Kabir Wept

Every waking moment of our sleeping life

we are confronted with our impending mortality,

fixed in time yet neither being here nor being now.

Eliot gave us the best English has to offer on this,

Kabir wept on seeing in the miller’s grains how we

resemble in fate the seeds on his stone wheel turning,

getting pounded by the stick as it churns and churns.

The miller’s response became grist for the Hindi verses

which were to follow long after he took the miller’s advice:

"Consider the grains which stay close to that stick’s action -

they just bounce there and remain whole, they don’t fall through;

that stick is the Guru, and yours is living down that way there - so GO!"

It’s been said, "Guru is the grace-bestowing power of God;"

it’s been said, "Guru is that which alone can change the course of your destiny."

And it’s been said, "The root of meditation is the Guru’s form,

the root of worship is the Guru’s feet, the root of mantra is the Guru’s word,

the root of liberation is the Guru’s grace."

Whether appearing as monk or as mendicant, neighbor or wise uncle,

he is no person and no form, though taking on both to serve Liberation.

Principle as person, Formless as form to be met, in humility, in effacement. 

There are finally, no words for it, nothing can describe what Guru is.

When the heart has been touched by his grace, love flows.

When the crown has been opened by his shakti, death’s shadow goes.

When the entire question of life or death, hereafter, has lost its sting:

then can all things Body and Mind in action celebrate, relax - and sing!