Divine Mother, Mirra Alfassa
“Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings”. – (Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene II, William Shakespeare).
Light is coming from yoningo kaal umva kaal
Light is coming from the yogic script of the dance
Before and ever, there was movement of the waves in form of a dance
In the lap of transmuting matter the sprit yearns for the document of freedom
In the violet cycles, in the red effulgence of the blue stars
In the green bed of the orange urn gathering dews falling from the skies
She heard no more nor questioned herself
She ran to be free as a feather on a bird
Her bangles jingling her anklets tingling
The sound was a terror in the eye of the cat
She was the white light of the naked sun drenched in the shadow
William Shakespeare
She was the road to Olmo-lung-ring, the Shambhala, the Arden and the Happy Isles
She was the discreet manuscript of the evangelical horses
At point in the electromagnetic field of superconductivity
She was herself not in her but in Him and through him reflected in other things
She was the worshipped soul of the Adi Purusham
She was not there, not there but always quiet like a lake full of lotus
Aditi in terminal hole saw the Manjusri of Maitreyi
Sowing the immortal seeds in the garden
A flash of light like a winged spear from the future of its past
Touched the forehead of my crowning lines
I was no more in the time of its time devouring the time-eternized
But thou art in the fashion of words programmed to reach its original copy
I shall live in the stone and the sky, in the running waters and huddled hills
And nothing shall disturb the quiet life of things
Shantih Shantih Shantih
– Joy Roy Choudhury
