Читать книгу All Life Is Yoga: Savitri - Sri Aurobindo - Страница 79

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The Inconscient is the Superconscient’s sleep.

An unintelligible Intelligence

Invents creation’s paradox profound;

Spiritual thought is crammed in Matter’s forms,

Unseen it throws out a dumb energy

And works a miracle by a machine.

All here is a mystery of contraries:

Darkness a magic of self-hidden Light,

Suffering some secret rapture’s tragic mask

And death an instrument of perpetual life.

Although Death walks beside us on Life’s road,

A dim bystander at the body’s start

And a last judgment on man’s futile works,

Other is the riddle of its ambiguous face:

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There is a morning twilight of the gods;

Miraculous from sleep their forms arise

And God’s long nights are justified by dawn.

There breaks a passion and splendour of new birth

And hue-winged visions stray across the lids,

Heaven’s chanting heralds waken dim-eyed Space.

The dreaming deities look beyond the seen

And fashion in their thoughts the ideal worlds

Sprung from a limitless moment of desire

That once had lodged in some abysmal heart.

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A ripple of gleaming wings crossed the far sky;

Birds like pale-bosomed imaginations flew

With low disturbing voices of desire,

And half-heard lowings drew the listening ear,

As if the Sun-god’s brilliant kine were there

Hidden in mist and passing towards the sun.

These fugitive beings, these elusive shapes

Were all that claimed the eye and met the soul,

The natural inhabitants of that world.

But nothing there was fixed or stayed for long;

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