Now as an aspect of a great decisive occult-yogic move, Aswapati is stepping into the impenetrable luminous blank in which even the world’s yearning he was carrying with him vanishes. What he sees in that luminous blank, the brilliant Void, is a potent universe without galaxies, without streams, mountains, beasts or birds or men, all withheld in its utter formlessness, in that which can become manifest, epiphanic. Behind Sachchidānanda stood the quiescent, and what remained was nothing but the Nirvana of the Absolute, the austere apocalyptic alone, Nirvana beyond Nirvana of the Manifest. The cosmic and even the transcendental have disappeared from sight. Yet he must know that one power alone whose enigma gives meaning and contents to all these thousand things, manifest and unmanifest, phenomenal and eternal. In the process, everything is abolished, and there stands only the forceful positive, the fire that gives fire to these countless fires. In it his spirit’s will pursues the unknowable.

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For many years my heart wanted
something for me,
not knowing that it was itself
what it wanted:
the desire for Jamshid's cup,
wherein all existence can be seen,
except for that chalice itself, that is.

In the clear dawn, before the east was red,
Before the rose had torn her veil in two,
A nightingale through Hafiz' garden flew,
Stayed but to fill its song with tears, and fled.

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