LOVE AND LOVE, INDEED
We do not love human beings ; we love our concentration patterns, our ideas and thoughts in habitual arrangement, names and forms we have become familiar with or ideals dreamt of but unrealised as yet which we pursue like the beckoning mirage and the real sunbeam striking the sands of our desert-mind. Is it unreal or real, this pursuit of the ideal? A mixture of both it is, as the Vedanta says, truth in its essence percolating through fictitious name and form. All our life's hopes and aspirations are built on such bundles of images, thought patterns, concentration contours essentially, and it is these that we like the intoxicated deer chase when entranced by the perfume emanating from its navel, the 'kasturi' that drives it on till it rests in final repose in self-brooding. So are our loves and our great final love, that of the idea within which vainly seeks expression but fails to till it draws all in unto final union in the consummation of the Self.
Written by Sugata Bose
Photo : Ajanta Bodhisattva
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