The only true friend I have got is my Self, for it is the only being that will remain as the final residuum when all will have left me, when all will dissolve into nothingness before the rays of the awakening sun, when even I will be on the horizon of quitting the citadel I so long held in ignorance as my own and will quietly pass into the vast void of my essence. There friends will have met in a final embrace before merging in the oneness of the Being. Then friendless I abide, alone through eternity.
The dream had been woven with magical charm. Now it has simply vaporised. Whither the world? Whither friends and foes? Whither the dual drama of onrushing life? There none was, there none is, there none will ever be. It is an empty house with none in, and then the house disappears too. Just the Witness is, the Self brooding on the Self with no hope of breaking into multiplicity ever.
And, lo! the fragmentation begins again with all its magical multiplicity. Friends come and foes come too, but through it all waits on the One, my Beloved, my Lord, my Self, my Me.
The dream had been woven with magical charm. Now it has simply vaporised. Whither the world? Whither friends and foes? Whither the dual drama of onrushing life? There none was, there none is, there none will ever be. It is an empty house with none in, and then the house disappears too. Just the Witness is, the Self brooding on the Self with no hope of breaking into multiplicity ever.
And, lo! the fragmentation begins again with all its magical multiplicity. Friends come and foes come too, but through it all waits on the One, my Beloved, my Lord, my Self, my Me.
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