The Hidden Fountain-in a sweet dream I have met a messenger

Who told me the secret of a fountain I carry within myself.

I have to die to myself and all I am, to be reborn.
The cherished trails have to be abandoned without regret.
I must be an incurable optimist in the face of a thousand negations.
I must follow the guiding Hand like a dog on a leash without complaint.
Then only shall I find the hidden fountain in my heart,
And never face thirst again or have to run after barren mirages.
Then I shall pitch my tent, where palm trees, oasis, lakes,
Deep wells, fountains, cities with towers and temple bells
Will envelop me with their music of peace and harmony.
But I must not quit the desert for a remote heaven, griefless.
One by one, more and more will discover the inner Fountain.
Slowly, steadily, not noticed by others,
A noble race, affranchised from thirst, hunger and mirages,
Shall follow new opulent trails.

The deep peace of the desert settles in my soul.
Accompanied by an invisible tangible Presence,
I leave the familiar trail and seek out unfrequented
High plateaus in the hottest unfriendly no-man’s land.
There, far away from the curious and uncaring travelers,
I contemplate my newly won treasure.
A starving soul suddenly surrounded with food unlimited,
A thirsty mouth filled with paradisiacal beverage,
A hopeless loneliness surcharged with mighty Magnificence,
An empty future burdened with auspicious unborn events,
I sit numb with delight not believing my miraculous Fate.
The huge barren unending waste of desert land
Is blotted out by a vision of a blissful, Temple-garden.
A celestial music floats up to me through its wide-open gates.

As a bee enters the core of a flower drawn by its fragrance,
My soul,dancing with light steps enters the flowery Sanctuary.
There I see the sweet Mother radiant on a throne.
Like a child bursting with happiness it can hardly contain,
I throw myself at Her lovely feet.
She laughs and laughs
And the joyous fountain scatters sparkling silver.

The Mother Divine is my unfailing Friend and guardian Power.
My thirst is quenched.


Niranjan Guha Roy -1982

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The mysterious dust

A dry leaf, yesterday it was living, today it is dead. In a week it will be dust and food for many young: plants. And it will reappear as flowers and fruits. It will be transformed into the musing eyes of the poets. Each seed contains a mysterious tree, it branches hides the symphonies of Beethoven.
What is man but, a seed amongst seeds, nourished by the dust, by the earth, his dreams are contained in the petals of rose, in the fragrance of Jasmine, in the green leaves of lettuce and cabbage.
What a marvellous substance this dust. It has been said “ From the dust thou comest, to the dust thou returnest” How true, How wonderful!
This mysterious dust of the stars which contains all the eternity imprisoned in its magical trance. The bodies of the most luminous gods are made from this mysterious dust, which contains all and becomes all. Is there any dust at all anywhere? Isn’t the very substance of the body of the infinite and eternal Mystery whom we call God, the Divine!
Where is death? A living shadow changes into a dreamless sleep of the stardust.
What am I ? A floating dream on a midnight stream.
Am I a failure? How can it be? When I am the deep satisfaction of the yearning rocks to have a body and a mind and a heart and capacity to love and hate, feel and be.
All around me is that marvellous mysterious formless, nameless substance containing all, all that has gone before lies there as beautiful strains of music heard long ago. All that is here at the moment, is an explosion of the hidden beauty and ravishment and all the future lies visibly hidden in the tree like the bud, the flower and the fruit yet unborn. Each speck of that dust contains me a thousandfold. I am this face, I am those dances marvellous arms, I am that senile ol d man throwing his wisdom to all the winds, I am that magnificent godhead of the vision, I am a speck of dust infinitely same as any other grain of dust.
My body falls, my soul is fragmented like the moon on the troubled bosom of the lake.
I am, I do not exist, nor do you, nor he, she or anyone. We are dreams living visionary symbols rising out of the star dust that unnamable basic substance of all the universes in existence or yet to come. Our hells, heavens, passions and yearnings lie forever safe in the magical case of a grain of dust.
A dry leaf falls into dust, rises in the iris of the visionary probing the depth of Eternity and Infinity.