Working hours are never long enough. Each day is a holiday, and ordinary holidays are grudged as enforced interruptions in an absorbing vocation.
No mind, no form, I only exist; Now ceased all will and thought. The final end of the Nature’s dance; I am it whom I have sought. A realm of bliss bare, ultimate, beyond both knower and known. A rest immense I enjoy at last; I face the one alone. I have crossed the secret ways of life; I have become the Goal. The Truth immutable is revealed; I am the way, the God-Soul. My spirit aware of all the heights, I am mute in the core of the Sun. I barter nothing with time and deeds; my cosmic play is done.
He who knows his soul knows this truth: “I am beyond everything finite; I now see that the Spirit, alone in a space with its ever-new joy, has expressed itself as the vast body of nature…I am the wisdom and power that sustain all creation.”
Alone let him constantly meditate in solitude on that which is salutary for his soul, for he who meditates in solitude attains Supreme Bliss.
When the road ends, and the goal is gained, the pilgrim finds that he has travelled only from himself to himself.
