Where is your graceful movement in this lifeless beauty?
Neither your love play of no,
Nor your love play of yes,
No toss of your flowing hair,
…they are not in your image!

There is nothing in the world like you.
Come before me once more,
Isn’t a single glimpse to be my fate?
…they are not in your image!

What is you is not in your image!

You also must have experienced in ordinary love that your beloved’s image cannot be caught on paper. No matter how much color you put in it, her color will not be there. No matter how much you shine it, her radiance will not come, something will be left out. That which is alive will be left out, that which is real will be left out, just the surface will appear in the picture. The soul will be left behind, only the body will be caught.

The divine is pure being, hence it is indescribable. God is the pure essence of this existence. An image of a flower can be made, but how can you make an image of a fragrance? A flower has both body and soul. In the fragrance only its soul remains, the body is gone.

God is the fragrance of this existence. Yes, you can paint an image of a veena, but the stroking of the veena strings, the music arising…how will you paint this music? Has anyone ever painted an image of music? It can be experienced. It can be felt. It can be enjoyed.

So don’t get involved in defining God. Cover yourself with God. Wear him, drink him, eat and digest him. Let God become your flesh and your marrow. Don’t ask for his definition. Don’t fall into the trap of words.

Come, let us make our bed out of the moonlight,
Cover ourselves with it, wear it.

Don’t talk about the moonlight. The real thing may be lost in talking about it. You may get stuck in the words.

Come, let us make our bed out of the moonlight,
Cover ourselves with it, wear it.
Let us bathe in the moonlight, drown in it, float…
Come, let us make our bed out of the moonlight.

Cool, cool moonlight
Wound-balm moonlight –
Suppurating wounds will be healed.
Flowing waters from the eyes
Hesitate, freeze.
Come, let us grow the paddy rice of unsown dreams.
Come, let us make our bed out of the moonlight.