Listen! In the first
faint light of dawn, silence begets the origin of all song.
Soft gurgle of water
flowing downriver, the first whispers of wind in the trees;
Cuckoos cry to the world
to awaken, splash of a fish leaping and falling,
the slither of oars and the soft hiss of the boat against the stream.
the slither of oars and the soft hiss of the boat against the stream.
The first women washing
clothes on the bank swish, thud ! swish, thud!
like souls being cleansed in the river of Grace in a
rhythm as old as the earth.
Far away a herd-boy calls
to his sleepy cows to cross at the ford while the water is low.
Bird-songs begin and
resonate in chorus, do you hear the clouds drift secretly across the sky?
It seems everything is
singing in harmony…where does that deep underlying chord of Om arise?
See! The vast dark sky blushes so delicately as Space reveals hidden beauty at the fading edge of night.
A still-bright sliver of
moon slides down the horizon, as day triumphant drifts up all orange and gold.
And oh look! The magnificent splendour of a rising sun!
No thoughts, no words, no
stories: only this effortless, blissful perfection of every new dawn.
If this is illusion, what
artist created such glory?
If morning does not open
your heart to the sacred,
nothing will!
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