“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.