And that is the reason why it overspreads the sky
like a thought taking shape in a poem, and never has
to break into pieces with the burden of its own accumulating
weight. Hence the surprise of endless variations,
the advent of the unaccountable, the ceaseless procession
of individuals, each of whom is without a parallel
in creation. As at the first so to the last,
the beginning never ends—the world is ever
old and ever new.
It is for our self to know that it must be born anew
every moment of its life. It must break through
all illusions that encase it in their crust to make
it appear old, burdening it with death.
For life is immortal youthfulness, and it hates age
that tries to clog its movements—age that
belongs not to life in truth, but follows it as the
shadow follows the lamp.
Our life, like a river, strikes its banks not to find
itself closed in by them, but to realise anew every
moment that it has its unending opening towards the
sea. It is a poem that strikes its metre at
every step not to be silenced by its rigid regulations,
but to give expression every moment to the inner freedom
of its harmony.
The boundary walls of our individuality thrust us
back within our limits, on the one hand, and thus
lead us, on the other, to the unlimited. Only
when we try to make these limits infinite are we launched
into an impossible contradiction and court miserable
failure.
This is the cause which leads to the great revolutions
in human history. Whenever the part, spurning
the whole, tries to run a separate course of its own,
the great pull of the all gives it a violent wrench,
stops it suddenly, and brings it to the dust.
Whenever the individual tries to dam the ever-flowing
current of the world-force and imprison it within
the area of his particular use, it brings on disaster.
However powerful a king may be, he cannot raise his
standard or rebellion against the infinite source
of strength, which is unity, and yet remain powerful.
It has been said, By unrighteousness men prosper,
gain what they desire, and triumph over their enemies,
but at the end they are cut off at the root and suffer
extinction. [Footnote: Adharmenaidhate tavat
tato bahdrani pacyati tatah sapatnan jayati samulastu
vinacyati.] Our roots must go deep down into the
universal if we would attain the greatness of personality.
It is the end of our self to seek that union.
It must bend its head low in love and meekness and
take its stand where great and small all meet.
It has to gain by its loss and rise by its surrender.
His games would be a horror to the child if he could
not come back to his mother, and our pride of personality
will be a curse to us if we cannot give it up in love.
We must know that it is only the revelation of the
Infinite which is endlessly new and eternally beautiful
in us, and which gives the only meaning to our self.
