The infinite is in the finite of every instant.

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The mother and the artist

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of wonderfully emollient freshness; every
unfurling instant of impregnably magnificent existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of spellbindingly undefeated innocence; every
unfurling instant of symbiotically pristine existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of timelessly unconquerable truth; every unfurling
instant of bounteously magnanimous existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unfathomably unfettered creativity; every
unfurling instant of timelessly burgeoning existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of royally triumphant resplendence; every
unfurling instant of unconquerably majestic existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of eternally exhilarating vivaciousness; every
unfurling instant of redolently insuperable existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbelievably ameliorating optimism; every
unfurling instant of marvelously benign existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of brilliantly liberated camaraderie; every
unfurling instant of iridescently inscrutable existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unshakably virgin righteousness; every
unfurling instant of beautifully untainted existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of uninhibitedly heavenly frolic; every unfurling
instant of tantalizingly sensuous existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of compassionately humanitarian friendship; every
unfurling instant of magically mitigating existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of miraculously everlasting freshness; every
unfurling instant of invincibly coalescing existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of pricelessly ubiquitous oneness; every unfurling
instant of robustly blessed existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbreakably Omnipotent desire; every unfurling
instant of victoriously effulgent existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unceasingly reinvigorating fantasy; every
unfurling minute of poignantly charismatic existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of insurmountably intrepid enchantment; every
unfurling minute of rhapsodically unhindered existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Omnisciently tranquil serenity; every unfurling
instant of endlessly bestowing existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of perpetually fragrant breath; every unfurling
instant of Omnipresently benevolent existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Immortally ardent love; every unfurling instant
of limitlessly fructifying existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fantastically alleviating poetry; every
unfurling instant of boundlessly splendid existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fabulously effervescent tanginess; every
unfurling instant of spiritually uplifting existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unlimitedly enlightening Sunshine; every
unfurling instant of infallibly luminescent existence,

A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of immaculately godly melody; every unfurling
instant of amiably melanging existence,

Because. And Only Because. A Mother is; has and shall for times immemorial
remain the Greatest Sculptor of every organism on this astoundingly
multiplying Universe; A Mother is the Greatest Artist….

poem by Nikhil ParekhReport problemRelated quotes
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Emily Dickinson

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.

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Karl Popper

Our knowledge can only be finite, while our ignorance must necessarily be infinite.

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Faith is an act of a finite being who is grasped by, and turned to, the infinite.

quote by Paul TillichReport problemRelated quotes
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Think of something finite molded into the infinite, and you think of man.

quote by Karl Wilhelm Friedrich SchlegelReport problemRelated quotes
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Thus it is necessary to commence from an inescapable duality: the finite is not the infinite.

quote by Hans Urs von BalthasarReport problemRelated quotes
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Rabindranath Tagore

God kisses the finite in his love and man the infinite.

aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath TagoreReport problemRelated quotes
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Language makes infinite use of finite media.

quote by Karl Wilhelm Von HumboldtReport problemRelated quotes
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Civilization is the process of reducing the infinite to the finite.

quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.Report problemRelated quotes
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E.F. Schumacher

Infinite growth of material consumption in a finite world is an impossibility.

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Thomas Carlyle

Man's unhappiness, as I construe, comes of his greatness; it is because there is an Infinite in him, which with all his cunning he cannot quite bury under the Finite.

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Martin Luther King

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.

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Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

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a world continuously grows
from a finite body
making it infinite

haiku by John Tiong ChunghooReport problemRelated quotes
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Seeing the world with god

i look through my body
at the world, the stars, moon
stars beyond stars
i know there are stars, moon
stars beyond stars too
from my temporary sphere
the aura that shines
from this physical self
the trillion of cells
all the moving atoms,
electrons, protons
the universe inside and out
i look at them
from my infinite self
god the puppeteer
shrewdly playing
the beginning, the end
the two walls
between the human brain
the man innocently walks
to oblivion
some attempt to broaden the width
others like me attempt to
to burst out of the walls
to take a peep outside
the limitations, this physical self
the world outside
the god inside and out
the moon, sun, universe
the things outside
i too have become a galaxy
as i join god to take
a look at his worlds
a meteor flashes by
a cell loses hold
flushed by blood
to another world
an infinite me
looking at the finite me
all the stars, moons,
universe outside
and inside
all the cells that i own
that soon would
squeeze me out
to join the plane
where i could view
the beat of the universe
the expansive universe
myself a galaxy

the zillion of selves
those stars, suns
spinning towards
a full stop?
eternity?
the human brain
stretched towards
a world of no end
suffocated in its attempt
i stand beside god
for just a moment
to take a peek at
all his workings
wondering all the motives
behind his pupputeering
the moons, the suns, the universe
the cells acting out his drama
round and round
casting off light
i saw a star burst
light light years away
the cancer patient
carrying a cell
that too has burst
soon to cast that black hole
over the finite self
the infinite journeys to
rest on another finite self
the universe
i standby the creator
to look at his puppeteering
wondering his motives
in his design
the privilege he gives me
to share a view
of his craft
my mind flying
outside the two walls
of the brain
instead of between
infinity
my body
the universe
i look at them
like the stars, moon, meteors
this infinite me
with a finite self
of stars, moons,
stars beyond stars

poem by John Tiong ChunghooReport problemRelated quotes
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Infinite Finite Plasmatic Immersion

Poetry is the plasmatic insight of the infinite
in the multiple framed realities of the finite.


poem by Terence George CraddockReport problemRelated quotes
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When He Himself Reveals Himself

When he himself reveals himself,
Brahma brings into manifestation
That which can never be seen.

As the seed is in the plant,
as the shade is in the tree,
as the void is in the sky,
as infinite forms are in the void-

So from beyond the Infinite,
the Infinite comes;
and from the Infinite the finite extends.

The creature is in Brahma,
and Brahma is in the creature:
they are ever distinct,
yet ever united.

He Himself is the tree, the seed, and the germ.
He Himself is the flower, the fruit, and the shade.
He Himself is the sun, the light, and the lighted.
He Himself is Brahma, creature, and Maya.
He Himself is the manifold form, the infinite space;
He is the breath, the word, and the meaning.

He Himself is the limit and the limitless:
and beyond both the limited and the limitless is He,
the Pure Being.

He is the Immanent Mind in Brahma and in the creature.

The Supreme Soul is seen within the soul,
The Point is seen within the Supreme Soul,
And within the Point, the reflection is seen again.
Kabîr is blest because he has this supreme vision!

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Wealth, in terms of dollars and so forth, could be counted up, because dollars were finite. It doesn't make any difference how many dollars you have-at a certain point you only have dollars. You start with finite, you end with finite.

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The first attempt at a response: there must have been a fall, a decline, and the road to salvation can only be the return of the sensible finite into the intelligible infinite.

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Alfred North Whitehead

Our minds are finite, and yet even in these circumstances of finitude we are surrounded by possibilities that are infinite, and the purpose of life is to grasp as much as we can out of that infinitude.

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