meher baba, by nad wolinska
While finite nature still lay in the trance
of Infinity you, beginningless,
were only darkness, until perverse creation
stirred by its own desire alone was set
once more in motion. Fruit of delusion, you
descended then into the world,
kindling the lightning's magic in the breast,
ever transforming mere sensation into
substance, as waters turn to mist, then clouds.
Attired in the brilliant raiment of desiring,
creation became temptation. Forms, locking
their arms around each other, surmised, "Now we
have found it!" But then alas, bodies trapped
in the small errors of their judgment, they
both understood: love it had never been
but the shadow of love.
Yet love shall always be
the unstrung chain of diamonds on every breast,
though tangling every soul entangled never,
but ever the sovereign power.
(tr by David Rubin)