I sit, head bowed, and enjoy the shower of pure Chaitanya,
Golden, cooling and pure.
It washes every impurity in my being,
As powerfully as the Ganges rushes from the Himalayas,
Yet as gently as a mother cleanses her child.
A witness to this event, I enjoy.
I raise my head and see Your face, Our Holy Mother;
One glance and all the cares and tensions are dissolved.
Yet this is not the miracle, Holy Mother.
I sit amongst thousands all over the world,
Who are being cleansed and cared for by You,
As if they, not me, are the only one.
All are Your children;
All you care for as You do me.
Yet this is not the miracle.
The miracle is You, Our Holy Mother
Who chose to come to us in these days when we are at our worst.
You came to bless us and to bring us home.
Lisa