Within her secret heart, life even in this littleness sometimes dreams of love and beauty, but her means are poor and her instruments inadequate to realise them upon earth.
Revel of the gods
He dreams sometimes of the revels of the gods
And sees the Dionysian gesture pass,—
A leonine greatness that would tear his soul
If through his failing limbs and fainting heart
The sweet and joyful mighty madness swept:
Trivial amusements stimulate and waste
The energy given to him to grow and be.
He wants to enjoy as the gods but for tat life must grow into the stature of the gods, shedding all weakness and smallness. If the joys of heavens rushed down to earth in all their splendour, earth would be unable to hold it. Though man has been given the energy that can help him grow into the stature of the god, he spends it on trivial amusements and petty pleasures thereby wasting the opportunity given to him.
His little hour is spent in little things.
His time and energy are spent in small insignificant things.
The littleness of life
A brief companionship with many jars,
A little love and jealousy and hate,
A touch of friendship mid indifferent crowds
Draw his heart-plan on life’s diminutive map.
Our life is wasted in frivolous and passing passions that we mistakenly call as love. Jealousy and hate and brief friendships are all that our hearts manage to experience.
A thrill that smites the nerves
If something great awakes, too frail his pitch
To reveal its zenith tension of delight,
His thought to eternise its ephemeral soar,
Art’s brilliant gleam is a pastime for his eyes,
A thrill that smites the nerves is music’s spell.
There are moments when there is a brief glimpse of higher things but it hardly goes farther than that. The wings given to us are frail and cannot soar beyond the bar of thoughts submerged and occupied with small issues and petty things. Even music and art that could open for us the doors of delight are hardly inspired. Our minds are attuned only to brief excitements and thrills of the flesh.
Nature’s calm mighty hands
Amidst his harassed toil and welter of cares,
Pressed by the labour of his crowding thoughts,
He draws sometimes around his aching brow
Nature’s calm mighty hands to heal his life-pain.
The only respite amidst this noise and meaningless toil of life and thoughts circling around petty things comes by retreating into the silent spaces of material nature.
He is saved by her silence from his rack of self;
In her tranquil beauty is his purest bliss.
Therefore at this stage of evolution man needs to withdraw into the silence and calm of Nature from time to time to pass a few refreshing moments amidst the calm beauty of Nature. This is the saving grace for his life of stress and strain that is natural when we are driven by forces of petty desires and small pleasures.
The Spirit’s breath
A new life dawns, he looks out from vistas wide;
The Spirit’s breath moves him but soon retires:
His strength was not made to hold that puissant guest.
Only momentarily he is uplifted and mover forward by the breath of the Spirit involved in life but his weakness returns and he suffers his smallness and the old self again.
Lust and passion
All dulls down to convention and routine
Or a fierce excitement brings him vivid joys:
His days are tinged with the red hue of strife
And lust’s hot glare and passion’s crimson stain;
It is a life driven by lust and passion and strife, moved by a seeking for thrill and excitement.
Time has he none
Battle and murder are his tribal game.
Time has he none to turn his eyes within
And look for his lost self and his dead soul.
He revels in murderous instincts and has little time or inclination to turn his gaze within and search for his secret soul.
Thus man’s life moves on a low pitch and remains tied to smallness and pettiness with their attendant sorrow and misery.