In the sacred chamber of heart,
The mystic union with,
The damsel who dances,
Shining brightly,
Took place,
A red drop met a white one,
Cool soothing flood of bliss,
Pervades,
It has flooded everything everywhere,
And consumed all the shivering of,
Existencial nightmare.
It has been flowering. I love the taste of this honey. It’s best medicine for the ailment of the existential nightmare. My being has become so full of bliss. The music of flute and jingling bells chime. Cold bliss wells up in my heart with occasional tears. It has enraptured my soul. The life seems perfect in interpreting the mystic dance. I don’t want to talk about anything else. I humbly watch the dance with awe and wonder. This mystic dancer has accepted my humble offerings unto its dancing feet.
It’s exquisite indeed. This dimension of perception reveals our purpose of being here. It’s to witness this divine dance of reality. It’s beyond life and death. Beyond happiness and unhappiness. It’s lasting peace and liberation.
Her feet are on ground but the body is spread all over!
The blessed one. The Bhagwan. The God. The Godhead. The Absolute. Reality. All are the names of my mystic partner who is dancing right now before my very own eyes. It’s also dancing in my body. It tastes sweet in my mouth in form of ambrosia. It rings musical in my ears. It’s the highest good. It’s capable of performing all things. It’s omnipresent and omnipotent. It’s omniscient. It knows all but nobody knows it.
My boat has been sailing too long,
Alas! Far too long.
I have been floating on cosmic waters.
The shore hasn’t been reached!
Alas! The shore!
With every passing day: the yearning consumes me more!
With every drop of nectar,
Sweet sublime beauty,
The thirst becomes more.
My boat on cosmic waters,
Hasn’t reached the shore!
It’s already too late!
Day and night,
I drink ambrosia,
Dripping from the bosom of the lady divine;
Who dances blissfully in my heart,
This golden dance is genuine experience known as enlightenment,
When it reveals itself,
The ego is subdued by the bliss,
It’s like reading a book of bliss forever!
My significant other is
The mystic dancer,
It has no other!
It’s the only one.
It’s the blissful experience,
Agent; experiencing and its result,
It’s an eternal mystery.
Unresolved,
Ineffable,
Fathomless,
There’s nothing which transcends it.
Though it’s true;
I long for this human journey to end,
With greater and greater intensity,
Every passing day–
The mystical search ends
When the unique dancer
Reveals itself in your heart.
It’s then:
You taste delicious ambrosia.
This mystic dancer has enslaved me!
I think only about it,
I talk only about it,
I long only for this union,
It tastes sweet, sounds sweet, feels sweet;
This ancient dancer is limitless,
It dances in the golden hall of gnosis,
It is ambrosia,
It’s Immortality,
It’s clarity,
It doesn’t judge,
It’s all goodness,
It’s bliss.
It’s love.
The supreme beauty
Has no form!
The supreme dance,
Has no movements,
The supreme music,
Has no notes!
Wonder of wonders!
It picks its subjects at random,
Makes them feel like it does,
And they sing songs mystified about,
Its nature and grace,
Since they know,
In a world which only gives one,
What’s deserved,
It’s only this grace which,
Gives insuperable beatitude and bliss,
It’s a strange thing,
This dancer is unfathomable!
Oh supreme dancer,
Where art thou feet?
Head, face and eyes?
All heads are your heads,
All faces your faces,
And all feet are your feet!
Oh supreme damsel,
What can I sing about your ineffable beauty supreme?
Words return,
From the threshold of your shrine,
With silent dazed faces,
The form of your presence,
Consumes all forms!
The music created by your tapping feet consumes all music!
Are you formless or with form?
Are you musical or without sound?
It is a mystery hitherto.
You’re the supreme taste,
And supreme grace–
Is there any doubt about it?
My beloved,
Is truth,
Freedom,
And bliss!
Her dancing feet,
Know no rest,
They produce the most sublime music,
Which is resounding in my being.
Am I a moth in the flame?
Or flame in a moth?
Or both?
The same,
A form and a name,
A game,
As the moth,
I am burning with bliss,
Can’t wait this eon of mothship to sink,
In the blink of cosmic eye,
Can’t be truly a moth,
Or even a semi awakened flame,
As the flame,
It’s merely a speck,
Now it was,
Now it’s not,
And yet :
To the dream which is neither moth,
Nor the flame,
A mysterious dame,
The song seems blissful.
It’s a great mystery.
It’s the only experience,
Which uses all senses together;
It’s seen as magnificent dance made of jewels,
It’s heard as divine melody consisting of variegated instruments,
It’s tasted as ambrosia,
A sublime honey,
And felt throughout the body as divine mingling with mundane,
Making it divine,
It also has the fragrance,
Akin to camphor,
Soothing bliss completely unique experience which has no parallel.
And it’s one entity continuous without breaks in generating experience for different senses,
It happens all at once,
And interpreted in parts.
A unique experience of fruition.
Dancing light of grace 