many threads. The ancient Asiatics knew this well enough, and in the Buddhist Yoga an exact technique was devised for unmasking the illusion of the personality. The human merry-go-round sees many changes: the illusion that cost India the efforts of thousands of years to unmask is the same illusion that the West has labored just as hard to maintain and strengthen.
buddhism west hesse
And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.
dreams frodo west
Government should be a place where people can come together, and no one gets left behind. No onegets left behind. An instrument of good.
government west
Ultimately, I found my instincts mirrored in a line from Thoreau: 'My needle.. Always settles between west and south-southwest. The future lies that way to me, and the earth seems more exhausted and richer on that side.
travel thoreau west
.. The Sierra, a region so quiet and pristine that we have the sense of being the first human beings ever to set foot in it. We fall silent ourselves in its midst, as if conversation in a place of such primaevl solitude would be like talking in church.
travel sacred west
For West is where we all plan to go some day. It is where you go when the land gives out and the old-field pines encroach. It is where you go when you get the letter saying: Flee, all is discovered. It is where you go when you look down at the blade in your hand and the blood on it. It is where you go when you are told that you are a bubble on the tide of empire. It is where you go when you hear that thar's gold in them-thar hills. It is where you go to grow up with the country. It is where you go to spend your old age. Or it is just where you go.
travel west
I was headed out down a long bone-white road, straight as a string and smooth as glass and glittering and wavering in the heat and humming under the tires like a plucked nerve. I was doing seventy-five but I never seemed to catch up with the pool which seemed to be over the road just this side of the horizon. Then, after a while, the sun was in my eyes, for I was driving west. So I pulled the sun screen down and squinted and put the throttle to the floor. And kept on moving west. For West is where we all plan to go some day. It is where you go when the land gives out and the old-field pines encroach. It is where you go when you get the letter saying: Flee, all is discovered. It is where you go when you look down at the blade in your hand and the blood on it. It is where you go when you are told that you are a bubble on the tide of empire. It is where you go when you hear that thar's gold in them-thar hills. It is where you go to grow up with the country. It is where you go to spend your old age. Or it is just where you go. It was just where I went.
In the distance of my years I cover myself with timeLike a blanket which enfolds me with the layers of my life. What can I tell you except that I have gonenowhere and everywhere?What can I tell you except that I have not begunmy journey now that it is through?All that I ever was and am yet to belies within me now this way. There is the Young Boy in me traveling eastWith the Eagle which taught me to see far and wide. The Eagle took his distance and said, There is a Time for Rising AboveSo that you do not thinkYour small world too important. There is a time for turning your vision toward the sky. There is the Young Girl in me traveling westWith the Bear which taught me to look inside. The Bear stood by himself and said, There is a Time for Being AloneSo that you do not take onThe appearance of your friends. There is a time for being at home with yourself. There is the Old Man in me traveling northWith the Buffalo which taught me wisdom. The Buffalo disappeared and said, There is a Time for Believing NothingSo that you do not speakWhat you have already heard. There is a Time for Keeping Quiet. There is the Old Woman in me traveling southWith the Mouse which taught me my limitations. The Mouse lay close to the ground and said, There is a Time for Taking Comfort in Small ThingsSo that you do not feelForgotten in the night. There is a Time for enjoying the Worm. That is the way it was. That is the way it shall continueWith the Eagle and the BearWith the Buffalo and the MouseIn all directions joined with meTo form the circle of my life.I am an Eagle. The small world laughs at my deeds. But the great sky keeps to itselfMy thoughts of immortality.I am a Bear. In my solitude I resemble the wind.I blow the clouds togetherSo they form images of my friends.I am a Buffalo. My voice echoes inside my mouth. All that I have learned in lifeI share with the smoke of my fire.I am a Mouse. My life is beneath my nose. Each time that I journey toward the horizonI find a hole instead.
growth south native-american west journey-in-life
It was the day of the worms. That first almost-warm, after-the-rainy-night day in April, when you bolt from your house to find yourself in a world of worms. They were as numerous here in the East End as they had been in the West. The sidewalks, the streets. The very places where they didn't belong. Forlorn, marooned on concrete and asphalt, no place to burrow, April's orphans.
rain streets west
So I pulled the sun screen down and squinted and put the throttle to the floor. And kept on moving west. For West is where we all plan to go some day. It is where you go when the land gives out and the oldfield pines encroach. It is where you go when you get the letter saying: Flee, all is discovered. IT is where you go when you look down at the blade in your hand and see the blood on it. It is where you go when you are told that you are a bubble on the tide of empire. It is where you go when you hear that thar's gold in them-thar hills. It is where you go to grow up with the country. It is where you go to spend your old age. Or it is just where you go.
escape country west
By midmorning eight of the horses stood tied and the other eight were wilder than deer, scattering along the fence and bunching and running in a rising sea of dust as the day warmed, coming to reckon slowly with the remorselessness of this rendering of their fluid and collective selves into that condition of separate and helpless paralysis which seemed to be among them like a creeping plague.
horses west
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