A man said to the universe: “Sir, I exist!” “However,” replied the universe. “The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.”
A yogi who perceives his real Self as separate from his active senses and their objects never becomes attached to anything. He is aware of the dream nature of the universe and watches it without being entangled in its complex but ephemeral nature.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colours, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
Love is the scent with the lotus born. It is the silent choirs of petals singing winter’s harmony of uniform beauty. Love is the song of the soul, singing to God. It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets – sun and moonlit.
