obeise

☀ SHRI LAKSHMI NARAYANA ॐ ☀

“My dear Lord, You are full in all opulences, but I do not beg You for opulence. I simply offer my respectful obeisances unto You. You are the husband and master of Lakshmidevi, the goddess of fortune, who has all opulences. Therefore You are the master of all mystic yoga. I simply offer my obeisances unto You.”~Srimad Bhagavatam 6.19.4

Ikora squints into the Darkness, past the firelight. If she narrows her eyes, she can just make out the clouds that scud across the young moon.

The man in front of her bends his head, scrunches his shoulders. Obeisance, taught by the Wilds. A shock pistol rests on his hip. Scavengers, then. Others stand to either side of him. Bearded, flea-bitten; patch-worked with bits of Fallen metal and scraps stolen from the ruins.

In the distance, a row of huts crouches beneath the dark sky. A stream cuts between her campfire and the town. When she arrived in the grey light of morning a washer-woman stared at her with wide, white eyes. She would not speak. Her lip was split.

“There is room in the City for all of you,” she tells them again, but the shadows eat her words and she knows that they will never leave the kingdom that they have inherited, small and mean as it is. Power is difficult to give up.

“We like it here jes’ fine,” says one.

“All we’s askin’ is a little of the Tower’s bounty,” the man wheedles. “All we’s askin’ is-”

“Too much,” she whispers. “Too much.”

He straightens. Gone is the sniveling. Cold hunger stares back across the fire at her. The men beside him shift from foot to foot. One of them smiles, a broken yellow grin. Eager. She turns away, and he chuckles - proud. She does not say it is because he reminds her of the things that scream at her from the shattered corners of the Cosmodrome.

“Reckon yer pretty important, then. Reckon you’d be missed. Reckon someone might pay a pretty penny t’get you back.”

These are not Barons that stand before her. They are not Hive-Knights or Cabal Centurions or even avatars of the Vex. They look like men and they speak like men, but if they are human she cannot see it.

She shakes her head. She wonders what the Rangers would have thought. The Speaker sees worth in everyone - or claims to.

“Are you list’nin, girl?”

He is not the first to make the mistake. She knows that she has not cleaned her robes in weeks, knows that she is young and beautiful.  She has seen everything, heard everything; the abuse and the reprimands, the curses of a thousand men like these. Make a weapon of what scares you, they told her: so she did. 

She stands. Her Ghost whispers. It sounds like “Mercy.”

In the morning, the washer-woman thanks her. Ikora presses the battered shock pistol into her hand, points her to the West. The clouds have not lifted. Grey drizzle begins to fall.

She stares at the sky. Dawn will not come, no matter how hard she wills it.

Today marked 254 years since the Vadda Ghallughara (Great Massacre) took place against the Sikh Panth at the hands of the tyrrany Ahmed Shah Abdali and his Afghan-Durani army. In a pogrom designed to wipe out their biggest threat to their totalitarian control, the Duranis massacred over 40,000 people in a single day- at least 20,000 of whom were women and children.

Let us all pay our obeisances to the shaheeds that lost their lives in this crime against humanity, and celebrate our Chardi Kala and our resilience. The Durani empire that tried to wipe our people off the face of the planet now lays in ruins, but our Panth still survives. We have faced genocide upon genocide, yet our people remain in high spirits and continue on and face adversity head on. Khalse di har maidaan Fateh! 🙏✊

✨ SHRI KRISHNA ✨

http://careforcows.org/

“My dear Lord, one who earnestly waits for You to bestow Your causeless mercy upon him, all the while patiently suffering the reactions of his past misdeeds and offering You respectful obeisances with his heart, words and body, is surely eligible for liberation, for it has become his rightful claim.”~Srimad Bhagavatam 10.14.8

☀ SHRI LAKSHMI DEVI ॐ ☀
“I offer my obeisances unto the lotus-born mother of all beings, unto Sri the Goddess of fortune, having full-blown lotus-like eyes, and reposing in the bosom of Vishnu.”~Lakshmi-Stuti

"WEATHERING THE STORM"

By: Steven Eugene Miller ~

Through diligence, sacrifice and pain,
We till and toil in the fields,
While bending our backs to plant the grain,
We proudly watch our gardens yield.

Through obeisance, desire and anticipation,
We make amends to entreat our God,
While providing a sacrifice of the Lord’s creation,
His servants prophesize with a mighty rod.



The God of Abraham, Isaac and the rest,
Made a covenant with them all,
To bring the children from Egypt’s crest,
With a mighty hand, Pharaoh must fall.

With plagues, pestilence and the death of the first,
The Hebrew God made His stand,
To free His people, for they doth thirst,
To follow Moses into the promised land.

The heart of Pharaoh was hardened again,
Not to let the Hebrews go,
Trapped between water and the dry land,
God parted the sea, and It Was So!

As the Hebrews pass through the walls of the sea,
Pharaoh and his troops doth follow,
The last vestige of the Pharaoh’s creed,
In the belly of the Red Sea were swallowed.

Why did they lead us by clouds, over the sands,
Now, Moses and Aaron were hated,
How shall we survive on this barren Land,
With a loud voice, Moses was berated.

With Moses on the mount to converse with IAM,
Aaron was left behind,
The people were restless when they began,
All the mischief that they could find.

With the crowns and the jewels in their possession,
Molten Idols they did make,
With gold, the people made a calf’s impression,
Which kindled the Great Master’s hate.

GET THEE DOWN TO THE PEOPLE WITH HASTE,
LEST I CANCEL THE PROMISE I MADE,
THE CHIDREN OF ISREAL SHALL I LAY TO WASTE,
FROM THE PRESENCE OF EARTH SHALL THEY FADE.

Moses pleaded to God which IAM,
Why release thy people to the kill,
Why free them from the Egyptians’ hand,
To die in the desert, by the hill.

Wroth was IAM but for Moses He did love,
God repented with grief in His Soul,
This stiff necked people was reprieved from above,
Thus, the legend of the Prophets of old.

14 Feb 2016, Sunday, Saptamī, +Maha-viṣṇu-avatāra Śrī Advaita Ācārya ~ Appearance - Fast till noon then Ekādaśī preparations only

/www.purebhakti.com// the-appearance-day-of-sri-advaita-acarya:

Today is the appearance day of Sri Advaita Acarya. He is Sadasiva. *[See endnote 1] He is non-different from Visnu-tattva, and therefore his name is ‘Advaita’ (non-different). He is also a prominent acarya (teacher and personal example) of preaching the glories of the holy name and giving prema-bhakti along with that chanting, and therefore his name is ‘Acarya’.


For some time, Advaita Acarya was very worried, thinking, “Although Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu is the Lord, my Lord, He is always offering obeisances to me.” He could not tolerate this, and one day he had an idea. He went to Santipura and began to explain the Bhagavad-gita according to mayavada-philosophy: Tattvam asi, aham brahmasmi (I am that impersonal God), and sarvam khalv idam brahma (everything is brahma, that impersonal God.)” When Caitanya Mahaprabhu heard about this, He went to Santipura, where He pulled Advaita Acarya by his beard and began to kick him. Seeing this, Sita devi, Advaita Acarya’s wife told Mahaprabhu, “Oh, do You want to kill this old person?”

Advaita Acarya began to dance saying, “Oh, now I have received a boon: Mahaprabhu has beaten me. The master can beat the servant; The servant cannot beat the master. So now it is definite that He considers Himself my master. He can beat me and punish me as He likes.”

* * * *
Sri Advaita Acarya and Nityananda Prabhu often had some loving quarrels (prema-kalaha) with each other. Once, Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu, Advaita Acarya, and all the Lord’s devotees were taking Lord Jagannatha’s prasadam together. Nityananda Prabhu took some of his prasadam remnants and threw them on Advaita Acarya’s body. Advaita Acarya said, “He is a mad avadhuta. He has no etiquette – none at all. And He has made me impure.”

Nityananda Prabhu then said, “Oh, he thinks Himself a Vaisnava, but he has no knowledge of Vaisnava principles. Maha-prasadam never becomes impure, even if it is touched by the mouth of a dog. Still he speaks like this, so he is an offender of maha-prasadam.”*[See endnote 4] In this way they both used to engage in loving, joking quarrels.

Once, during the time of the Ratha-Yatra festival in Jagannath Puri, after Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu’s devotees had completed their cleaning of the Gundica Temple, they sported together in the waters of the Indradyumna Sarovara lake. They were all splashing water on each other. Nityananda Prabhu and Advaita Acarya began to throw water on each other, and Nityananda Prabhu defeated Advaita Acarya. He later began to rebuke Nityananda Prabhu, calling Him bad names. In this way, They used to engage in love-filled mock quarrels.
Gaura Premanande! Hari Haribol.

      -  Srila Bhaktivedanta Narayana Maharaja

☀ SHRI LAKSHMI NARAYANA ॐ ☀

“O my Lord, as powerful as fire, O omnipotent one, now I offer You all obeisances, falling on the ground at Your feet. O my Lord, please lead me on the right path to reach You, and since You know all that I have done in the past, please free me from the reactions to my past sins so that there will be no hindrance to my progress.”~Sri Ishopanishad

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

We test them, my student

Yes. We do. We test them unto destruction.

If they succeed, they are worthy of the gifts and rewards they reap, and they are worthy..

.. of the challenges they have proven themselves capable of facing. Yes. Resting upon success is not the mark of the truly worthy.

We demand nothing of them but..

.. everything. Yes. Those who would serve us must do so willingly, but they must give us everything.

They must bow completely should their knees first bend.

And if they betray their own obeisance, let them suffer.

Mayonnaise Poem

I fiddled with a tincture of mayonnaise
I felt my heartbeat. Rabid. Rapid.
The condiment of gods
A creation not born of mortals mere
I pay obeisance to your wonder
May hell become my sanctuary (snacktuary?)
For I am ready. Ready to give up this ascetic existence
And feel your mayonnastic embrace upon my flesh

I support this blog

Certainly anyone who is offended by the commentary presented on this blog can state their objection and identify themselves if they wish. I’ve seen some pretty objectionable material here and quite frankly, the credibility of the forum would suffer if it was suppressed. Don’t be afraid of learning something new or even testing the information if you feel it is lacking. Deliberately abusive contributions are also important in what they reveal about the promoters. Practically speaking, the church has created an enormous vacuum in it’s absence of honest dialog. So much so that it feeds it’s own rumor mills with it’s inability to deal affectively with the truth. In fact, the truth has become it’s actual enemy because they no longer have any humility before God. They are false Gods that demand your obeisance without any discernible merit. Then they rely on threats when they no longer get the response they desire. What does that make them? Do you think your threats are going to change the reality? God doesn’t rule through fear. I think Moon admitted as much himself on many occasions. If you feel the need to discuss this privately feel free to contact me at frankfrivilous@gmail.com     

REDDER THAN THE REDDEST OF ROSE—MY VALENTINE.

Redder than the reddest of rose was your ecstatically silken shadow; sensuously engulfed under the unparalleled flaming rays of Sun—as you gleefully scampered up the mystically barren cliff,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your voluptuously scarlet lips; profusely coated with mischievous shades of dancing scarlet; as you painstakingly devoured each ounce of the betel leaf; bit by
tantalizing bit,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your bountifully robust palms; as you grazed them uninhibitedly against every strand that spawned from soil; in your unceasing gestures of embracing all exhilaration on the planet,

Redder than the reddest of rose was your dainty forehead; as you passionately knelt it for several hours against plaintive floor; in your invincible obeisance to the Omnipotent Almighty Lord,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your daintily gratifying feet; as you jubilantly dug them in and out of chunks of rustic mud; that was compassionately heavenly after the first thundershowers this season,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your seductively undefeated cheeks; as you blushed more naively than the first rays of dawn; perceiving the prince charming of your blissful life with surreal stars in your eyes,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your nectar laden fingers; as you weaved them more zealously than ever before in oceans of myriad color; suddenly illuminating white canvas with the boundless enigmas of your soul,

Redder than the reddest of rose was your perpetually benign blood; which graciously embraced the religion of humanity at every step you tread; in each of its unflinchingly everlasting ingredient,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your ebulliently shimmering nails; as you inexhaustibly gnawed at them in a child like innocence; whilst pondering over the infinite unsolved mysteries of this fathomless Universe,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your astoundingly curious ears; instantaneously rising to the hilt of heaven to the tiniest of appreciation and then burying themselves under countless feet of soil—at sarcasm as it humanely came,

Redder than the reddest of rose was your affably poignant bosom; heaving and falling like the pristine ebbs and tides of the great majestic sea; as each current of the eclectically fickle wind caressed it with new-found electricity,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your regally titillating eyelashes; as you let them unabashedly absorb the most fervent streaks of lightening as well as nimble sunset; with indescribable stunning panache,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your royally galloping legs; as you ran far beyond the horizons of sunset to shake hands with the utterly unknown; pumping raw exhilaration at every step that you dared tread,

Redder than the reddest of rose was your implacably nubile skin; metamorphosing into a fantastic crimson with each scorching draught of the summer wind and as the freezing breeze of winter bit in with all its fury,

Redder than the reddest of rose was your artistically charmed nose; as you nuzzled it across every gregarious tree stalk in vicinity; exploring your rudiments of a countless inscrutable lifetimes,

Redder than the reddest of rose were your ravishingly swaying hair; cascading till well below your hips in an inimitable glory of their own; resembling a simmering ravine of half-baked emotions as the rainbow appeared in the sky,

Redder than the reddest of rose was your magically mollifying nape; as you rolled on a bed of natural thorns time and again to explore your whacky side; with the moonless night as your sole savior,

Redder than the reddest of rose was your eternally sacrosanct womb; which had the power of to start the process of all blessedly rubicund creation; with the orders of the Omniscient Allmighty Lord,

Therefore who needs an incoherently lifeless rose to celebrate “Valentines Day”-Instead; every beautiful soul out there on the planet-redder than the reddest of rose; will you be my companion for life and beyond-this Valentine .

Something that I’ve been getting into is adding hymns from the English translation of the Rig-Veda in to my daily offerings to the Nejeru. My favorite one so far is, “for worthy of obeisance, Gods, are all your names, worthy of adoration and of sacrifice. Ye who were born from waters, and from Aditi, and from the earth, do ye here listen to my call.”

~Rig Veda, tr. by Ralph T.H. Griffith, [1896], at sacred-texts.com

PM Modi invites sand sculptor Sudarshan to train Gujarat youths in sand art

Odisha, Feb. 7 (ANI): Prime Minister Narendra Modi on Sunday invited Odisha’s sand sculptor Sudarshan Pattnaik to train the Gujarat youths in sand art.
Pattnaik met the Prime Minister who visited the centuries old Jagannath Temple in Puri to pay obeisance to Lord Jagannath.
The sand artist also presented a sand art photo of Lord Jagannath which was done by him during the Nabakalebara.
Pattnaik had created a sand art titled ‘Welcome to Odisha’, ahead of Prime Minister Modi’s visit to the state. (ANI)

viduxm asked:

` You are indeed one hell of a butler! `

                                                  [ 𝓋𝒾𝒹𝓊𝓍𝓂 ]

The applaud hearkened pleases the butler well, vanity intensifies. His lips stretch into a flawless amiable smile as it is evince to sprawl over his countenance with sheer gracefulness. Speaking frankly, It is ever satisfying to have heard such adulation emanating from the guests themselves, as though presenting him a sort of accomplishment in return. His stature is evince to bend down to a small degree as to offer the Lady a sophisticated obeisance as one white veiled palm being promptly raised to lay across his chest to greet her in deference. Certainly, that is fairly pleasing to the ears, my Lady. I am profoundly honoured by such adulation. By all means, you have my deepest gratitude and It is my wish that you are fairing well.

mischiefsonlydaughter asked:

"Frighten me, make me cry, only come back."

deathless || accepting selectively

“Why?”

The word rasped harshly from a throat meant for song, but twisted, as so much of him was twisted. The forest swayed darkly around him; he could hear its pulsings, feel the scuttling of spiders in the undergrowth just beyond sight. They were ready, as always, to answer his call, and yet their obeisance was a double-edged sword, and someday he felt it would cut him. Not yet, though; for now they obeyed.

The girl in front of him, though…Why should she obey him? Why should she answer his call? He had stolen her away, hidden her in darkness because of the jealousy in his heart. She was precious to him now, a jewel that glowed in this forsaken forest of his, but he - he knew that he was not worthy of her. He was a sad thing, doomed to wander in places she should never set foot. How could he drag her down with him? And yet just when he was resigning himself to let her go, she says this.

Come back.

“You should be waiting for me to leave.” He looked away, eyes flashing. “I have frightened you more than enough. If I left and did not come back, it would be a blessing upon you.” If only I had the willpower to do such a thing. But he felt he could not stray from her now any more than he could stray from this forest inside which he was bound. Letting her walk away was the most he could do.

Paradip Refinery will enhance economic progress in Eastern India: PM

New Delhi, Feb. 7 (ANI): Prime Minister Narendra Modi will today dedicate to the nation Indian Oil Corporation’s new state-of-the-art refinery at Paradip in Odisha.
“Paradip Refinery will be dedicated to the nation. INDMAX unit at the refinery has been set up via indigenous technology to produce more LPG. Am sure the Paradip Refinery will unleash a new wave of industrialisation in hydrocarbon sector & enhance economic progress in Eastern India,” Prime Minister Modi said in a series of tweets.
Prime Minister Modi will also inaugurate the new campus of National Institute of Science Education and Research (NISER) on the outskirts of Bhubaneswar. After inaugurating the campus, he is scheduled to fly to Puri to pay obeisance to Lord Jagannath. The Rs. 34,555 crore Paradip refinery is the most advanced in the world and is equipped with the latest technology.
“Today’s programmes in Odisha include inauguration of National Institute of Science Education & Research and prayers at Jagannath Temple,” he said. (ANI)