Savitri – Eine Legende und ein Symbol. Sri Aurobindo

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СКАЧАТЬ conscious of the high things not yet won,

      Ever she nurses in her sleepless breast

      An inward urge that takes from her rest and peace.

      Ignorant and weary and invincible,

      She seeks through the soul’s war and quivering pain

      The pure perfection her marred nature needs,

      A breath of Godhead on her stone and mire.

      A faith she craves that can survive defeat,

      The sweetness of a love that knows not death,

      The radiance of a truth for ever sure.

      A light grows in her, she assumes a voice,

      Her state she learns to read and the act she has done,

      But the one needed truth eludes her grasp,

      Herself and all of which she is the sign.

      An inarticulate whisper drives her steps

      Of which she feels the force but not the sense;

      A few rare intimations come as guides,

      Immense divining flashes cleave her brain,

      And sometimes in her hours of dream and muse

      The truth that she has missed looks out on her

      As if far off and yet within her soul.

      A change comes near that flees from her surmise

      And, ever postponed, compels attempt and hope,

      Yet seems too great for mortal hope to dare.

      A vision meets her of supernal Powers

      That draw her as if mighty kinsmen lost

      Approaching with estranged great luminous gaze.

      Then is she moved to all that she is not

      And stretches arms to what was never hers.

      Outstretching arms to the unconscious Void,

      Passionate she prays to invisible forms of Gods

      Soliciting from dumb Fate and toiling Time

      What most she needs, what most exceeds her scope,

      A Mind unvisited by illusion’s gleams,

      A Will expressive of soul’s deity,

      A Strength not forced to stumble by its speed,

      A Joy that drags not sorrow as its shade.

      For these she yearns and feels them destined hers:

      Heaven’s privilege she claims as her own right.

      Just is her claim the all-witnessing Gods approve,

      Clear in a greater light than reason owns:

      Our intuitions are its title-deeds;

      Our souls accept what our blind thoughts refuse.

      Earth’s winged chimaeras are Truth’s steeds in Heaven,

      The impossible God’s sign of things to be.

      But few can look beyond the present state

      Or overleap this matted hedge of sense.

      All that transpires on earth and all beyond

      Are parts of an illimitable plan

      The One keeps in his heart and knows alone.

      Our outward happenings have their seed within,

      And even this random Fate that imitates Chance,

      This mass of unintelligible results,

      Are the dumb graph of truths that work unseen:

      The laws of the Unknown create the known.

      The events that shape the appearance of our lives

      Are a cipher of subliminal quiverings

      Which rarely we surprise or vaguely feel,

      Are an outcome of suppressed realities

      That hardly rise into material day:

      They are born from the spirit’s sun of hidden powers

      Digging a tunnel through emergency.

      But who shall pierce into the cryptic gulf

      And learn what deep necessity of the soul

      Determined casual deed and consequence?

      Absorbed in a routine of daily acts,

      Our eyes are fixed on an external scene;

      We hear the crash of the wheels of Circumstance

      And wonder at the hidden cause of things.

      Yet a foreseeing Knowledge might be ours,

      If we could take our spirit’s stand within,

      If we could hear the muffled daemon voice.

      Too seldom is the shadow of what must come

      Cast in an instant on the secret sense

      Which feels the shock of the invisible,

      And seldom in the few who answer give

      The mighty process of the cosmic Will

      Communicates its image to our sight,

      Identifying the world’s mind with ours.

      Our range is fixed within the crowded arc

      Of what we observe and touch and thought can guess

      And rarely dawns the light of the Unknown

      Waking in us the prophet and the seer.

      The outward and the immediate are our field,

      The dead past is our background and support;

      Mind keeps the soul prisoner, we are slaves to our acts;

      We cannot free our gaze to reach wisdom’s sun.

      Inheritor СКАЧАТЬ