In moments of deep melancholy, when the heart is heavy and solitude seems to be, in the words of the great Milton, "sometimes best society," I like to return in my mind to what I consider the loveliest of all the odes of William Wordsworth, known by the long title "Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood." I would like the reader to ponder the following lines:

As the years go by and we journey through life's choppy waters, we often think of that immortal sea which is our birthplace and upon which at twilight we must soon set sail again--a sea whose waves seem to haunt us in our quieter moments of meditation, "though inland far we be."

Many of us live in the city, though some would prefer to live in the suburbs, closer to nature, who have an uncommon and passionate love for our surroundings. We work in the city, our closest friends maybe live in it and it is there that we perform all our main activities. Most of us will probably die in the city and be buried within its precincts. For reasons that are often quite unclear, we feel part of the city and, however much we want to go away, on vacation or for other reasons, no sooner have we gone than we want to return to it. We yearn to see its twinkling lights and "in a season of calm weather" the sound of traffic reminds usso much of the roar of the sea. We are city-dwellers and our true life is in the city.

We could use this as a parable to express our innermost thoughts. A parable that would exemplify what we feel in the deepest core of our being. We reside in a city called Time. We inhabit a lodging in space called Earth, a speck of transient matter drifting about in the universe. But all of us belong to Eternity. Our true destination is there. Our Spirit lived there before and one day, sooner than most may think, we will be returning to our true abode.

Another poet, W. B. Yeats, expressed a similar idea in one of his poems. Although he had to live among houses and factories and to walk the pavements of the cities he lived in, he kept hearing in his heart the sound of the waves crashing on the isle of Innisfree. Consider the following lines:

How many of us do hear it? And do we know why we do? Does our modern life with all its worries allow us to dwell on the great mysteries of life, read a good book by the fireplace or write to a friend with true feelings? Is it possible any more to read poetry without becoming the laughing-stock of friend and foe alike? Do we take some time off nowadays to stand in awe in front of a glorious sunset and see there the finger of a benevolent God? Or is it that we have better things to do for our own material advancement and greater financial security? Is our mind too tired to respond even to beauty, that we forget that pulsating, eternal life in which the only true happiness is to be found, and cannot hear the waves of that immortal sea that brought us to the world.

In the mad rush for recognition, for glory and fame, we tend to neglect the more spiritual pursuits that would lead us to discover our true being. In the intoxicating moment of acclamation, we fail to recognize the only beacon that would lead us to the true Holy Grail, to the fountain of eternal youth, to the garden of the lost Eden. We are too busy seeking the applause that brings a sense of joy that is only too fleeting. We are drawn to beings of great physical beauty and ignore those less-endowed but who perhaps have a mine of useful knowledge to share, a gentle smile to make the sun shine again and such inner beauty of soul and spirit that would assuage all our suffering.

But whether it is the beauty of the mind or of the body that we feel drawn to, it is undeniable that no one can go through life without a deep-seated interest in Beauty. Perhaps it is because the word itself reminds us of Eternity. Plato, who knew a thing or two about the subject, being surrounded on all sides by beautiful works of art, believed that what we consider as beautiful is only a poor reflection of some unutterable loveliness in the eternal world. In other words, we live in one place in terms of existence, but in another in terms of reality.

Why is it that when we are in certain moods, after a harrowing day at work where we felt misunderstood, unappreciated and unwanted, we come home, put on the music, and Chopin's melancholy chords, or a few notes of Bizet's L'Arlésienne can make us cry? Why is it that the sight of flowers or the songs of birds in early spring fill us with inexpressible joy? Why is it that a few lines of romantic poetry can make our imagination soar sky-high and make us forget in the twinkling of an eye all our worries and sorrows? It is because in such moments, "Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea."

In like fashion, we may ask ourselves why truth, like beauty, can have a similar effect on us. Why is it that to this day, we can be moved to tears by Marc Anthony's eloquent speech at Caesar's funeral and let the truth of his words stab our mind with a thrill for which there is no language. How come that after so many years, we can still respond with great fervour to the words of all the prophets who ever lived and why are their words wise and truthful? It is because truth is part of eternal reality, as beauty is. In Keats's incomparable lines:

We are likewise moved to great depths by acts of outstanding goodness, above all by deeds that involve self-sacrifice. What makes a man or a woman give his or her life to save those who are total strangers to them? Many are those whose absolute devotion in times of great calamities has brought comfort and solace to untold numbers and whose names will never be known. In that too, we recognize the presence of a force that connects us to a categorical imperative that belongs to the universe at large. It is the immortal sea that reminds us of our utmost fragility and of the need to share with others what is only given to us for a short while on our spaceship Earth.

So, Beauty, Truth and Goodness are the three beacons of human thought without which our lives would flounder and be lost in utter darkness. Armed with a philosophy that is made up of this three-fold armour, we can derive from life all the best it has to offer and leave it with a sense of achievement and not a sense of loss for we know deep down that what is given to us here below is to be enjoyed a hundredfold in a higher sphere of experience. Such a philosophy does not make us thnk lightly of our responsibilities on earth but to think of the world beyond while making this one a better place to live in. It does not make us want to forsake our present life but brings us closer "in a season of calm weather" to the presence of the immortal sea so that our ears, so often earth-bound, may hear the waves breaking on the shores of true reality.

Once we have hearkened to the voice of the immortal sea, we may let our soul roam free, no longer enmeshed in the net of selfish desires, as so often happens in the world. We may then hear in the waves that roar the music from the other shore.

Now at long last we know why we hear these reminiscences of that immortal sea. It is all part of the grand design of the eternal God. In the lovely and mystic words of the poet: "You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins."

That immortal sea.