byne wrote...
So, I'm bored and replaying ME3. Why are there like 5 gifts available in the hospital if Ash is alive and only one for Kaidan?
You can only give each of them one gift anyways, so whats the point in having so many for Ash?
Well, let's look at some of the wrong gifts to give Ashley...
There's Rumi...
There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street
and being the noise.
Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.
Close both eyes
to see with the other eye.
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.
When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.When actions come from another section, the feelingdisappears.
Don't let others lead you. They may be blind or, worse, vultures.Reach for the rope of God. And what is that? Putting aside self-will.Because of willfulness people sit in jail, the trapped bird's wings are tied,fish sizzle in the skillet.The anger of police is willfulness. You've seen a magistrateinflict visible punishment.
Now see the invisible.
If you could leave your selfishness, you would see how you'vebeen torturing your soul.
We are born and live inside black water in a well.How could we know what an open field of sunlight is?
Don't insist on going where you think you want to go.
Ask the way to the spring. Yourliving pieces will form a harmony.
There is a moving palace that floats in the air with balconies and clear water flowing through, infinity everywhere, yet containedunder a single tent.
As regards feeling pain, like a hand cut in battle,
consider the body a robe you wear.
When you meet someone you love, do you kiss their clothes?
Search out who's inside.
Union with God is sweeter than body comforts.
We have hands and feet different from these.
Sometimes in dream we see them.
That is not illusion.
It's seeing truly.
You do have a spirit body; don't dread leaving the physical one.
Sometimes someone feels this truth so strongly
that he or she can live in mountain solitude totally refreshed.
The worried, heroicdoings of men and women seem weary
and futile to dervishes enjoying the light breeze of spirit.
Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu Buddhist, sufi, or zen.
Not any religion or cultural system. I am not from the East or the West,
not out of the ocean or up from the ground,
not natural or ethereal, not composed of elements at all. I do not exist,am not an entity in this world or in the next,did not descend from Adam and Eve or any origin story.
My place is placeless, a traceof the traceless. Neither body or soul.I belong to the beloved, have seen the twoworlds as one and that one call to and know,first, last, outer, inner, only that breath breathing human being.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
How does a part of the world leave the world?
How does wetness leave water? Dont' try to
put out fire by throwing on more fire! Don't
wash a wound with blood. No matter how fast
you run, your shadow keeps up. Sometimes it's
in front! Only full overhead sun diminishes
your shadow. But that shadow has been serving
you. What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is
your candle. Your boundaries are your quest.
I could explain this, but it will break the
glass cover on your heart, and there's no
fixing that. You must have shadow and light
source both. Listen, and lay your head under
the tree of awe. When from that tree feathers
and wings sprout on you, be quieter than
a dove. Don't even open your mouth for even a coo.
Okay, that's enough Rumi...
Walt Whitman is also a wrong choice, and he was known for embracing trancendentalism...
Two other wrong choices are an avant-garde elcor poet and an asari that believes pessimistically that sentient races can't rise above basic bloodshed...
The correct choice is Tennyson, who is known for Ulysses, which recants a King's distaste for ruling and his longing for the days of adventuring, The Charge of the Light Brigade, which praises the valor of a calvary following orders in the face of death. Break,Break,Break. Which laments loss, but also praises life. There's a lot of poetry about life and death. He also has an epic centered around the story of King Arthur, which ends with Arhtur being mortally wounded slaying Mordred and Excalibur being thrown back into the lake. He's kind of like a classical epic poet...
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