Welcome.
It's time to let yourself rest.
Let this be a quiet return.
Into stillness.
Into breath.
Into the presence behind all things.
Tonight,
We'll start with a guided relaxation.
And then you'll hear verses from Gitanjali,
A collection of devotional poems by Rabindranath Tagore,
A mystic and poet.
These poems were written as offerings.
Simple,
Sacred songs addressed to the divine.
They speak of longing,
Beauty,
Surrender,
And the invisible thread that connects all life.
There's nothing you need to understand.
Just listen.
And let the words carry you.
Close your eyes gently.
Feel the breath entering and leaving.
Now move your awareness slowly,
Gently,
Through the body.
The top of your head.
Your brow ridge.
Your eyes.
Cheeks.
Jaw.
Throat.
Right shoulder.
Right arm.
Right hand.
Left shoulder.
Left arm.
Left hand.
Chest.
Belly.
Pelvis.
Right leg.
Right foot.
Left leg.
Left foot.
Feel the whole body at rest.
Held.
Safe.
Open.
Let yourself receive the words now.
As if they were spoken in the space between dreams.
Verse one.
Thou hast made me endless.
Such is thy pleasure.
This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again,
And fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
And hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands,
My little heart loses its limits in joy,
And gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass,
And still thou poorest,
And still there is room to fill.
Verse two.
When thou commandest me to sing,
It seems that my heart would break with pride,
And I look to thy face,
And tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony,
And my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.
Verse three.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing.
I know that only as a singer I come before thy presence.
Verse four.
I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet,
Which I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing,
I forget myself,
And call thee friend who art my Lord.
Verse three.
I know not how thou singest,
My Master.
I ever listen in silent amazement.
The light of thy music illumines the world.
The life-breath of thy music runs from sky to sky.
The holy stream of thy music breaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on.
Verse four.
My heart longs to join in thy song,
But vainly struggles for a voice.
I would speak,
But speech breaks not into song,
And I cry out,
Baffled.
Ah,
Thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music,
My Master.
Verse four.
Life of my life,
I shall ever try to keep my body pure,
Knowing that thy living touch is upon all my limbs.
Verse five.
I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts,
Knowing that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.
I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart.
And keep my love in flower,
Knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.
And it shall be my endeavor to reveal thee in my actions,
Knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act.
Verse five.
I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side.
The works that I have in hand,
I will finish afterwards.
Verse six.
Away from the sight of thy face,
My heart knows no rest nor respite,
And my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs,
And the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Verse seven.
Now it is time to sit quiet face to face with thee,
And to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
Verse six.
Pluck this little flower and take it,
Delay not.
I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust.
Verse seven.
It may not find a place in thy garland,
But honor it with a touch of pain from thy hand,
And pluck it.
Verse eight.
I fear lest the day end before I am aware,
And the time of offering go by.
Though its color be not deep,
And its smell be faint,
Use this flower in thy service,
And pluck it while there is time.
Verse seven.
My song has put off her adornments.
She has no pride of dress and decoration.
Ornaments would mar our union.
They would come between thee and me.
Their jingling would drown thy whispers.
My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight.
Oh,
Master poet,
I have sat down at.
Only let me make my life simple and straight.
Like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
Verse eight.
The child who is decked with prince's robes.
And who has jeweled chains round his neck.
Loses all pleasure in his play.
His dress hampers him at every step.
In fear that it may be frayed or stained with dust.
He keeps himself from the world,
And is afraid even to move.
Verse nine.
Mother,
It is no gain,
Thy bondage of finery,
If it keep one shut off from the healthful dust of the earth.
If it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common human life.
Verse nine.
Oh,
Fool,
To try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders.
Oh,
Beggar,
To come to beg at thy own door.
Leave all thy burdens on his hands,
Who can bear all.
And never look behind in regret.
Verse ten.
Thy desire,
At once,
Puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy.
Take not thy gifts through its unclean hands,
Except only what is offered by sacred love.
Verse ten.
Here is thy footstool,
And there rest thy feet where live the poorest and lowliest and lost.
Verse eleven.
When I try to bow to thee,
My obeisance cannot reach down to the depth where thy feet rest.
Among the poorest and lowliest and lost.
Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the humble.
Among the poorest and lowliest and lost.
My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest company.
With the companionless among the poorest and lowliest.
Verse eleven.
Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads.
Verse twelve.
Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut?
Verse thirteen.
Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee.
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground.
Verse fourteen.
And where the pathmaker is breaking stones.
He is with them in sun and in shower,
And his garment is covered with dust.
Verse fifteen.
Put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil.
Deliverance?
Where is this deliverance to be found?
Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation.
He is bound with us all forever.
Verse sixteen.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense.
What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained?
Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy row.
Verse twelve.
The time that my journey takes is long,
And the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds,
Leaving my track on many a star and planet.
Verse thirteen.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself,
And that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.
The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own,
And one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.
Verse fourteen.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said,
"'Hear,
Art,
Thou!
' The question and the cry,
"'O where?
' Melt into tears of a thousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance,
"'I.
'" The reading ends here.
Let the sound dissolve.
Let the silence deepen.
You've wandered far,
But you were never lost.
You've searched and called out,
But love was already here.
"'Hear,
Art,
Thou!
' "'Hear,
Art,
Thou!
' "'Hear,
Art,
Thou!
' "'Hear,
Art,
Thou!
' "'Hear,
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Thou!
' "'Hear,
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Thou!
' "'Hear,
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Thou!
' "'Hear,
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Thou!
' "'Hear,
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Thou!
' "'Hear,
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Thou!
' "'Hear,
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' "'Hear,
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Thou!
' "'Hear,
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' "'Hear,
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' "'Hear,
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' "'Hear,
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' "'Hear,
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' "'Hear,
Art,
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' "'Hear,
Art,
Thou!
' "'Hear,
Art,
Thou!
'
