Poems
(Lotus flower)
Holy Mother of my soul, complete,
I have surrendered, at Your Lotus Feet,
All the hurt and all the heat,
All the feelings of defeat,
All the anger, all the pain,
All the tension, all the strain,
All the worries, all the fears,
All the years of unshed tears.
Oh! Shri Vishnumaya, dazzling bright,
Chase away the shadows of the night.
Shri Adi Guru, ancient dawning light,
Take away illusion from my sight.
Let the dried-up hot dead sea of strife
Turn to the lush soft garden of vibrant life.
Show me the way to become my own Master,
How to reach my Self in the Virata.
The Way is only You, Your Lotus Feet,
Beloved Holy Mother, my All, Complete.
Katie Cartmel
(Photograph: Vishnu Bonneau)
(Rumi)
Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn’t matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
A hundred times.
Come, yet again, come, come.
Rumi
The great religions are like branches
Of one spreading tree:
It is alone in its growth,
Although it has birthed many shoots.
And is it ever possible that branches
Would suddenly, in anger, hit each other?
Religions are the same as branches,
That grew from one big tree.
And these, Shri Mataji’s words, not without reason
All men with thankfulness accept.
It’s time to understand
That we are brothers,
Beyond the races, nationalities, and faiths,
And independent of our skin colors.
Because like branches
Just one root we have!
The Lord is one
Though there are many paths,
That lead to Him –
The goal is always one:
The mountain peak that pierces clouds.
The goal of life is union with God.
Let’s not forget Whose Image and Likeness we carry,
And we will understand to where we aspire.
Vladimir Mikhanovsky
Source: Mikhanovsky, Vladimir. Hope Faith Love: The Road to God. Pune, India: Nirmal Transformation, 2007.
- Mountains
I see a mountain from my window
Standing like an ancient sage
Desireless, full of love.
So many trees and so many flowers
They plunder the mountain all the time.
Its attention is not disturbed
And when the rain pours like
Many pitchers of clouds bursting
And it fills the mountain with greenery.
The storms may come soaring,
Filling the lake with compassion
And the rivers flow running down
Towards the calling sea.
The sun will create clouds and
Wind carries on its feathery wings
The rain on to the mountain.
This is the eternal play
The mountain sees
without desires.
Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi
(Photograph: wikimediacommons)