IN THE YOUTH of the world, Himalaya, you sprang from the rent breast of the earth, and hurled your burning challenges to the sun, hill after hill. Then came the mellow time when you said to yourself, 'No more, no further!' and your fiery heart, that raged for the freedom of clouds, found its limits, and stood still to salute the limitless. After this check on your passion, beauty was free to play upon your breast, and trust surrounded you with the joy of flowers and birds. You sit in your solitude like a great reader, on whose lap lies open some ancient book with its countless pages of stone. What story is written there, I wonder?is it the eternal wedding of the divine ascetic, Shiva, with Bhavani, the divine love?the drama of the Terrible wooing the power of the Frail?
II. 37. angadhiya deva O LORD Increate, who will serve Thee? Every votary offers his worship to the God of his own creation: each day he receives service None seek Him, the Perfect: Brahma, the Indivisible Lord. They believe in ten Avatars; but no Avatar can be the Infinite Spirit, for he suffers the results of his deeds: The Supreme One must be other than this. The Yogi, the Sanyasi, the Ascetics, are disputing one with another: Kabir says, 'O brother! he who has seen that radiance of love, he is saved.'
OUR LIFE SAILS on the uncrossed sea whose waves chase each other in an eternal hide-and-seek. It is the restless sea of change, feeding its foaming flocks to lose them over and over again, beating its hands against the calm of the sky. Love, in the centre of this circling war-dance of light and dark, yours is that green island, where the sun kisses the shy forest shade and silence is wooed by birds' singing.
