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Will and intellect are one and the same thing.

quote by Baruch Spinoza
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Intellect

You might have possessed so many things
The stars, the sun, the moon, the whole universe
But if you have not possessed me
You possess nothing!
You are a blunt, a dullard dull
The beggar of the street.

You might be proud of so many things which
One can't have today but tomorrow can
And all these things dwindle when you distribute
But I am the exception and the opposite

The maximum use of anything is a poison
But I become the nectar if you use the maximum

You might have written on so many things
from hell to heaven
You might have composed so many poems
from complex to simple
But if you have not on me,
you have written or composed nothing!
you are neither a poet nor a writer.
you have not achieved anything either!

You might have believed on so many things
But if you have not believed me
You have believed nothing
As I am the unbelievable to believe
The strength, the power
If you hone me
I cut, cut very sharply
I create, create very absolutely
I can give the desires the wings
I can make fly the colorful dreams..
So hone me, hone me! hone me!

You might have sung so many songs
But If you have not sung the song of me
You are not a singer
You are a deaf!
You are a dumb!
So sing intellect! intellect! intellect!
Sing intellect! intellect! intellect!
The creator of every human creations
The inventor of every inventions
The real power, the real beauty
The real achievement of human history.

poem by Abdul Wahab
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Book III - Part 02 - Nature And Composition Of The Mind

First, then, I say, the mind which oft we call
The intellect, wherein is seated life's
Counsel and regimen, is part no less
Of man than hand and foot and eyes are parts
Of one whole breathing creature. But some hold
That sense of mind is in no fixed part seated,
But is of body some one vital state,-
Named "harmony" by Greeks, because thereby
We live with sense, though intellect be not
In any part: as oft the body is said
To have good health (when health, however, 's not
One part of him who has it), so they place
The sense of mind in no fixed part of man.
Mightily, diversly, meseems they err.
Often the body palpable and seen
Sickens, while yet in some invisible part
We feel a pleasure; oft the other way,
A miserable in mind feels pleasure still
Throughout his body- quite the same as when
A foot may pain without a pain in head.
Besides, when these our limbs are given o'er
To gentle sleep and lies the burdened frame
At random void of sense, a something else
Is yet within us, which upon that time
Bestirs itself in many a wise, receiving
All motions of joy and phantom cares of heart.
Now, for to see that in man's members dwells
Also the soul, and body ne'er is wont
To feel sensation by a "harmony"
Take this in chief: the fact that life remains
Oft in our limbs, when much of body's gone;
Yet that same life, when particles of heat,
Though few, have scattered been, and through the mouth
Air has been given forth abroad, forthwith
Forever deserts the veins, and leaves the bones.
Thus mayst thou know that not all particles
Perform like parts, nor in like manner all
Are props of weal and safety: rather those-
The seeds of wind and exhalations warm-
Take care that in our members life remains.
Therefore a vital heat and wind there is
Within the very body, which at death
Deserts our frames. And so, since nature of mind
And even of soul is found to be, as 'twere,
A part of man, give over "harmony"-
Name to musicians brought from Helicon,-
Unless themselves they filched it otherwise,
To serve for what was lacking name till then.
Whate'er it be, they're welcome to it- thou,
Hearken my other maxims.

[...] Read more

poem by Lucretius
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Christmas-Eve

I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.
No remedy; the rain kept driving:
They eyed me much as some wild beast,
The congregation, still arriving,
Some of them by the mainroad, white
A long way past me into the night,
Skirting the common, then diverging;
Not a few suddenly emerging
From the common’s self thro’ the paling-gaps,—
—They house in the gravel-pits perhaps,
Where the road stops short with its safeguard border
Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;—
But the most turned in yet more abruptly
From a certain squalid knot of alleys,
Where the town’s bad blood once slept corruptly,
Which now the little chapel rallies
And leads into day again,—its priestliness
Lending itself to hide their beastliness
So cleverly (thanks in part to the mason),
And putting so cheery a whitewashed face on
Those neophytes too much in lack of it,
That, where you cross the common as I did,
And meet the party thus presided,
“Mount Zion,” with Love-lane at the back of it,
They front you as little disconcerted,
As, bound for the hills, her fate averted
And her wicked people made to mind him,
Lot might have marched with Gomorrah behind him.

II.
Well, from the road, the lanes or the common,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning
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7

All 7 and well watch them fall
They stand in the way of love
And we will smoke them all
With an intellect and a savoir-faire
No one in the whole universe
Will ever compare
I am yours now and u are mine
And together well love through
All space and time, so dont cry
One day all 7 will die
All 7 and well watch them fall
They stand in the way of love
And we will smoke them all
With an intellect and a savoir-faire
No one in the whole universe
Will ever compare
I am yours now and u are mine
And together well love through
All space and time, so dont cry
One day all 7 will die
And I saw an angel come down unto me
In her hand she holds the very key
Words of compassion, words of peace
And in the distance an armys marching feet (1,2,3,4 - 1,2,3,4)
But behold, we will watch them fall
And we lay down on the sand of the sea
And before us animosity will stand and decree
That we speak not of love only blasphemy
And in the distance, 6 others will curse me
But thats alright, (thats alright)
4 I will watch them fall(1,2,3,4,5,6,7)
All 7 and well watch them fall
They stand in the way of love
And we will smoke them all
With an intellect and a savoir-faire
No one in the whole universe
Will ever compare
I am yours now and u are mine
And together well love through
All space and time, so dont cry
One day all 7 will die
[(just how old)]
And we will see a plague and a river of blood
And every evil soul will surely die in spite of
Their 7 tears, but do not fear
4 in the distance, 12 souls from now
U and me will still be here - we will still be here
There will be a new city with streets of gold
The young so educated they never grow old
And a, there will be no death 4 with every breath

[...] Read more

song performed by Prince
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O My Baby! ..Where Had You Gone? [ Prologue ]

-The Prologue-

Emotions-Intellect;
How many many relentless duels between these two characters!

Emotion-
It is a molten fire ever on pouncing feet!

Intellect -
Ever on slow steady measured movements!

In the blind ferocity of emotion's eruptions....education, culture,
equanimity...all would drown, demoralize, crumble and crash!

It is a fact that emotions care or leave nobody in their trail of destruction...respect none also!

Only when the emotions slowly subside...only after their boisterous rush recedes, then only one could see the imprints of the intellect.

A Mother-
A very high intellectual personality...with a research degree in a renowned foreign university..marrying an equally competent scholar as husband in the same golden land.

A misfortune strikes that Mother.
Her first conception, like a disturbed dream, meets death during gestation.

Again...
The infant, which is delivered, after as if hatching ten months of her dear dreams, after swimming against the strong currents of pain, the life that sprouted in full shape, dies within a day of its world entry.

Regaining consciousness..
At the moment of saying 'good-bye' to the departing pains..
to hear the special first shrill honey-dripping cry of the baby..
resembling ' ammaa..ammaa'...

Lo..she is not blessed for the supreme moment in a mother's life!
Imagine..what would have been the state of her mind then?
Misery overpowers the intellect and shocks her mind with quakes of sorrow and anger and deceit.

The whole worldly life turns bitter and unbearable.
Wherever she turns and in whatever she associates with...anywhere and everywhere a meaningless and unjustifiable vacuum encounter her.
crushed and crumbled underneath the pulverising feet of death are all her dreams

Even the thoughts about children too frighten her soul.
Why that injustice? for what harm?
Every thing defies reason.
Her mind refuses to accept the death of her innocent infant.

In the heavy mindset of that gloomy Mother
I sink myself for a few poignant moments
And harvest her withered crops of sadness with a poem.

What follow are those poetic tears...

poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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The Septic Tank

Receipt, Reaction and Response
Are the phenomena of life.

Receipt of stimuli from the environs;
Reaction in the mind and intellect;
Response produced from stimuli.

Mind is accumulation of experience;
Intellect is accumulation of knowledge.
Mind and intellect form a unit,
Where input is churned and output is made.

Good water comes out as dirty water
When the unit is a washing machine.
Dirty water comes as good water
When the unit is a septic tank.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Canto III

Another's a half-cracked fellow—John Heydon,
Worker of miracles, dealer in levitation,
In thoughts upon pure form, in alchemy,
Seer of pretty visions ('servant of God and secretary of nature');
Full of plaintive charm, like Botticelli's,
With half-transparent forms, lacking the vigor of gods.
Thus Heydon, in a trance, at Bulverton,
Had such a sight:
Decked all in green, with sleeves of yellow silk
Slit to the elbow, slashed with various purples.
Her eyes were green as glass, her foot was leaf-like.
She was adorned with choicest emeralds,
And promised him the way of holy wisdom.
'Pretty green bank,' began the half-lost poem.
Take the old way, say I met John Heydon,
Sought out the place,
Lay on the bank, was 'plungèd deep in swevyn;'
And saw the company—Layamon, Chaucer—
Pass each in his appropriate robes;
Conversed with each, observed the varying fashion.
And then comes Heydon.
'I have seen John Heydon.'
Let us hear John Heydon!
'Omniformis
Omnis intellectus est'—thus he begins, by spouting half of Psellus.
(Then comes a note, my assiduous commentator:
Not Psellus De Daemonibus, but Porphyry's Chances,
In the thirteenth chapter, that 'every intellect is omni-form.')
Magnifico Lorenzo used the dodge,
Says that he met Ficino
In some Wordsworthian, false-pastoral manner,
And that they walked along, stopped at a well-head,
And heard deep platitudes about contentment
From some old codger with an endless beard.
'A daemon is not a particular intellect,
But is a substance differed from intellect,'
Breaks in Ficino,
'Placed in the latitude or locus of souls'—
That's out of Proclus, take your pick of them.
Valla, more earth and sounder rhetoric—
Prefacing praise to his Pope Nicholas:
'A man of parts, skilled in the subtlest sciences;
A patron of the arts, of poetry; and of a fine discernment.'
Then comes a catalogue, his jewels of conversation.
No, you've not read your Elegantiae—
A dull book?—shook the church.
The prefaces, cut clear and hard:
'Know then the Roman speech, a sacrament,'
Spread for the nations, eucharist of wisdom,
Bread of the liberal arts.

[...] Read more

poem by Ezra Pound
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Atma

Atma is the Self,
made of Prana, Mana and Vak:
Motion, Consciousness, and mater.

Intellect sheaths Atma;
Mind sheaths Intellect;
Senses sheath Mind;
Body sheaths Senses;
Aura sheaths Body.

Thus,
Rig, Yajur, Sama and Atherwa sum up.

Body includes brain.
Brain includes intellect,
And Consciousness.
So Body and Energy
Are the two parts
That join to make Life.

Thus,
Science approves of.

We deny not both statements,
one by subconscious mind
and the other by conscious mind.

That is why
Religion and Science coexist.
31.12.2000, Pmdi

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Man And The Echo

Man. In a cleft that's christened Alt
Under broken stone I halt
At the bottom of a pit
That broad noon has never lit,
And shout a secret to the stone.
All that I have said and done,
Now that I am old and ill,
Turns into a question till
I lie awake night after night
And never get the answers right.
Did that play of mine send out
Certain men the English shot?
Did words of mine put too great strain
On that woman's reeling brain?
Could my spoken words have checked
That whereby a house lay wrecked?
And all seems evil until I
Sleepless would lie down and die.

Echo. Lie down and die.

Man. That were to shirk
The spiritual intellect's great work,
And shirk it in vain. There is no release
In a bodkin or disease,
Nor can there be work so great
As that which cleans man's dirty slate.
While man can still his body keep
Wine or love drug him to sleep,
Waking he thanks the Lord that he
Has body and its stupidity,
But body gone he sleeps no more,
And till his intellect grows sure
That all's arranged in one clear view,
pursues the thoughts that I pursue,
Then stands in judgment on his soul,
And, all work done, dismisses all
Out of intellect and sight
And sinks at last into the night.

Echo. Into the night.

Man. O Rocky Voice,
Shall we in that great night rejoice?
What do we know but that we face
One another in this place?
But hush, for I have lost the theme,
Its joy or night-seem but a dream;
Up there some hawk or owl has struck,
Dropping out of sky or rock,

[...] Read more

poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Man And The Echo

Man

IN a cleft that's christened Alt
Under broken stone I halt
At the bottom of a pit
That broad noon has never lit,
And shout a secret to the stone.
All that I have said and done,
Now that I am old and ill,
Turns into a question till
I lie awake night after night
And never get the answers right.
Did that play of mine send out
Certain men the English shot?
Did words of mine put too great strain
On that woman's reeling brain?
Could my spoken words have checked
That whereby a house lay wrecked?
And all seems evil until I
Sleepless would lie down and die.

Echo

Lie down and die.

Man

That were to shirk
The spiritual intellect's great work,
And shirk it in vain. There is no release
In a bodkin or disease,
Nor can there be work so great
As that which cleans man's dirty slate.
While man can still his body keep
Wine or love drug him to sleep,
Waking he thanks the Lord that he
Has body and its stupidity,
But body gone he sleeps no more,
And till his intellect grows sure
That all's arranged in one clear view,
pursues the thoughts that I pursue,
Then stands in judgment on his soul,
And, all work done, dismisses all
Out of intellect and sight
And sinks at last into the night.

Echo
Into the night.

Man

[...] Read more

poem by William Butler Yeats
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An Abc Of Inner Peace

inner peace: a to z (© Raj Arumugam, September 2008)

Inner peace is effortless, as it’s always there within.
One just has to see it.

And once one truly sees this inner peace – not with words or just
intellectually, but actually see this inner peace within – it is one’s, always;
no one takes away that…

Nothing and no evil and no violent force or even the most difficult
of circumstances in one’s life can remove that inner peace that one
sees within; but let one see this not as a word, or as a phrase
but as an actuality.

Feel that peace, see that inner peace and let it radiate always – for it is
the harmony within each and it is always one’s own.

A


Let amity be your constant companion….Be at peace with all beings, equally at peace with those near and those far, and thus walk hand in hand with amity as in a bounteous garden…





B


Be mindful of your blessings always…To be alive, to breathe in fresh air;
and to be with the family and the companionship of good fellow-human
beings; and the kindness of strangers; and the creatures of this world
and the flowers that bloom, and to have a place in this marvelous planet
of ours….all these too are blessings….

There is a life of the body in the domain of the physical, and
the legitimate needs of the body are just as important as
one’s inner needs…

[...] Read more

poem by Raj Arumugam
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Television Is Not Your Friend (Television)

Television is hypnotic and addictive
You become mezmorized and hypnotized
Your TV manufactured from pixels of
Red, green and blue
It flickers high rates of speed
You're bombarded with
Fast moving electrons
It siezes your brain away from you
These subliminal waves seal your eyes
Transmitting cerebellum broadcasts
That decieve
you get an epilectic-type reaction
This high rate of TV flashes
Effects the mind
You become reposed
And there's less brain activity
You're not wrecked by visible rays
But invisible radiation
'It's the best control mechanism
You can think of '
Quoted of why television
Is furnished in a prison
Your intellect responds to what the screen displays
You'r not alive, you are dead
You fail to keep in touch with your body
You intellect eventually will play
It's never percieved at an ordinary plane of awareness
Therefore, the viewer assume truth is in the television
It's initiated in your childhood
parents seat the child in front of this evilness
Exploiting their minds in their early existence
Tuned into the cartoons
Cartoons becomes their reality
Some of the cartoons brings forth violence
Characters recieve wallops upon their flesh
A breif time following they seem to be intact
Soon after, on the playground, it's acted out
Parents pondering where it's attained from
Kids confused why it won't function on themselves
These kids seated staring entranced upon the couch
Violence, sex, hatred, fear and clichés
It's what they respire me to speculate about
With my feeble mind viewing excessively
Upon the tube
Cemented upon this TV continuously
Wasting my life
This is what they desire to regulate me
Once caught, all things that isn't I concieve as true
Poison disperse from this TV set
Emits into my veins

[...] Read more

poem by R.K. Cowles
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Some people think only intellect counts: knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy.

quote by Dean Koontz
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Some people think only intellect counts knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy.

quote by Dean Koontz
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Language is the soul of intellect, and reading is the essential process by which that intellect is cultivated beyond the commonplace experiences of everyday life.

quote by Charles Scribner, Jr.
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As you see, I do not treat the creation of fiction, that to say the invention and development of fantasies, as a form of abstract thought. I don't wish to deny the uses of the intellect, but sometimes one has the intuition that the intellect by itself will lead one nowhere.

quote by J.M. Coetzee
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There is not enough high intellect to be catered to and when most people think of Hiphop they think of low intellect.

quote by Slick Rick
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My great religion is a belief in the blood, the flesh, as being wiser than the intellect. We can go wrong in our minds. But what our blood feels and believes and says, is always true. The intellect is only a bit and a bridle.

quote by David Herbert Lawrence
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As you see, I do not treat the creation of fiction, that to say the invention and development of fantasies, as a form of abstract thought. I dont wish to deny the uses of the intellect, but sometimes one has the intuition that the intellect by itself will lead one nowhere.

quote by J.M. Coetzee
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