Words are not the Way,
Cannot describe a hair of God,
Are only froth upon the shore;
Decidedly not the depths of love’s Ocean.
Yet, even the froth, if you taste it,
Contains a salted trace of His affection.
Says what, the Froth?
“What joy I knew in the Ocean of Love;
Where eddying currents thrill,
Movements of Grace, swirling worship,
Yet absolutely still.
“I found there conscious pearls;
Who could ever estimate their worth?”
Then think again of the One Who created them.
The Ocean speaks:
“Beyond the jewel-filled seas
Rise great mountains of Light;
O Soul, be brave and fly with wings of love beyond.
Beyond, Beyond, and still Beyond.”
The helpless Froth prays:
“You can control my dogs, I cannot;
I call on your good name incessantly for deliverance.
Call them off and let me enter Your door once more,
“Was it a distant age? A Yuga then? When You permeated my soul?
Now I flop like a fish on dry land, gills desperately
Flaring for the water of life.
“I yearn for immersion,
Not the ‘me’ of me,
But the ‘You’ of me,
So that the ‘You’ of me
May enter and merge
Into the You of YOU.
“What does just one graceful glance mean to a myriad goblets?
How beautiful are Your eyes? Your feet? Your hands? Your tresses?
Your garment? Your shoes? Your touch? Your wisdom?
“I remember Your eyes, inebriated with the rarest vintage,
Your Heart, the refuge of the afflicted and world-weary;
Compassion encircling the cosmos in its embrace.”
“Remembrance is both a death and a birth,
When intensity transcends all bounds, the convulsions of the heart
Push one into the radiant lovedom of the King.”
What does it say, the Froth upon the shore?
“Long I have suffered here, beached and helpless;
Please fling me back to the Ocean whence I came.”
“You have caused your own separation.
Willfully, you parted, lured by brief sparkles on wet pebbles;
You imagined they were rarest jewels, and lusted for them.
“Contained within Me are countless treasures.
You forgot Me and I flung you upon the shore
That you might yearn for return once more.”
“Enough!” Froth cried, “Having seen the pebbles for their worth;
I have dried to a crisp beneath the sun,
I have mingled with the flotsam of ages.
Yet, always the far-off call of Your wavesong
Has thundered upon my shores, calling:
‘Come back. Come back.’
“Why call me Home, if You come not to my rescue?”
The Ocean murmured:
“Patience, my child. This separation is only for a little while, yet eternity awaits.”