“The rapidity of my walk imagination cannot follow.”
The sleepwalking soul hurries here and there, and goes nowhere. The wakeful soul sits still, and travels beyond the stars.
Five companions accompany the soul on its pilgrimage to the Source: sensation, memory, imagination, will, and self. None but the soul reaches the goal.
Sensation is at first full of enthusiasm, but when forest turns to desert it begs off, making excuses.
Persevering in the desert, memory recalls fonder times. As its recollections gradually evaporate in the heat, however, memory finds at last it can’t go on.
Imagination endures longer, its hope spurred by a succession of visions of greenery. When each, in turn, is revealed as a mirage masking yet another tract of burning sand, imagination concedes defeat.
Will insists the march must continue. At last the desert has been crossed. A river appears, a canoe at its bank. In the absence of a paddle, there is no choice but to follow the current. Its work finished, will remains on dry land.
In time the river issues into the sea. Amidst crashing waves, the canoe capsizes. The self, gasping, manages to swim to the shore and save itself.
The soul drinks the sea and the sea drinks the soul. Soul and sea are now forever one being, companionless except for the fish that are its eyes and ears.
Music of the Spheres: Gamaka Commentaries, Nirtan
The sleepwalking soul hurries here and there, and goes nowhere. The wakeful soul sits still, and travels beyond the stars.
Five companions accompany the soul on its pilgrimage to the Source: sensation, memory, imagination, will, and self. None but the soul reaches the goal.
Sensation is at first full of enthusiasm, but when forest turns to desert it begs off, making excuses.
Persevering in the desert, memory recalls fonder times. As its recollections gradually evaporate in the heat, however, memory finds at last it can’t go on.
Imagination endures longer, its hope spurred by a succession of visions of greenery. When each, in turn, is revealed as a mirage masking yet another tract of burning sand, imagination concedes defeat.
Will insists the march must continue. At last the desert has been crossed. A river appears, a canoe at its bank. In the absence of a paddle, there is no choice but to follow the current. Its work finished, will remains on dry land.
In time the river issues into the sea. Amidst crashing waves, the canoe capsizes. The self, gasping, manages to swim to the shore and save itself.
The soul drinks the sea and the sea drinks the soul. Soul and sea are now forever one being, companionless except for the fish that are its eyes and ears.