The Seven Sublime Beings
Indeed, the Light, the Cosmic Bread, is what nourishes us most substantially. I felt it within the millenarian rocks of the mountain and within the very pure waters of the river.
I beheld it, like a delectable virgin weaving a crown of roses for her own enchanted temples within the imposing silence of noontime.
Ineffably, I felt it penetrating within my soul, followed by a golden procession of dancing atoms.
Down below, next to the timid, singing rivulet, the sacred little herb from the forest was making the iridescent wheels of its delicate stalks to vibrate, and submerged in mystery, a scarab patiently learned to lift the world in each leaf.
Thus, inside, within my anchorite and penitential grotto, in a transcendental mystical experience, I astounded the stones by absorbing the light and imbibing myself in it with infinite thirst.
Indeed, while in those instants, the mundane clamour, with all of its vain passing joys and infinite bitterness, had ceased to exist for me. It had vanished like a dream.
The withered leaves, violently detached from the solitary trees, floating in the air, impelled by the autumn breeze, were lost in the jungle.
The mountain, in the misfortune of its solitude, was exhibiting the mutilated arms of its rocks.
Delectable moments within the silent blue of the profound woodland… enchanted Numen of the shady grove…
The sinner Adam reverently prostrated himself before That which has no name and understood the necessity of dying from moment to moment.
We are not important. Our life has the brief fate of the rose, which lustfully opens in the morning, yet in the night is helplessly reposing.
I do not want that sensual delight that corrupts and weakens the wretched intellectual animal.
This world and I do not comprehend each other. My mouth is woeful of singing ineffable things, for the people do not understand me.
The human earthquake has destroyed my heart and all in it expires. The wisdom of death is terribly divine.
Now, there is no bond: everything is broken. The heaven delighted itself like this. Blessed be the bitter chalice that with pleasure I consume. Finally my soul reposes; she lusts for nothing.
Farewell, stubborn world: I will depart very far beyond. In brief moments the boat of Ra, as a winged horse which swiftly soars, will set sail and cut through the eternal waves, carrying me away from here.
Daily meditation is the bread of the wise; it is impossible to reach the Buddha’s interior illumination without it.
My concentration was very profound. Thus, while meditating in a more and more intense manner, I finally fell into ecstasy.
The intentions of Mara to remove me from the path were useless; its efforts were in vain.
At the door of mystery, the light of noontime was laughing, and there, in the remote distance, the nubile palm, inebriated with the sun, was romantically oscillating.
On the rosebush from the perfumed orchard of The One Thousand and One Nights, the roses were blushing when the crystalline fountain, smiling, was soaping the rocks with foam.
Delectable instants that are indescribable, undefinable, and inexpressible... Samadhi of the ascetic, exquisite fruit of meditation…
Thus, I forgot the body, the affections, and the mind. Indeed, there is no better pleasure than the feeling of oneself as a detached soul.
Then, exquisite experiences, very intimate events, surged within my Spirit.
I very vividly remembered the preceding Mahamanvantara, the twilight of the Gods, and the profound night.
Hence, the moon that in aforetime was a world filled with light and life, decidedly fell on the arms of death.
Then, the Seven Sublime Lords and the Seven Truths ceased to exist and came into Being.
That lunar universe was devoured by That which is and nonetheless is not, in order to be exhaled again later.
Thus, life slept for seven eternities within the profound bosom of the Abstract Absolute Space.
Nonetheless, something remained; not all was lost. Death devours the forms, yet the fragrance of memories continues.
The preceding universe remained, being stored as a simple remembrance within the intelligence of the Holy Gods.
It is written with fiery words that these holy remembrances, when projected upon the eternal screen of the Uncreated Light, constitute the universe of Pleroma.
Garden of delights in the night of the cosmos, infinite enraptures… sublime absorption, inexhaustible joy.
Each virginal spark returned to its own flame. It is obvious that my own was certainly not an exception.
Then, with humility, I studied in the temple those teachings which very ancient Paramarthasattyas (inhabitants of the Absolute) delivered unto us in preceding Cosmic Nights.
Hence, those beings, who now are invisible to all of us, passed beyond our capacities of comprehension.
How long did this ecstasy endure? I do not know; I do not want to know, either. Now, everything has passed. Now, hour after hour, I patiently defoliate the mystery of the days.
Similar to the nocturnal pilgrim, my immortal hope is burning as a blazing fire within the ineffable orchestration of the spheres. Oh, night of redemption, hold thy wings, embroidered with the light of my remembrances.