Savitri – Eine Legende und ein Symbol. Sri Aurobindo

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СКАЧАТЬ the figures of this symbol realm,

      Its solid outlines of creative dream

      Inspiring the great concrete tasks of earth.

      In its motion-parable of human life

      Here thou canst trace the outcome Nature gives

      To the sin of being and the error in things

      And the desire that compels to live

      And man’s incurable malady of hope.

      In an immutable order’s hierarchy

      Where Nature changes not, man cannot change:

      Ever he obeys her fixed mutation’s law;

      In a new version of her oft-told tale

      In ever-wheeling cycles turns the race.

      His mind is pent in circling boundaries:

      For mind is man, beyond thought he cannot soar.

      If he could leave his limits he would be safe:

      He sees but cannot mount to his greater heavens;

      Even winged, he sinks back to his native soil.

      He is a captive in his net of mind

      And beats soul-wings against the walls of life.

      In vain his heart lifts up its yearning prayer,

      Peopling with brilliant Gods the formless Void;

      Then disappointed to the Void he turns

      And in its happy nothingness asks release,

      The calm Nirvana of his dream of self:

      The Word in silence ends, in Nought the name.

      Apart amid the mortal multitudes,

      He calls the Godhead incommunicable

      To be the lover of his lonely soul

      Or casts his spirit into its void embrace.

      Or he finds his copy in the impartial All;

      He imparts to the Immobile his own will,

      Attributes to the Eternal wrath and love

      And to the Ineffable lends a thousand names.

      Hope not to call God down into his life.

      How shalt thou bring the Everlasting here?

      There is no house for him in hurrying Time.

      Vainly thou seekst in Matter’s world an aim;

      No aim is there, only a will to be.

      All walk by Nature bound for ever the same.

      Look on these forms that stay awhile and pass,

      These lives that long and strive, then are no more,

      These structures that have no abiding truth,

      The saviour creeds that cannot save themselves,

      But perish in the strangling hands of the years,

      Discarded from man’s thought, proved false by Time,

      Philosophies that strip all problems bare

      But nothing ever have solved since earth began,

      And sciences omnipotent in vain

      By which men learn of what the suns are made,

      Transform all forms to serve their outward needs,

      Ride through the sky and sail beneath the sea,

      But learn not what they are or why they came;

      These polities, architectures of man’s brain,

      That, bricked with evil and good, wall in man’s spirit

      And, fissured houses, palace at once and jail,

      Rot while they reign and crumble before they crash;

      These revolutions, demon or drunken god,

      Convulsing the wounded body of mankind

      Only to paint in new colours an old face;

      These wars, carnage triumphant, ruin gone mad,

      The work of centuries vanishing in an hour,

      The blood of the vanquished and the victor’s crown

      Which men to be born must pay for with their pain,

      The hero’s face divine on satyr’s limbs,

      The demon’s grandeur mixed with the demigod’s,

      The glory and the beasthood and the shame;

      Why is it all, the labour and the din,

      The transient joys, the timeless sea of tears,

      The longing and the hoping and the cry,

      The battle and the victory and the fall,

      The aimless journey that can never pause,

      The waking toil, the incoherent sleep,

      Song, shouts and weeping, wisdom and idle words,

      The laughter of men, the irony of the gods?

      Where leads the march, whither the pilgrimage?

      Who keeps the map of the route or planned each stage?

      Or else self-moved the world walks its own way,

      Or nothing is there but only a Mind that dreams:

      The world is a myth that happened to come true,

      A legend told to itself by conscious Mind,

      Imaged and played on a feigned Matter’s ground

      On which it stands in an unsubstantial Vast.

      Mind is the author, spectator, actor, stage:

      Mind only is and what it thinks is seen.

      If Mind is all, renounce the hope of bliss;

      If Mind is all, renounce the hope of Truth.

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