This is a fact of supreme significance, not an article of faith but an awakened sense, a cognition, a realisation that distils age-old wisdom into the madness of the moment, a depth-discovery of the divine in a flash of insight that uncovers the subterranean strata of the life flowing within. All of us are linked in the heart. Humanity is one. Invisible cords of sympathy and oneness bind us all to each other. Mother binds us all to Her with umbilical cords, unbroken and unbreakable. Such are the strings with which She flies us, kite-like souls, in the firmament of her fancies for no apparent reason that we may fathom. Sentience is threaded in Her divine maternal love, the cosmos is bound by Her will, Her wishes tracing curvilinear paths, spreading through the field of Her imagination as so many waves across space-time, Her thoughts penetrating the web of countless universes as rays, field-interactions mesmerising galaxies, holding them in their cosmic dance. And here on earth we are held by the same beguiling motion feeding us on in our individual enterprise of cooperation and conflict on the face of things while the river of Her grace flows beneath, caressing us to wholeness when fratricidal feuds fragment our vision and hope dies a horrendous death amidst the turbulence of the times. Mother nourishes us with Her nectarine love to build anew our broken homes when all are in ruins. Cities come, cities go, forests appear where civilisation was, humanity surfaces where barbarism reigned, so the cycle goes on. But through all this the common connection in all is never disrupted at depth for such severance is opposed to the essential unity underlying things.
The surface is not all. There is a deeper layer to everything, a substratum that endures the test of fleeting times, a soul to manifested flesh, a nucleus which none may touch but which is the source and substance of things. The electrons whirl in their probability paths clouding vision and leaving uncertainty in their wake. Galaxies collapse into gravitational holes to reduce to nothingness but re-emerge to radiate as sprightly beams. The universe oscillates in endless rhythms of rise and fall even as countless others of its ilk bubble and burst into being and non-being in an unceasing orchestration of cosmic symphony. And the conductor is Mother. She holds the strings in Her hands, deftly juggling the cords to lull us to sleep and usher in us the dreams of phenomenal existence till we have had our fun and play, and then gently waking us, those that wish to dream no more, to career us to our eternal abode of absolute rest whence return to terrestrial life is no more. Freedom is ours and in bliss we abide, peaceful souls that know no hate or fratricidal feud that divides, but fulfilled we dwell on the lap of the Mother with no cares or worries to beset us, ruminating on the romance of the Self.
Such then is our inheritance, our birthright, our possibility in a sea of delusive dreams. We are divine, our source is such and our common destiny is the divinity that frees, not the eternal subjection to a tyrannical being they choose to call God but the repose of an unfettered freedom in Self-contemplation and universal camaraderie beholding oneself in all. Love is the natural corollary to such a state of realisation of the solidarity of the universe and the oneness of the Being pervading all that is. Then work is worship, labour love and the soul of man the temple of the Most High. Man is the object of adoration then, sentience the sublimest response of the Divine and life itself a pilgrimage unto the ocean of consciousness.
The surface is not all. There is a deeper layer to everything, a substratum that endures the test of fleeting times, a soul to manifested flesh, a nucleus which none may touch but which is the source and substance of things. The electrons whirl in their probability paths clouding vision and leaving uncertainty in their wake. Galaxies collapse into gravitational holes to reduce to nothingness but re-emerge to radiate as sprightly beams. The universe oscillates in endless rhythms of rise and fall even as countless others of its ilk bubble and burst into being and non-being in an unceasing orchestration of cosmic symphony. And the conductor is Mother. She holds the strings in Her hands, deftly juggling the cords to lull us to sleep and usher in us the dreams of phenomenal existence till we have had our fun and play, and then gently waking us, those that wish to dream no more, to career us to our eternal abode of absolute rest whence return to terrestrial life is no more. Freedom is ours and in bliss we abide, peaceful souls that know no hate or fratricidal feud that divides, but fulfilled we dwell on the lap of the Mother with no cares or worries to beset us, ruminating on the romance of the Self.
Such then is our inheritance, our birthright, our possibility in a sea of delusive dreams. We are divine, our source is such and our common destiny is the divinity that frees, not the eternal subjection to a tyrannical being they choose to call God but the repose of an unfettered freedom in Self-contemplation and universal camaraderie beholding oneself in all. Love is the natural corollary to such a state of realisation of the solidarity of the universe and the oneness of the Being pervading all that is. Then work is worship, labour love and the soul of man the temple of the Most High. Man is the object of adoration then, sentience the sublimest response of the Divine and life itself a pilgrimage unto the ocean of consciousness.
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