My Father's House

“In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.” Lord Jesus Christ, Holy Bible

My father’s house is a hill wreathed in clouds that is older than Time.

My father’s house is an old hall filled with radiance, a gnarled old tree, a cowshed, a grove full of peacocks and monkeys, tombs, temples and Gods in black stone. It is a dream echoing with the sound of sacred songs, of bells ringing and cymbals clashing, of timeless chants sung by a chorus of fire-waving priests and little Brahmin boys.

Garlanded by shops and shrines, by traffic and commerce and noise, it shines still, tranquil and pristine in the midst of chaos like a jewel set in gold, resting on the mountain’s breast.

Every space in my father’s house is filled with his benevolent and blessed presence.

My father’s house is vaster than the cosmos, welcoming all that seek for peace: no doors are ever shut, no one is ever turned away; here all living beings are recognised as being equally divine.

My father’s house is like the mighty Ganges river: how much water you can carry away depends only on the size of your vessel and your own strength.

In my father’s house, bellies and hearts and souls are all fed freely as a matter of course.

In my father’s house, the welcome is always unconditionally loving and forgiving, always a benediction of benevolent,perfect Grace!

Businessmen and pilgrims, beggars and housewives, sadhus and tourists, the rich and the poor, the young and the old and the in-between- all are embraced in this healing place!

I go to my father's house to rest and recuperate.

In my father’s house, I am at peace: here I discover that my father and I are One.

Here I can drop all my cares, my masks, my pain, my tears, my fantasies of loss and gain: here, at last, I can just rest quietly and gratefully, like an old dog snoozing in a patch of winter sunshine.

How good it feels to be home!