MY Tabernacle

 

My mind is the temple of the Divine

More surely than any man-made edifice:

Here, I await alone, the coming of the Lord,

Here I await the all-surpassing Bliss.

 

First, I must empty the mind of mundane clutter

And sweep it clean of passion’s sordid stain,

And sternly banish imagination’s trash,

Preparing the space which is the Lord’s domain.

 

Then I must still the voices of the world,

And hush my own loquacious inner speech –

That I may hear the Master’s quiet voice

And in the silence learn what he may teach.

 

My tabernacle awaits, serene and tranquil,

The infusion and the plenitude of Grace:

Here must I consecrate myself to Him

Who is the liberator of our race.

 

The mental screen is erased and free of faces,

Colors, images and places: undeterred

By rituals – in the formless, voiceless dark –

I await the light that marks the coming of the word.

 

Out of the somber dark, intense luminosity;

Out of the silence, an esoteric call;

Out of the solitude, a nameless wonder;

Out of the baren nothingness – the all.

 

- Carem Blumen kron