A vision without form—the Mother

I have just had a fantastic vision … A vision without form … of (how can I express it?) the cradle of a future … not a very distant future. A future … I don’t know. 

But it refuses to be told. 

Just this: it’s a pro-di-gious mass hanging over the earth.

I have just had a fantastic vision … A vision without form … of (how can I express it?) the cradle of a future … not a very distant future. A future … I don’t know.

 

But it refuses to be told.

 

Just this: it’s a pro-di-gious mass hanging over the earth.

 

29 July 1970

And Being take refuge in Non-being’s arms

And Non-being could strike out its ciphered round,

Some lustre of that Reality might appear.

 

A formless liberation came on her.

 

Once sepulchred alive in brain and flesh

She had risen up from body, mind and life;

She was no more a Person in a world,

She had escaped into infinity.

 

What once had been herself had disappeared;

There was no frame of things, no figure of soul.

Rejected like a grace of trivial notes,

Expunged from Being’s silence nude, austere,

Died into a fine and blissful Nothingness.

 

The Demiurges lost their names and forms,

The great schemed worlds that they had planned and wrought

Passed, taken and abolished one by one.

 

The universe removed its coloured veil,

And at the unimaginable end

Of the huge riddle of created things

Appeared the far-seen Godhead of the whole,

His feet firm-based on Life’s stupendous wings,

Omnipotent or lonely seer of Time,

Inward, inscrutable, with diamond gaze.

 

Attracted by the unfathomable regard

The unsolved slow cycles to their fount returned

To rise again from that invisible sea.

 

All from his puissance born was now undone;

Nothing remained the cosmic Mind conceives.

 

Eternity prepared to fade and seemed

A hue and imposition on the Void,

Space was the fl uttering of a dream that sank

Before its ending into Nothing’s deeps.

 

The spirit that dies not and the Godhead’s self

Seemed myths projected from the Unknowable;

From It all sprang, in It is called to cease.

 

But what That was, no thought or sight could tell.

 

Only a formless Form of self was left,

A tenuous ghost of something that had been,

The last experience of a lapsing wave

Before it sinks into a bourneless sea,—

As if it kept even on the brink of Nought

Its bare feeling of the ocean whence it came.

 

A Vastness brooded free from sense of Space,

An Everlastingness cut off from Time;

A strange sublime unalterable Peace

Silent rejected from it world and soul.

 

A stark companionless Reality

Answered at last to his soul’s passionate search:

Passionless, wordless, absorbed in fathomless peace,

Keeping the mystery none would ever pierce,

It brooded inscrutable and intangible

Facing him with its dumb tremendous calm.

 

It had no kinship with the universe:

There was no act, no movement in its Vast:

Life’s question met by its silence died on her lips,

The world’s effort ceased convicted of ignorance

Finding no sanction of supernal Light:

There was no mind there with its need to know,

There was no heart there with its need to love.

 

All person perished in its namelessness.

 

There was no second, it had no partner or peer;

Only itself was real to itself.

 

A pure existence safe from thought and mood,

A consciousness of unshared immortal bliss,

It dwelt aloof in its bare infinite,

One and unique, unutterably sole.

 

A Being formless, featureless and mute

That knew itself by its own timeless self,

Aware for ever in its motionless depths,

Uncreating, uncreated and unborn,

The One by whom all live, who lives by none,

An immeasurable luminous secrecy

Guarded by the veils of the Unmanifest,

Above the changing cosmic interlude

Abode supreme, immutably the same,

A silent Cause occult, impenetrable,—

Infinite, eternal, unthinkable, alone.