AT THE FOOTHILLS OF THE SELF

AT THE FOOTHILLS OF THE SELF 

Battle-scarred and weary, I retire to the foothills of the Self. The ranges open up glorious before the vision while the summit shrouded lies amid the misty, matted locks of Shiva. The basement beckons but the ascent must begin for the hour runs out ere darkness sets in. It has been a long journey and the final lap begins of this ascent to the top where serene, resplendent lies the summit, untouched by aught of earth. The top touches the base, yet, secure remains in lofty isolation while the thoroughfare, the traffic of life, licentious in chaos, runs below. It is all a single mass, yet, how different the reactions are in the mountainous tiers in ascending order, and so is the life of man. Man rises and falls in wavelike motion in this ocean of unreal dreams. Man up and down climbs this Jacob's ladder that stretches between heaven and earth.

So the transit goes on fine

Between human man and man divine,

Rising and falling, wavelike free,

And in waveform bound, to be, to be.

The mountain calls, the summit pulls,

The upward surge unto heaven rules

But, lo, the downward swing begins !

An avalanche hits and ruins things.

So, life af'er life rolls on thus

And slowly runs this omnibus

Of dreams, desires, distresses fine,

Tossing the soul 'tween mine and Thine

Till knocks harder than dreams can bear

Doth smash the dream, the veil doth tear

And in soaring bliss, surging free,

The self dissolves, never more to be.

There at the base camp have I struck my roots, cast my anchor and the climb begins now.

Hari Om Tat Sat!

Written by Sugata Bose