FREE YOU ARE EVEN NOW BUT WHITHER FREEDOM?
Attributes hold and action holds, too. The cycles progressive and retrogressive must cease. Then the whirlpool of this ego ceases, too, and freedom lies prostrate and passive in the certitude of the Self, the one conscious seer singular without hope of assumption of multiplicity of sorts, existence absolute free of all, free of space, time and causalitywhich like distant dreams have vanished, disappeared into nought.
Yet, this ground of existence solid lies at the base of the 'Hanging Gardens' that phenomena is which in a while reappears from silken golden mantric thread that serpentine moves with meaning mystic to freshen the drama of cosmic nescience. Then the experience is gone of self-singularity, unbounded, free, the seer, the witness of itself brooding on itself, and perceptions dual displace the serene in a delusive film of name and form where the 'I' holds true in every form and one sees oneself in them.
The vision's gone but the impression lingers for two days and two thirds of a day, and the scene starts shifting and drifting low till sense is gross once more and one is trapped in the melee of things with a memory fine that holds, sustains with a promise to return one day to the same supernal height where all is free and all is pure and all is conscious true.
Written by Sugata Bose
Attributes hold and action holds, too. The cycles progressive and retrogressive must cease. Then the whirlpool of this ego ceases, too, and freedom lies prostrate and passive in the certitude of the Self, the one conscious seer singular without hope of assumption of multiplicity of sorts, existence absolute free of all, free of space, time and causalitywhich like distant dreams have vanished, disappeared into nought.
Yet, this ground of existence solid lies at the base of the 'Hanging Gardens' that phenomena is which in a while reappears from silken golden mantric thread that serpentine moves with meaning mystic to freshen the drama of cosmic nescience. Then the experience is gone of self-singularity, unbounded, free, the seer, the witness of itself brooding on itself, and perceptions dual displace the serene in a delusive film of name and form where the 'I' holds true in every form and one sees oneself in them.
The vision's gone but the impression lingers for two days and two thirds of a day, and the scene starts shifting and drifting low till sense is gross once more and one is trapped in the melee of things with a memory fine that holds, sustains with a promise to return one day to the same supernal height where all is free and all is pure and all is conscious true.
Written by Sugata Bose
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