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Seventh: Another woman. I am just trying to balance that heavy Blah-Blah Blavatsky. She was actually heavy, literally heavy, must have weighed three hundred pounds! Three hundred pounds, and a woman! She would have thrown your so-called Muhammad Ali in a single moment. She would have crushed the so-called greatest under her feet, leaving not a trace behind. Three hundred pounds – a real woman! No wonder she could not find a lover, only followers. Naturally, obviously, you cannot love such a woman. If she forces you, you can only follow. To balance Blavatsky, the seventh, The Songs of Sahajo.
Another woman, Sahajo. Even the name is poetic; it means ‘the very essence of spontaneity’. I have spoken on Sahajo, again in Hindi because English does not allow me to be so poetic. I don’t see much poetry in the English language, and what I see in the name of poetry looks so unpoetic that I wonder why nobody rebels against it. Why are there no people to start English afresh, but poetically? It is becoming more and more the language of the scientist, the technician, or to put it better, of the technologist. It is a misfortune. Someday it can only be hoped that what I have said on Sahajo will be known to the world at large.