Your hand opens and closes, opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralysed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birds’ wings.
No mind, no form, I only exist; Now ceased all will and thought. The final end of the Nature’s dance; I am it whom I have sought. A realm of bliss bare, ultimate, beyond both knower and known. A rest immense I enjoy at last; I face the one alone. I have crossed the secret ways of life; I have become the Goal. The Truth immutable is revealed; I am the way, the God-Soul. My spirit aware of all the heights, I am mute in the core of the Sun. I barter nothing with time and deeds; my cosmic play is done.
