The eternal and unceasing flow of Love. The love that illuminates the paths of the ignorant and the wise, the love that surrounds like sunshine but which never binds one as with a rope that is inelastic – if all this should but have a name, then there can only be one answer and the million echoes of the million voices reverberate with the same zeal and happiness the word – “Mother”
If all the pity in the world that we know and from the worlds that we don’t know could be placed in a heap; if all the grace that could heal the wounds of the body and of hearts could be placed atop that leap of pity and if it can’t but be called by a name, then the myriads of wounded cry with joy one word – “Mother” to name it.
If even one had tried to bring down to earth the light of stars put together, and had added the light of the suns and the moons he might have had an idea of Mother’s light of which the light he collected is but an atom.
If we call earth the most patient for she bears without complaint the wounds that we cause her and if we wish to praise her forbearance for she bears the weight of so many billions of billions of creatures – what should we call Mother who carries not only our weight but also the weight of our sins which outweigh us – and what should we call she who takes the blows that we merit onto her?
If Brahma is to be worshipped for he is the creator – Mother is Brahma for she is our creator, her children’s.
If Vishnu is to be worshipped for he’s the sustainer of our lives, Mother is Vishnu for it is she who feeds us.
If one has to worship Siva for he destroys then Mother is Siva who destroys – not us but our ego.
But all these turn dwindle unto dust and like dwarfs before a colossal and like ants before a mountain pale into insignificance like fireflies before the sun and there is not fit word other than “Mother” to describe Mother. And the blessed little thing that gives me eternal happiness is that and that word alone and like a child that just learnt a game rejoices playing it over and over again without vexing. I wish to sing “Mother” unto the birds and unto the woods joining the chore with the multitudes of rivers and rivulets birds and the mute and with the rustling leaves and the smiling flowers.
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