In India, by and large, women are not educated enough to be bread winners and, within the moorings of traditional cultures, do not have the courage and the capacity to leave the matrimonial home. Given the inequality prevalent in family structures, the woman's right to opt out is suicidal.
There is no human failure greater than to launch a profoundly important endeavour and then leave it half done. This is what the West has done with its colonial system. It shook all the societies in the world loose from their old moorings. But it seems indifferent whether or not they reach safe harbour in the end.
The graces are restless today. They pweet and muss, shuddering their wings so that the feathers stick out at defensive angles. I feel that restlessness too. When the sea is fractious like this - when it chutters and schwaks against the moorings, when it won't talk but only mumbles - it's difficult to think.
There are always moments when one feels empty and estranged."¨ Such moments are most desirable, "¨for it means the soul has cast its moorings and is sailing for distant places. "¨This is detachment -- "¨when the old is over and the new has not yet come. "¨If you are afraid, the state may be distressing, "¨but there is really nothing to be afraid of. "¨Remember the instruction: "¨Whatever you come across -- go beyond.
Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj
There was a pause, while I fought against this other, lesser kind of death that was creeping over me - this death called strangeness, this snapping of all the customary little threads of cause and effect that are our moorings at other times. Slowly they all drew back from me step by step, until I was left there alone, cut off. ("All At Once, No Alice")
At the end only two things really matter to a man, regardless of who he is; and they are the affection and understanding of his family. Anything and everything else he creates are insubstantial; they are ships given over to the mercy of the winds and tides of prejudice. but the family is an everlasting anchorage, a quiet harbor where a man's ships can be left to swing to the moorings of pride and loyalty.
Richard E. Byrd
Every great creative idea, formulated as a philosophy, has a social setting - in time, in a geographical location, in a political economy, in a matrix of interests and knowledge. It is not a free-swinging phenomenon like a balloon without moorings. It is not produced in a vacuum and, being creative, it does not work in a vacuum. Nurtured on things experienced and things known, it reaches out toward the unknown like a flower on a stalk growing out of the soil.
Mary Ritter Beard
He, too, was in the grip of rage and rhetoric. I saw that, attractive though his side of the political spectrum was. A cancerous violence had eaten into every political idea, had taken over the ideas themselves, and for so many, all that mattered was the willingness to do something. Action led to action, free of any moorings, and the way to be someone, the way to catch the attention of the young and recruit them to one's cause, was to be enraged. It seemed as if the only way this lure of violence could be avoided was by having no causes, by being magnificiently isolated from loyalties. But was that not an ethical lapse graver than rage itself?
Was I still myself? If so, who was I? I wasn't really interested in knowing that. It had no sort of importance for me anymore. Some moorings had broken, some taboos had fallen, and a world of spells and anathemas was springing up from their ruins. What was terrifying about this whole affair was the ease with which I passed from one universe to another without feeling out of place. Such a smooth transition. I had gone to bed a docile, courteous boy, and I'd awakened with an inextinguishable rage lodged in my very flesh. I carried my hatred like a second nature; it was my armor and my shirt of Nessus, my pedestal and my stake; it was all that remained to me in this false, unjust, arid, and cruel life.
NO SHADOW BENEATH MY FEET NO TRACE LEFT ON THE GROUND I USED TO THINK THAT OUR HEARTS COULD BEAT THE SPEED OF SOUND WE&RSQUO;D SOAR PAST THE CROWD LIKE ANGELS HARDLY VISIBLE AND BACK TO THE TIMES WE&RSQUO;D TIME TO KILL IT&RSQUO;S CRIMINAL ONLY IF I&RSQUO;D ONLY KEPT IF ONLY TO MYSELF STARLIGHT HIDE YOUR WARMTH ALTHOUGH THE WOLVES CRY AT OUR DOOR AND DAYS GET OLDER THE NIGHT IS YOUNG VANISH LIKE THE MOON WITHOUT THE SUN WE STRETCHED LIKE A SUNBEAM ACROSS THE SKY NO END IN SIGHT WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT A HEART COULD BREAK THE SPEED OF LIGHT ENTWINED IN THE NIGHT LIKE ANIMALS HARDLY DIVISIBLE MY SHADOW HAS NOT REJOINED ME STILL IT&RSQUO;S CRIMINAL MORNING WITHOUT WARNING CUT THE MOORINGS PUSH ME OUT STARLIGHT HIDE YOUR WARMTH ALTHOUGH THE WOLVES CRY AT OUR DOOR AND DAYS GETS OLDER THE NIGHT IS YOUNG VANISH LIKE THE MOON WITHOUT THE SUN OLD FIRES BURN YOUNG AGAIN TONIGHT
Raised by Swans
You are loosed from your moorings, and are free; I am fast in my chains, and M a slave! You move merrily before the gentle gale, and I sadly before the bloody whip! You are freedoms swift winged angels, that fly around the world; I am confined in the bands of iron! O that I were free! O, that if I were on one of your gallant decks, under your protecting wing! Alas! Betwixt me and you, the turbid waters roll. Go on, go on. O, that I could also go! Could I but swim! If I could fly! O, why was I born a man, of whom to make a brute! The glad ship is gone; she hides in the dim distance. I am left in the hottest hell of unending slavery. O God, save me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any God! Why am I a slave? I will run away. I will not stand. Get caught, or clear, I'll try it. I had as well die with ague as the fever. I have only one life to lose. I had as well be killed running as die standing. Only think of it; 100 miles straight north, and I am free! Try it? Yes! God is helping me, I will. It cannot be that I shall live and die a slave. I will take to the water. This is very bay shall yet bear me into freedom. The steamboats steered in the Northeast course from Northpoint. I will do the same; and when I get to the head of the bay, I will turn my canoe adrift, and walked straight through Delaware into Pennsylvania. When I get there, I shall not be required to have a pass; I can travel without being disturbed. Let but the first opportunity offer, and, come what will, I am off. Meanwhile, I will try to bear up under the yoke. I am not the only slave in the world. Why should I be free? I can bear as much as any of them. Besides I am but a boy, and all boys are bound to some one. It may be that my misery and slavery will only increase the happiness when I get free there is a better day coming. [62 - 63]