The greater the gravity of the soul, the faster the consumption of life's forces. In the final lap of this terrestrial run towards eventual fulfilment the soul wears a garb that is so finely attuned to the realisation of the higher self that it draws much of its energy along subtler nerve channels thereby causing severe physical energy depletion. Energy must be conserved and what one gains on the subtler front, one loses on the grosser front, and this is the reason why great souls suffer so much physical pain, sickness and, in the worst case scenario, an early exit from the stage of this world. Men of genius are known to have expended their physical energy resources rapidly in life even as they produced works of lasting greatness. The Energy Conservation Principle is ever at work, being the bedrock of all phenomena. Genius is, thus, often attended with hazards of health thrust on the system by erratic movements of creative energy. A regular orderly flow of energy is like the flow of a river along the plains but the irregular flow of energy in a genius is like the cataract coursing its way down the the mountainous slopes dancing to the rhythm of the gods. The placid flow of water does not generate electricity but the rapidity of a waterfall does. The average run of humanity are akin to the river flowing with its soft murmur to the sea while men of outstanding genius are like the river in its highland habitat, prancing, dancing to the rhythms of Shiva, Nataraja's dance. It is these latter children of the Lord who are the bearers of the symphony of the soul, the inner music that they hear and reproduce for lesser mortals to savour too. They are the harbingers of hope for all, the precursors to progress, the messiahs of men.
It is not given to all to rise to such stupendous heights of creative genius nor do common people immersed in their humdrum existence get to apprehend the rare flights of these supernal souls. They lead their matter-of-fact lives bereft of 'the agony and the ecstasy' of these marvels of the Mother-heart. For them it is the day-to-day social intercourse, the struggle for survival, the battle for bread. They too laugh in merriment, shed tears in sorrow, dream of life and love, share and care for dear ones but they escape the sublime stirrings of the soul which these children of light are privy to. These luminous beings shed lustre on life around and fill the air with the fair fragrance of their soul.
But everything that does come in life, comes but at a price. And fair fantasies of delight! You, too, must account for the harvest of your soul with the blood that courses in your artery of immortality. You, too, must pay your dues to this Cosmic Dream in daring to make a splash and awake the slumbering souls to life and action. 'tis 'a bridge too far' and the toll tax must be paid. Heaven's gates open only when all dues are met. What shall you offer, my friend, save the very fabric of your soul, the dying embers of your mortal coil that had lit up the pyre of puerile pronouncements of the past at such an early age, in the very blossom of your youth, your freshest efflorescence fraught with the innocence of the fruition to come. But before autumn sets in, the flower fades and the promise of future fruition lies fulfilled and unfulfilled as the river rises in spate to carry the boat to shores unknown. The sun sets and in the even-glow is seen the setting sun's last radiance as darkness engulfs all. The torch that had lit a thousand lamps shines no more.
And even in the womb of the deepest dark, out in the far, far reaches of forgotten space, a light shines fair and faint, a glimmer, beckoning whom?
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