Pratnosi kam idyo advaresu Sanat na hota navya ça satsi. Svam ça Agne tanavam piprayasva, Asmubhyam ça saubhagya ayajasva ||
Calling upon, lauding, even devoting when the very path through the skies is filled in its creative bounty and sentient offering.
Agni, the divine priest, the tongue that talks to the gods, the messenger that has offered its audience for the ancient and contemporary alike, no matter when the soul, the constant in every lifetime.
The fire inside of me, embers inside of my body like divine horses, drink of the consciousness in the vassal and vessel as the fire that I am.
Grant in my being and experience, the fortune, illumination and unlimitedness of living the blessed life.
Om haam heem hoom haim haum ham Shivasuryaye namah.
Om ham Khakholkhaye Suryamurtaye namah.
Om hraam hreem sarva Suryayi namah ||
Om salutations of being from body and spirit, to knowledge and sentience, purified and evolved in expression, hailing divine inspiration, to Almighty Rudra that offers us his form we pray.
Fashioned from starstuff, the vessel of the Sun, illuminating into life, brilliant fire of the sun, the sun shining words.
Om, salutations of being into the directions of space. Guide my being, as the sun, as the root of existence, like the sun. Shiva, supreme, that is, all that is.
Om, in bowing to the hidden name, no longer. Now unlocked, in me, archetypical sun, in his image, in his form affirmed.
Om ignited, Om infused, as the sun, the eternal, all of it. Om Sun ||
“Then, filled with wonder, with hairs standing on end, he, Dhananjaya, (Arjuna), bowing down with his head to the Lord, said with folded hands.
Arjuna said: O God, I see in Your body all the gods as also hosts of (various) classes of beings; Brahma the ruler, sitting on a lotus seat, and all the heavenly sages and serpents.
I see You as possessed of numerous arms, bellies, mouths and eyes; as having infinite forms all around. O Lord of the Universe, O Cosmic Person, I see not Your limit nor the middle, nor again the beginning!
I see You as wearing a crown, wielding a mace, and holding a disc; a mass of brilliance glowing all around, difficult to look at from all sides, possessed of the radiance of the blazing fire, and immeasurable as the sun.
You are the Immutable, the supreme One to be known; You are the most perfect repository of this Universe. You are the Imperishable, the Protector of the ever-existing religion; You are the eternal Person. This is my belief.
I see You as without beginning, middle and end, possessed of infinite valour, having innumerable arms, having the sun and the moon as eyes, having a mouth like a blazing fire, and heating up this Universe by Your own brilliance.
Those very groups of gods enter into You; struck with fear, some extol (You) with joined palms. Groups of great sages and perfected beings praise You with elaborate hymns, saying ‘May it be!’” – Chapter 11, Bhagavada Gita.
Scene from the Bhagavada Gita as Krishna, the charioteer shows his god-form to the archer hero Arjuna at the field of battle.
The Bhagavada Gita is one of the holy books of the Hindu pantheon in India. And this painting and poetry are a scene from the epic battle Mahabharata as Krishna takes on his all powerful form, known as Virat Swaroop.
There is an inertia to love, there syllables slip and meaning flits. Where the heights of one exist in the depths of the other. Like some parts of one have to see the eyes of the other.
Sheer want of affection cannot scratch that surface. Just as token existence outside of posterity cannot derive outside of its tether. So when do ideas and form meld, just as eternity catches up the ages to contemplation’s slight tilt of the head. The inner fire always deigns to speak, when the wind comes calling.
What in event bears the signature of the universe, rearing to get your attention? The motif to outshine the conscious motive.
But a state of inertia is no fit place for a discourse. So this course turns, like a tightened corset tug, kneading the reins to re-enter the boundless night.
Proof of love is in the other. It calls for no other ensign.
But for a lover, that is never enough. And identity toils, and form reappears to make its foil. Syllables catch their caches of words and attributes identify their adjectifying constitutes. Grammar makes itself out to call time.
The tertiary makes inertia. And its measure not without its trial. Attestation to bridge the subjective, and requite to meet its respite.
Parables compete with aphorisms and silence extends to after thought.
Laughter is sought, giggles a universal type-set to calm home, the feeling hones to recognise its marker, like a horse with no name, sure-footed yet to a mystic muse. Until enthuse articulates enough felt to call the same.
Travails of consciousness shadow ancient histories like a mystery in aim.
Like every other, hears a pond of empathetic acclaim. Despite and unlike any.
In surrender, earnest and true, lie the aspirations and overtures to virtue.
All at once begun, woven and wondered into the collective of silence’s hum.
The residue reaches towards.
All-encompassing and harmonising like gentle heart-strums.
Imbued to burn and glow, like attributes and their afterthoughts in follow.
Honed to adjudge focus’ curve and steer forward.
Consciousness dissolving and evolving into ‘morrow.
Sunlight leads the day out of the way, and waves for night to hallow.
Yonder covers the horizon like a carpeted welcome.
Impelling emotions slowly spread their notions in overcome devotion.
A river of sentiment makes its way to be sanctified into the ocean. Never the same river twice but always into the same ocean, with sighs like ever-smiling eyes and clarified into a buttered shine.
Artwork : Self-potrait by Pablo Picasso.
Outer tread or inner reform.
