Humming Om Chanting Quotes

There are millions of neurons in the brain. Humming Om chanting create resonance patterns between different brain regions that foster subsequent long-term plasticity changes in the brain. ~ Amit Ray

The stability of the life and all that is centered around it depends on the firmness of the kurma chakra. Inside, there had been an ongoing war between the demonic forces and the divine forces. In this war Kurma chakra with Om chanting gives the stability of mind and, thereby, stability of life. ~ Amit Ray

Loving the Om (AUM) is loving yourself, your own Self. Om chanting is a creative art, not just mechanical repetition of a word. ~ Amit Ray

Om is not just a sound or vibration. It is not just a symbol. It is the entire cosmos, whatever we can see, touch, hear and feel. Moreover, it is all that is within our perception and all that is beyond our perception. It is the core of our very existence. If you think of Om only as a sound, a technique or a symbol of the Divine, you will miss it altogether. Om is the mysterious cosmic energy that is the substratum of all the things and all the beings of the entire universe. It is an eternal song of the Divine. It is continuously resounding in silence on the background of everything that exists. ~ Amit Ray

Penetrate deep into the word "Om". Gradually the word will disappear and only the silence will remain. The word is a support. The meaning is within you. Om brings out that meaning which is hidden in your soul. ~ Amit Ray

Meditate on Om as the inner Sun the pure witnessing power. ~ Amit Ray

Though her head was aching too much for her to reason with herself, she could think of nice things - the Cumberland hills, her lambs, her Nannie, who had taught her this trick of detachment. "When you're sick or sorry, child" she had said, "think of other things as much as you are able. It's just practice, Start young and you'll get the trick of it." And most astonishingly, after a little while of going back to childhood and remembering Nannie in her blue print dress, with her white apron on and her sleeves rolled up, turning on the bath-water and humming a little song as she did it, she fell asleep. ~ Elizabeth Goudge

In western countries, there are roles written for older actors. Films are made on them, including love stories. ~ Om Puri

Perhaps we could revisit the issue of World Cup Host selection for 2018/2022 as some countries feel, and we did say, they are more suitable. Russia was the only high risk location for 2018 and racial chanting is rife there but a Mr. R. Abramovich paid a significant fee to fund the voting proceedings and, not to be discriminatory, we would have to see the same thing from any England/Spain representatives wishing to have another vote. ~ Sepp Blatter

But what was lacking, what was different, I asked myself, listening to the talk? And to answer that question I had to think myself out of the room, back into the past, before the war indeed, and to set before my eyes the model of another luncheon party held in rooms not very far distant from these; but different. Everything was different. Meanwhile the talk went on among the guests, who were many and young, some of this sex, some of that; it went on swimmingly, it went on agreeably, freely, amusingly. And as it went on I set it against the background of that other talk, and as I matched the two together I had no doubt that one was the descendant, the legitimate heir of the other. Nothing was changed; nothing was different save only - here I listened with all my ears not entirely to what was being said, but to the murmur or current behind it. Yes - that was it - the change was there. Before the war at a luncheon party like this people would have said precisely the same things but they would have sounded different, because in those days they were accompanied by a sort of humming noise, not articulate, but musical, exciting, which changed the value of the words themselves. Could one set that humming noise to words? Perhaps with the help of the poets one could. ...

The very reason why the poetry excites one to such abandonment, such rapture, is that it celebrates some feeling that one used to have (at luncheon parties before the war perhaps), so that one responds easil ~ Virginia Woolf

There's something, though, about the sounds that other people make. Not talking, necessarily. Just the sounds of living - creaking upstairs, humming a tune, watching TV, clanging the dishes - that blot away your loneliness. You miss them when they're gone. Their absence - the total silence - becomes palpable. ~ Angie Kim

Some people you don't give up on. Not because you can tell what they'll be or what will happen. Not because of that. It's because something inside you insists that you shouldn't
something knows more or knows better, stubbornly holds its ground, even while the the rest of the world and a million statistics and your own rational brain buzzes around you, chanting that you're a fool. And maybe they're right. Maybe you ARE a fool. But what if you're not? Can you give up without knowing if that voice was right all along? Where's the peace in that? ~ Jennifer DeLucy

One late winter afternoon in Oxford Street, amid the noise of vehicles and voices that filled that dusky thoroughfare, as I was borne onward with the crowd past the great electric-lighted shops, a holy Indifference filled my thoughts. Illusion had faded from me; I was not touched by any desire for the goods displayed in those golden windows, nor had I the smallest share in the appetites and fears of all those moving and anxious faces. And as I listened with Asiatic detachment to the London traffic, its sound changed into something ancient and dissonant and sad - into the turbid flow of that stream of Craving which sweeps men onward through the meaningless cycles of Existence, blind and enslaved forever. But I had reached the farther shore, the Harbour of Deliverance, the Holy City; the Great Peace beyond all this turmoil and fret compassed me around. Om Mani padme hum - I murmured the sacred syllables, smiling with the pitying smile of the Enlightened One on his heavenly lotus.
Then, in a shop-window, I saw a neatly fitted suit-case. I liked that suit-case; I desired to possess it. Immediately I was enveloped by the mists of Illusion, chained once more to the Wheel of Existence, whirled onward along Oxford Street in that turbid stream of wrong-belief, and lust, and sorrow, and anger. ~ Logan Pearsall Smith

Once you learn to discern the voice of Mother Culture humming in the background, telling her story over and over again to the people of your culture, you'll never stop being conscious of it. Wherever you go for the rest of your life, you'll be tempted to say to the people around you, how can you listen to this stuff and not recognize it for what it is? ~ Daniel Quinn

Rhythm, repetition, making patterns
these are not only important devices for shaping the strange and abstract instrument/object we call a poem or a story, but they are craved as well because of our primordial need for reassurance, the sense of security we get from moving over the known. A mystery doesn't lose power in revisiting. Writing is not just to know, it is also to console. We need to be reminded that we are part of the obscure rhythm of birth and decade. It is the humming that matters. ~ Breyten Breytenbach

When Henry heard a word he didn't like, he had to lie facedown on the floor until the bad feeling stopped. Humming sometimes worked too. ~ Leslye Walton

I hear myself laughing, screeching, cackling. The world is red hot and pulsing. On fire [...] I stroll down the corridor and the flickering fluorescents celebrate my passing, humming in praise. I spin, bow and hum along. Bloody footprints trail; bloody fingers smear the walls. ~ Eliza Crewe

Ula thought that unicorns might sleep in grassy glades with ferns for covering. In summer they might lie on a lawn. We walked round quietly on hands and feet, shaking imaginary horns. Ula pawed the air looking solemn; she made little humming sounds. Being fond of moonlight it was probable that they sang at night. They would eat rose petals with jam, and a little fruit in the summer months. ~ Ursula Holden

I never really liked poetry readings; I liked to read poetry by myself, but I liked singing, chanting my lyrics to this jazz group. ~ Leonard Cohen

I remember having some problems with [the Deus Ex theme] when I first heard it and I was trying to figure out how to tell [Alex Brandon] I wanted changes. But then I noticed that I couldn't get it out of my mind. I was whistling or humming it to myself all the time. So I just kept my mouth shut and let it be. I think it's a highly addictive tune ~ Warren Spector

As a young man, I was very introverted and quiet, but with a lot of intensity and feelings. ~ Om Puri

Five seconds, and my body's humming. I go half-man, half-machine, and my thoughts go straight to touching her more, to how far I want to go, how far she might want to go, and damn, I start to hurt. No amount of music or hard work will fix this. My body's a beast. A beast that's been held back too long. ~ Susan Vaught

In Kolkata is a temple where the deity worshipped is Amitabh Bachchan. The daily aarti is performed to the chanting of the Amitabh Chaleesa. And people still ask, 'Could our mythological heroes be based on actual people who once lived?' ~ Ashwin Sanghi

I couldn't look away. My guts wrenched with the transient impact, like walking through a humming electric shock. ~ S.J. Lomas

As we watched the Neo-Nazis march through Charlottesville chanting 'The
Jews will not replace us' on their way to defend a statue of a man that fought a
war to keep slavery, we are confronted by the lunatic contradictions of white-
supremacist identity. While claiming to be supreme, these people clearly do not
believe what they are selling, for if Aryans are inherently superior there would
be no need at all to worry about Jews or niggers 'replacing' them. Surely an
innate Aryan supremacy should make them by definition irreplaceable? This
constant articulation of supremacy and victimhood has long been a cornerstone
of white-supremacist discourse. ~ Akala

Nuit Blanche"

A music coaxed from humming strings would please;
Not plucked, but drawn in creeping cadences
Across a sunset wall where some Marquise
Picks a pale rose amid strange silences.


Ghostly and vaporous her gown sweeps by
The twilight dusking wall, I hear her feet
Delaying on the gravel, and a sigh,
Briefly permitted, touches the air like sleet


And it is dark, I hear her feet no more.
A red moon leers beyond the lily-tank.
A drunken moon ogling a sycamore,
Running long fingers down its shining flank.


A lurching moon, as nimble as a clown,
Cuddling the flowers and trees which burn like glass.
Red, kissing lips, I feel you on my gown -
Kiss me, red lips, and then pass - pass.


Music, you are pitiless to-night.
And I so old, so cold, so languorously white. ~ Amy Lowell

After Frank came out, Amy would begin a performance at a gig by walking onstage, clapping and chanting, 'Class-A drugs are for mugs. Class-A drugs are for mugs …' She'd get the whole audience to join in until they'd all be clapping and chanting as she launched into her first number. Although Amy was smoking cannabis, she had always been totally against class-A drugs. Blake Fielder-Civil changed that. Amy first met him early in 2005 at the Good Mixer pub in Camden. None of Amy's friends that I've spoken to over the years can remember exactly what led to this meeting. But after that encounter she talked about him a lot. 'When am I going to meet him, darling?' I asked. Amy was evasive, which was probably, I learned later, because Blake was in a relationship. Amy knew about this, so initially you could say that Amy was 'the other woman'. And although she knew that he was seeing someone else, it was only about a month after they'd met that she had his name tattooed over her left breast. It was clear that she loved him – that they loved each other – but it was also clear that Blake had his problems. It was a stormy relationship from the start. A few weeks after they'd met, Blake told Amy that he'd finished with the other girl, and Amy, who never did anything by halves, was now fully obsessed with him. ~ Mitch Winehouse

The Song Of The Happy Shepherd

The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers? - By the Rood,
Where are now the watring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.
Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek, for this is also sooth,
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass -
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirs - the cold star-bane
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell.
And to its lips thy story tell,
And ~ W.B. Yeats

A flash of harmless lightning,
A mist of rainbow dyes.
The burnished sunbeams brightening
From flower to flower he flies;
While wakes the nodding blossom
But just too late to see
What lip hath touched her bosom
And drained her rosary. ~ John B. Tabb

Only then did she realize no one was chanting or laughing or staring at her anymore. How strange that she'd dissipated the attention by accepting it and stepping into the limelight for one blissful moment. ~ Sarah Sundin

And so I am feeling numb. It's a curious feeling, and I get it all the time. My attention to the world around me disappears, and something starts to hum inside my head. Far off, voices try to bump up against me, but I repel them. My ears fill up with water and I focus on the humming in my head. ~ Marya Hornbacher

It is my first preference to do films with social significance. Art cinema has given me credibility and status as an actor, but commercial cinema has given me a comfortable living. ~ Om Puri

i am here and now in all this Omnipresent , i am the universe. ~ Sushil Singh

A meddling mother who pounded at the door and yelled, "Arik Theodore Antoine Castiglione, I know you're in there."
Kira shouted, "Hey, Norma, fancy you showing up," before humming the theme to Psycho.
As his mother screamed in rage, Arik laughed. And laughed. ~ Eve Langlais