Confusion at the Besant garden

Of great difficulty it is to imagine my heart giving live, how its beat may sound, what its rythm is alike; and how it happens when it ceases, as it will do. Indeed, how do I feel such a fine joy, witnessing the little squirrel dancing down acacia´s trunk ? This very little squirrel stopping to eat the fruit, glancing at me, as I imagine a you do, while me thinking: how its heart, too, may be? I know: tiny as one of my nails.

Each morning I pass the man that goes through the garden to reach the beach that he shall make clean. Wearing his dodot and a white beard, draging the rake which he uses to be useful. He stops, he gives way to me, while sun rises over the Gulf of Bengal. What will God feel – that god which tarnished the silvered shore- the very day we find His cleaner has left?

The young father carrying his daughter. No rain, the soil isn´t slippery. He carries her as being such stuff glass is made of, firmly but not tightly, so that she falls asleep on his shoulder, being such stuff dreams are made of. What does God feel –that god which switched off the rain- the very day we find His stuff became the Woman?

The big banyan let its branches project fall from its heaven. Some survive, get roots, they grow. They become banyans and hold up the big old one at its ungrowth. World is renewed from the big Unity which They have been and They are and will be.

All the bats in the world are flying a large circle while sunrise on the Adyar river. All the butterflies in the world came to Madras for the birth of the wet season. All the ravens in the world are the same squawk that exploded for the first time, on arrival to the city, making me to open my mouth to relieve pressure, thus allowing me to have a taste, thus kept me open-mouthed by surprise and everlasting joy.