Savitri – Eine Legende und ein Symbol. Sri Aurobindo

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СКАЧАТЬ passers-by from kindred spheres:

      Each by his credo judged the thought she spoke.

      “Who then is this who knows not that the soul

      Is a least gland or a secretion’s fault

      Disquieting the sane government of the mind,

      Disordering the function of the brain,

      Or a yearning lodged in Nature’s mortal house

      Or dream whispered in man’s cave of hollow thought

      Who would prolong his brief unhappy term

      Or cling to living in a sea of death?”

      But others, “Nay, it is her spirit she seeks.

      A splendid shadow of the name of God,

      A formless lustre from the Ideal’s realm,

      The Spirit is the Holy Ghost of Mind;

      But none has touched its limbs or seen its face.

      Each soul is the great Father’s crucified Son,

      Mind is that soul’s one parent, its conscious cause,

      The ground on which trembles a brief passing light,

      Mind, sole creator of the apparent world.

      All that is here is part of our own self;

      Our minds have made the world in which we live.”

      Another with mystic and unsatisfied eyes

      Who loved his slain belief and mourned its death,

      “Is there one left who seeks for a Beyond?

      Can still the path be found, opened the gate?”

      So she fared on across her silent self.

      To a road she came thronged with an ardent crowd

      Who sped brilliant, fire-footed, sunlight-eyed,

      Pressing to reach the world’s mysterious wall,

      And pass through masked doorways into outer mind

      Where the Light comes not nor the mystic voice,

      Messengers from our subliminal greatnesses,

      Guests from the cavern of the secret soul.

      Into dim spiritual somnolence they break

      Or shed wide wonder on our waking self,

      Ideas that haunt us with their radiant tread,

      Dreams that are hints of unborn Reality,

      Strange goddesses with deep-pooled magical eyes,

      Strong wind-haired gods carrying the harps of hope,

      Great moon-hued visions gliding through gold air,

      Aspiration’s sun-dream head and star-carved limbs,

      Emotions making common hearts sublime.

      And Savitri mingling in that glorious crowd,

      Yearning to the spiritual light they bore,

      Longed once to hasten like them to save God’s world;

      But she reined back the high passion in her heart;

      She knew that first she must discover her soul.

      Only who save themselves can others save.

      In contrary sense she faced life’s riddling truth:

      They carrying the light to suffering men

      Hurried with eager feet to the outer world;

      Her eyes were turned towards the eternal source.

      Outstretching her hands to stay the throng she cried:

      “O happy company of luminous gods,

      Reveal, who know, the road that I must tread, –

      For surely that bright quarter is your home, –

      To find the birthplace of the occult Fire

      And the deep mansion of my secret soul.”

      One answered pointing to a silence dim

      On a remote extremity of sleep

      In some far background of the inner world.

      “O Savitri, from thy hidden soul we come.

      We are the messengers, the occult gods

      Who help men’s drab and heavy ignorant lives

      To wake to beauty and the wonder of things

      Touching them with glory and divinity;

      In evil we light the deathless flame of good

      And hold the torch of knowledge on ignorant roads;

      We are thy will and all men’s will towards Light.

      O human copy and disguise of God

      Who seekst the deity thou keepest hid

      And livest by the Truth thou hast not known,

      Follow the world’s winding highway to its source.

      There in the silence few have ever reached,

      Thou shalt see the Fire burning on the bare stone

      And the deep cavern of thy secret soul.”

      Then Savitri following the great winding road

      Came where it dwindled into a narrow path

      Trod only by rare wounded pilgrim feet.

      A few bright forms emerged from unknown depths

      And looked at her with calm immortal eyes.

      There was no sound to break the brooding hush;

      One felt the silent nearness of the soul.

      End of Canto Three

      Canto Four

      The Triple Soul-Forces

      Here СКАЧАТЬ