MS (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

! ! O Best Beloved

In the dark unsleep of restless night,
in the black heaviness of siesta in the sun,

in the enchantments of the world,
in a day of future dreams,

the Lord can seem so far away;
too far to know, too far to call,

in the emptiness of heart; in
the drowning whirlpool of the head;

is your head already sunk upon your breast?
O dearest - O beloved of the Lord -

your eyes are nearest to Him now!
too near even, for your arms to hold;

for His image is already there,
sketched upon your heart

in gold and silver, emerald and rose,
fragrant as a garden freshly watered

from the fountain that eternal plays;
His eyes are shining with the thought of you;

He waits there as a child, impatiently
awaiting His companion bursting through the gate

to play together in that garden without walls; for,
remember that He made you so to play with Him;

don’t keep Him waiting; it’s so short a distance
from your humbled head, there, to His image in your heart;

open all your senses to His bliss:
run, run…laugh; go play with Him…

He knows more games to play than any could devise;
run, run… laugh; go play with Him…

*

(Sri Vaasudevaananda Saraswati,1999)

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Comments (1)

Absolutely, utterly delightful and so, so eloquent as always M. t x