One strange thing about love is that,
You can never say, on such and such date,
On such and such place, at such and such time
You shall fall in love.
You can’t have a neat schedule and
A perfect methodology plotted in time;
It is not a planned affair.
Planning is the agony of the blind.
You can search or research,
You can seek and cry out,
But it is not in your hands to choose
The time and space and the manner in which
You awaken to the presence of the Beloved.
The dazzling splendor dawns
Like a sacred fire, an altar pure,
That makes you kneel down
In adoration that words fails to express.
You are set ablaze by the radiance
That makes your heart tremble with fire.
You discover the joy of utter self giving,
You discover the jewel heart of your orbit,
In love you are not – the other is.
Yoga cannot be taught, it happens like dawn;
It is a treasure that comes with smile of Grace.
Once known you can never be the same
Once kindled the fire can never die;
Ashes may cover the amber
But the glow remains for ever in memory,
However far it is in time’s winding roads.
The very memory keeps you alive,
You discover the yearning gulf in your heart.
In the blind alley of reason
You shall never find that jewel,
In the whirlwinds of passion,
You can never behold that Grace;
Only in the hour of sacred stillness,
When the whole world comes to stand still,
In the secret heart of Time,
You shall find the One
For whom you are missioned.
A silent gaze that knows,
A luminous certitude,
A joy that is fullness,
These are the signs of the Presence.
Behold the breath,
Behold the fragrance,
Behold all that is;
It is the hour of the Beloved.
